HAMZ MUSINGS: BROKEN COOKIES
BROKEN COOKIES
By Hamz
Little Dylan had always been bullied; had always been at the rock bottom of the class pecking order.
Even the bullied bullied him. He was small for his age and what he lacked in size, he made up for in complex. He had a very huge inferiority complex.
With a big nose, dark spots all over his skin, and shabby clothes, his self-esteem lived under the sole of his battered shoes.
Every Sunday school, Teacher Betsy would open packets of cookies and empty them into a large tray. The tray was passed around to the kids in the class. Somehow, Dylan always happened to be the last kid to have the tray, regardless of where he sat in the class- which was, almost always, invariably at the back of the class. If he wasn’t at the back of the class, he wasn’t in the class. And by the time the tray got to him, what was left were the broken bits and crumbles of the cookies.
Teacher Betsy noticed this and decided to do something about it. She made him sit in the front of the class every Sunday school. Still, he got the crumbles. When the full tray was passed in front of him, he began seriously studying his shirt buttons until the tray had passed on. Eventually, when the tray was being returned to the front of the class, passing in front of him once more, he would timidly reach for the broken crumbles at the bottom of the tray. Teacher Betsy noticed this too.
One Sunday, Teacher Betsy did something
different. She opened the packets of cookies and emptied them into the tray as usual. Then she called Dylan to come to the tray and pick some cookies before the tray was passed round.
Dylan looked like he would cry. His lips twitched and he breathed faster. He stole a glance at Bryan, his chief tormentor. Anyone could see Dylan was distressed. Still, Teacher Betsy insisted.
Timorously, Dylan got up and shuffled to the front of the class, head bent low. When he got to the tray, he raised his head slightly and stared at the tray for an interminable moment. At last, he raised his hand hesitantly and reached for the tray. Teacher Betsy was watching. Slowly, a smile was forming over her pleasant round face. But it was immediately choked off by open-mouthed shock.
Dylan had pushed away the cookies at the top of the tray until he could reach the bottom. Then he took his cookies from the bottom of the tray. The Broken Cookies.
Hello Dylan,
Remember that girl? The one you really loved but never asked out? Why? You ‘knew’ she was way out of your league and above you. She was better than you and would never go out with you because you were ordinary, so you thought. So you went for one that was not right for you but she was ugly enough in both character and spirit for you to be comfortable with. You deserved only damaged goods, you said. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You wonder why you didn’t say yes to that guy? Not because you were better than him. No. Rather, you thought he was too perfect for you and you weren’t created for the beautiful things of life. Every other guy you dated had treated you as trash, so when he treated you as queen, you felt odd. You were too emotionally damaged to receive and reciprocate love. You left him and married a Mike Tyson who used your face for daily practice. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You’re fat and overweight and no one has ever told you you’re beautiful and adorable and needed. In your depression, you eat more and get even fatter. Then a guy comes along and you know he’s wrong for you because he hits you and degrades you, and abuses you and constantly puts you down but you put up with him because he was the first and ‘only’ person to ask you out. If you lose him, you’ll never find another (really?). So instead of working on YOU, you slave for him. You try to convince yourself that he’s a nice guy and that he’ll change ‘someday’. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You have never written an application letter or proposal to a multi-national- not because you can’t but because you won’t. You ‘know’ that no one wants you and you’re not good enough for them anyways. The only job opportunities you look out for and see are ‘factory workers needed’, ‘computer-operator needed’, ‘house-help needed’, ‘danfo driver needed’, ‘village idiot needed’. So instead of building yourself, you settle for ‘anything life throws at me’. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You ‘know’ that your income per month should never exceed Twenty-Thousand. You ‘know’ that your value is only ‘twenty thousand’. So when opportunity comes to make more, you look for all the faults in it. Or you delay and dawdle until it’s gone. And when someone blesses you with a hundred thousand, you fall into a mental panic. You spend the money recklessly until it comes down to Zero Naira and then your head settles down because you are more comfortable with poverty. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You remember all the lies you’ve told? Your father is the president of Lagos and your mother is the governor of Nigeria. you make a million a month and Ambode was your gateman. You are not secure in yourself and feel that the real you is too uninteresting to get attention. You feel you’re drab and boring so you borrow from your endless reservoir of lies to bolster your image. You love that ‘friends’ are drawn by the image that is a creation of your lies because you ‘know’ that no one would ever like the real you as you are not worthy enough. Instead of working on yourself you work on your lies because you are more comfortable with your lies. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You have come to a conclusion that you were not created to be brilliant or knowledgeable. You do not read because you ‘know’ that you can never understand. You have never bothered to top the class because the gods have relegated you before creation to the backwaters of life. You have never tried to improve because you ‘know’ that you have been predestined to be doomed.
