Undependable Independence

If, by some miracle I am able to post this at the desired time, tomorrow, the Republic of Uganda – as she is officially and legally referred to – will celebrate her 48th independence anniversary. Over the last few years it has ceased to be an uncommon question what independence this banana republic is celebrating. For some, and with some authority and sufficient backing, it is nothing more than a political array of pomp, a superfluous expenditure of public funds, and a mundane reminder of the reigning government’s military prowess. For many, the artillery displayed at such celebrations is not for their protection. Nay! “this government has power” is often whispered by citizens. But then I ask, and I dare you to do the same, are we independent? I’m sure you will be quick to say no. For indeed we are not, not entirely at least. And on whom do we depend?

You might be wondering what I’m thinking writing politics, for indeed, I am not one to write about politics. Let us go back to the first post on this blog, Imperfect Reality. When I wrote that post, I was not sure what to expect. Sure I was criticised by some circles, and I appreciate that criticism, most of it only went to proving my conflicts with perfection. But what I had not foreseen was the reactions to what some called a bold confrontation to the status quo. And one theme seemed to run through most of our reactions to perfection: we suffer from a disease just as bad as perfection – a dependency syndrome.

We’ve heard the ‘dependency syndrome’ song over and over in different contexts, but I’m not writing today about economic or political dependence. Let us focus on an innate social and moral dependence that so deeply plagues most of us, shaping who we become, guiding how we live, how we act, and many times, stifling who we could be.

From childhood, we learn to depend on those around us, not just for what to eat and wear, but for communication, for happiness, for faith and hope, for love, for acceptance. And that kills us as we grow. I know by writing this I might be attempting to dance ekizino on quick sand, but think about it for slightly more than a brief moment.

The human being is, as has been variously described, a social being. And this holds even more for African communities, which instead of “cogito ergo sum”, subscribe to, practice and enforce “we are, therefore, I am”. In my opinion, this community affected way of living (allow me) is a reversal of the proper order of human life and social dynamics. If I may deconstruct a community to its smallest component, I will be left with the human being. Now, everyone is expected to play his role in the community, sort of do his part to keep the sun shining, right? However, community tends to dictate the role and expect each individual to behave, live, and contribute in a particular way. Does this not limit ones abilities?

My 300 year old grandmother would be, if you will indulge me, a good representation of authentic African values, at least in this day and age. She is old enough to have been here when the missionaries came, so she knows her stuff. According to her, a left handed person is not complete, is errant, and must be corrected as soon as he or she begins to exhibit levorotatory tendencies. Pause for a minute, if you’re right handed, and imagine having been forced by society to be left handed. Laughable? Maybe. Even contemptible when, for example, issues of calling and career are controlled by community expectations.

And yet daily, we depend on our communities for decisions that affect us as individuals. We feel so required and compelled to fulfil community expectations of our lives that we forget to live our lives. We may have abilities to excel in one thing, and even prosper doing it, but because our community considers another more honourable, we do it; put all our energies in it, and please the community, even if we are productive to less than half of our capacity. We choose lifestyles that conform to what the community expects of us, even when we are not cut out for them. In the end, we have a smiling community of unhappy people, akin to a house made of unbaked bricks, and unsheltered from the vagaries nature imposes!

I recently had privity to an interesting discussion on happiness, and while that is the subject of another post in the works, I will borrow from that a snippet on happiness. It has been said in jest how an infant has two principle worries: an empty bottle and a full diaper. Take care of these and it will be happy. Basic explanation? The child does not have that much of a reference point for its happiness. If only we could build on this, and foster the happiness of the fundamental units of our commUNITies, then we would be on the path to stronger, independent societies, for indeed, each individual would seek to do best what he does best, not what the community suggests he does best.

Do not rush to accuse me of preaching egotistic isolationism, for though indeed I suggest a focus on the individual (a concept the west has been criticised for), I hold that a chain is as strong as its weakest link. Woe unto us if all the links are weak. Is dependence on the external a good idea for internal equilibrium? You tell me, the answers after all, are supposed to come from outside. I am African like that!

Imperfect Reality

What sort of a name is Imperfect Reality? Seriously Tim, of all the things you could think up, of all the stuff you could write about, Imperfect Reality? Bear with me, I will explain.


Life is imperfect. We all are imperfect, and yet the world, life, our friends and family all want us to turn out perfect. Now, I am a good writer, ordinarily. Or at least, hypothetically speaking. (Kindly note that hypothetical  = perfect conditions. Keep that in mind somewhere.)  Where was I? Yes, I am a good writer, hypothetically speaking. and yet I am going to let someone else write the first post on my blog. Why? Because I am not as perfect as you thought as I am, and he is better at saying that than I am.


This is a piece (edited for context and effect) I found while reading online (I do that a lot, the reading part, and yes, I also use brackets a lot, you might wanna get used from the start). This Single Dad Laughing guy saw the imperfections in life, and wrote about them better than I could, and he has been gracious enough to let us borrow the knowledge. We all suffer from the disease called perfection, I hope we can all accept the bitter pill that is reality, and swallow it. It may be a tiny winy bit long, but please read it.


What is the disease called "Perfection"? Perhaps a list of its real-life symptoms will help you better understand it. We live in communities where people feel unconquerable amounts of pressure to always appear perfectly happy, perfectly functional, and perfectly figured. "Perfection" is much different than perfectionism. The following examples of "Perfection" are all real examples that I have collected from experiences in my own life, from confidential sources, or from my circle of loved ones and friends. If you actually stop to think about some of these, you will cry as I did while writing it. If you don't, maybe you're infected with way too much of this "Perfection" infection.

"Perfection" is a wife who feels trapped in a marriage to a lazy, angry, small man, but at soccer practice tells the other wives how wonderful her husband always is. "Perfection" keeps people from telling the truth, even to themselves. My husband is adorable. He called me a whore this week because I smiled at a stranger. When I started crying, he said he had a game to go watch. I love him so much.

"Perfection" is a husband who is belittled, unappreciated, and abused by his wife, yet works endlessly to make his marriage appear incredible to those around him. "Perfection" really does keep people from being real about the truth.  You would have laughed, guys. She said that I suck at my job and will never go anywhere in life. Then she insinuated that I was a fat, rotting pile of crap. Isn't she the best?

"Perfection" is a daughter with an eating disorder that keeps it hidden for years because she doesn't want to be the first among her family and friends to be imperfect. She would give anything to confront it, but she can't because then the "Perfect" people would hate her as much as she hates herself for it.

"Perfection" is when a son has a forbidden addiction, and despises himself for it. "Perfection" makes us believe that nobody else could understand what it is like to be weak and fall prey to the pressures of the world.

"Perfection" is a man who loathes himself for feeling unwanted attraction toward other men. 

"Perfection" is a couple drowning in debt, but who still agree to that cruise with their friends because the words "we don't have the money" are impossible ones to push across their lips.

"Perfection" is a mom hating herself because she only sees that every other mom around her is the perfect mother, the perfect wife, and the perfect neighbor. I'd give anything to be Mrs. Jones. Today she ran 34 miles, cooked six complete meals, participated in a two-hour activity with each of her seven children, hosted a marriage class with her husband, and still had time to show up for Bunco.What this mom doesn't know is that Mrs. Jones is also at home crying right now because the pressure to be "Perfect" never lets up.

"Perfection" is a dad hating himself because he can't give the same thing to his kids that other dads do, and then hates himself further because he takes his self-loathing out on his kids behind closed doors. You know what would have been nice? If you were never born. Do you realize how much money I'd have right now? Now come give Daddy a hug because I can force you to give me validation.

"Perfection" is a child hating herself because the boys at school call her fat, and when she goes home she tells her mom that school was fine. Her mom never stops to question why her daughter doesn't have any friends, becaue her mom doesn't want to think that anything might be less than "Perfect".

"Perfection" is a man feeling like a smaller man because his neighbor just pulled in with a new boat.

"Perfection" is a woman who is so overwhelmed that she thinks about killing herself daily. "Perfection" makes it so that she never will because of the things people will think if she does. How could I make my suicide look like an accident? If I kill myself, I don't want anybody knowing that I ever had any problems. She never stops to look at why she wants to do it, because healing means admitting imperfection.