Life gave you a blank cheque but you returned it empty because, you said, your hands were filthy and unworthy and they would stain the cheque. And you don’t want much out of life.
You’ve asked yourself many times; Who am I to be happy? Who am I to be loved? Who am I to be successful? Who am I to dress in nice clothes? Who am I to speak out in the face of injustices? Who am I to shine? Who am I speak about my feelings? Who am I to accept the grace of God? Who am I to be rich? Who am I to be needed? Who am I to be brilliant? Who am I to be the best? Who am I to reach for the stars? Who am I to take a whole cookie?
Who am I to be what I was created to be? Who am I to fulfill a great destiny? Who am I to be me?
Hello Dylan, the answer lies in you. So really…
WHO ARE YOU?
*I have been a Dylan in my life. My experiences then have formed me into who I am today and who I am becoming. I do not regret those bitter moments because the lessons from those experiences have formed me into a better person who now appreciates my uniqueness. I have found my place and I'm not looking back.
Written By Hamz
All Rights Reserved
©HamzWrites
Connect with me on >>>>
Facebook: Esoteric Hamz
Instagram: @Hamson_Skills1
Twitter: @Hamson_Skillz
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THIS POST LETS TALK IN THE COMMENT SECTION DON'T FORGET YOU CAN FOLLOW THIS BLOG JUST CLICK THE BUTTON TO YOUR RIGHT ON THE HOME PAGE, ALSO FOLLOW ME ON MY PERSONAL SOCIAL MEDIA HANDLES ABOVE❤... WE APPRECIATE YOU!
By Hamz
Little Dylan had always been bullied; had always been at the rock bottom of the class pecking order.
Even the bullied bullied him. He was small for his age and what he lacked in size, he made up for in complex. He had a very huge inferiority complex.
With a big nose, dark spots all over his skin, and shabby clothes, his self-esteem lived under the sole of his battered shoes.
Every Sunday school, Teacher Betsy would open packets of cookies and empty them into a large tray. The tray was passed around to the kids in the class. Somehow, Dylan always happened to be the last kid to have the tray, regardless of where he sat in the class- which was, almost always, invariably at the back of the class. If he wasn’t at the back of the class, he wasn’t in the class. And by the time the tray got to him, what was left were the broken bits and crumbles of the cookies.
Teacher Betsy noticed this and decided to do something about it. She made him sit in the front of the class every Sunday school. Still, he got the crumbles. When the full tray was passed in front of him, he began seriously studying his shirt buttons until the tray had passed on. Eventually, when the tray was being returned to the front of the class, passing in front of him once more, he would timidly reach for the broken crumbles at the bottom of the tray. Teacher Betsy noticed this too.
One Sunday, Teacher Betsy did something
different. She opened the packets of cookies and emptied them into the tray as usual. Then she called Dylan to come to the tray and pick some cookies before the tray was passed round.
Dylan looked like he would cry. His lips twitched and he breathed faster. He stole a glance at Bryan, his chief tormentor. Anyone could see Dylan was distressed. Still, Teacher Betsy insisted.
Timorously, Dylan got up and shuffled to the front of the class, head bent low. When he got to the tray, he raised his head slightly and stared at the tray for an interminable moment. At last, he raised his hand hesitantly and reached for the tray. Teacher Betsy was watching. Slowly, a smile was forming over her pleasant round face. But it was immediately choked off by open-mouthed shock.
Dylan had pushed away the cookies at the top of the tray until he could reach the bottom. Then he took his cookies from the bottom of the tray. The Broken Cookies.
Hello Dylan,
Remember that girl? The one you really loved but never asked out? Why? You ‘knew’ she was way out of your league and above you. She was better than you and would never go out with you because you were ordinary, so you thought. So you went for one that was not right for you but she was ugly enough in both character and spirit for you to be comfortable with. You deserved only damaged goods, you said. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You wonder why you didn’t say yes to that guy? Not because you were better than him. No. Rather, you thought he was too perfect for you and you weren’t created for the beautiful things of life. Every other guy you dated had treated you as trash, so when he treated you as queen, you felt odd. You were too emotionally damaged to receive and reciprocate love. You left him and married a Mike Tyson who used your face for daily practice. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You’re fat and overweight and no one has ever told you you’re beautiful and adorable and needed. In your depression, you eat more and get even fatter. Then a guy comes along and you know he’s wrong for you because he hits you and degrades you, and abuses you and constantly puts you down but you put up with him because he was the first and ‘only’ person to ask you out. If you lose him, you’ll never find another (really?). So instead of working on YOU, you slave for him. You try to convince yourself that he’s a nice guy and that he’ll change ‘someday’. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You have never written an application letter or proposal to a multi-national- not because you can’t but because you won’t. You ‘know’ that no one wants you and you’re not good enough for them anyways. The only job opportunities you look out for and see are ‘factory workers needed’, ‘computer-operator needed’, ‘house-help needed’, ‘danfo driver needed’, ‘village idiot needed’. So instead of building yourself, you settle for ‘anything life throws at me’. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You ‘know’ that your income per month should never exceed Twenty-Thousand. You ‘know’ that your value is only ‘twenty thousand’. So when opportunity comes to make more, you look for all the faults in it. Or you delay and dawdle until it’s gone. And when someone blesses you with a hundred thousand, you fall into a mental panic. You spend the money recklessly until it comes down to Zero Naira and then your head settles down because you are more comfortable with poverty. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You remember all the lies you’ve told? Your father is the president of Lagos and your mother is the governor of Nigeria. you make a million a month and Ambode was your gateman. You are not secure in yourself and feel that the real you is too uninteresting to get attention. You feel you’re drab and boring so you borrow from your endless reservoir of lies to bolster your image. You love that ‘friends’ are drawn by the image that is a creation of your lies because you ‘know’ that no one would ever like the real you as you are not worthy enough. Instead of working on yourself you work on your lies because you are more comfortable with your lies. You picked the broken cookies.
Hello Dylan,
You have come to a conclusion that you were not created to be brilliant or knowledgeable. You do not read because you ‘know’ that you can never understand. You have never bothered to top the class because the gods have relegated you before creation to the backwaters of life. You have never tried to improve because you ‘know’ that you have been predestined to be doomed.
Life gave you a blank cheque but you returned it empty because, you said, your hands were filthy and unworthy and they would stain the cheque. And you don’t want much out of life.
You’ve asked yourself many times; Who am I to be happy? Who am I to be loved? Who am I to be successful? Who am I to dress in nice clothes? Who am I to speak out in the face of injustices? Who am I to shine? Who am I speak about my feelings? Who am I to accept the grace of God? Who am I to be rich? Who am I to be needed? Who am I to be brilliant? Who am I to be the best? Who am I to reach for the stars? Who am I to take a whole cookie?
Who am I to be what I was created to be? Who am I to fulfill a great destiny? Who am I to be me?
Hello Dylan, the answer lies in you. So really…
WHO ARE YOU?
*I have been a Dylan in my life. My experiences then have formed me into who I am today and who I am becoming. I do not regret those bitter moments because the lessons from those experiences have formed me into a better person who now appreciates my uniqueness. I have found my place and I'm not looking back.
Written By Hamz
All Rights Reserved
©HamzWrites
Connect with me on >>>>
Facebook: Esoteric Hamz
Instagram: @Hamson_Skills1
Twitter: @Hamson_Skillz
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THIS POST LETS TALK IN THE COMMENT SECTION DON'T FORGET YOU CAN FOLLOW THIS BLOG JUST CLICK THE BUTTON TO YOUR RIGHT ON THE HOME PAGE, ALSO FOLLOW ME ON MY PERSONAL SOCIAL MEDIA HANDLES ABOVE❤... WE APPRECIATE YOU!
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