"Perfection" is a man who everybody heralds as perfect, and inside he is screaming to be seen as the faulty human being that he always has been. Because to no longer be "the perfect one", that would be freeing.

"Perfection" is a woman having an affair because she's too afraid to confront the imperfection in her marriage.

"Perfection" is a twelve-year-old boy killing himself because he is ashamed that he can't stop masturbating. 

Stop, and read that one again.

There is a twelve-year-old boy buried 20 miles from where I sit because the "Perfection" that has infected the people around him infected him to the point that he deemed his own life worthless. "Perfection" pushed him to take his own life over something most of us would consider negligible in the life of any teenage boy.

"Perfection" is my friend's cousin swallowing hundreds of pills because she just got the news that she was pregnant, out of wedlock, and the shame was too much to bear. She was only attempting to cause a miscarriage. 24 hours later, she closed her eyes and never opened them again. She is dead because of the "Perfection" infecting those around her. We'd rather you die than shame this family. Thanks for taking care of that, honey. By the way, we'll do the right thing and make ourselves out to be the victims now. We have to. We're infected with "Perfection".

I could go on. This is all a small sampling of the disease called "Perfection". You have brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, extended family members, neighbors, friends, and children who are ALL these things, yet none of us will ever know. "Perfection" is a hideous monster with a really beautiful face. And chances are you're infected. The good news is, there is a cure.

Be real.

Embrace that you have weakness. Because everybody does. Embrace that your body is not perfect. Because nobody's is. Embrace that you have things you can't control. We all have a list of them. 

Here's your wake-up call:

You aren't the only one who feels worthless sometimes.

You aren't the only one who took your frustrations out on your children today.

You aren't the only one who isn't making enough money to support your lifestyle.

You aren't the only one who has questions and doubts about your religion.

You aren't the only one who sometimes says things that really hurt other people.

You aren't the only one who feels trapped in your marriage.

You aren't the only one who gets down and hates yourself and you can't figure out why.

You aren't the only one that questions your sexual orientation.

You aren't the only one who hates your body.

You aren't the only one that can't control yourself around food.

Your husband is not the only husband who's addiction sends him online for his sexual fulfillment instead of to you.

Your wife is not the only wife that is mean and vindictive and makes you hate yourself.

Why didn't somebody, anybody, put their arm around that 12-year old boy and let him know that they loved him and would always love him? What was he being told and taught that he would end his own life over something that almost no teenager can control? Maybe that beautiful and wonderful boy would still be alive if even one person had broken down the "Perfection" that completely controlled all those in his life from whom he desperately craved validation.

Why didn't somebody, anybody, tell a beautiful pregnant girl that there was nothing so big in life that it couldn't be made right. Maybe that incredible young woman would still be alive. Maybe her now one-year-old child would be learning to walk or say "Mommy" right now. Maybe.

Maybe.

The cure is so simple.

Be real.

Be bold about your weaknesses and you will change people's lives. Be honest about who you actually are, and others will begin to be their actual selves around you. Once you cure yourself of the disease, others will come to you, asking if they can just "talk". People are desperate to talk. Some of the most "perfect" people around you will tell you of some of the greatest struggles going on. Some of the most "perfect" people around you will break down in tears as they tell you how difficult life is for them. Turns out some of the most "perfect" people around us are human beings after all, and are dying to talk to another human being about it.

You'll love them for it. And you'll love yourself even more.

Let's not forget this quote: 

"I went out to find a friend and could not find one there. I went out to be a friend, and friends were everywhere." 

Somebody who is being a friend doesn't spread "Perfection". Somebody who is being a friend spreads "Real". Then, and only then, can we all grow together.

I am not perfect, nor do I want anybody to think of me as such. Here's my dose of real: (This is where Tim comes back into the picture) 

I have stolen stuff before, taken things that didn't belong to me. Though some of these happened years ago,  I still hate the person in me that did that.

I do not have perfect faith. As a matter of fact, I have questioned my faith so much, to the extent that I wonder whether it makes sense to believe.

I am not married, and that might still be a while away, but I have been in some relationships. And yes, they were imperfect.

I have more than once, in my adult life, felt inadequate about my looks and appearance.

There are some people I avoid bumping into in public because I feel like I'm not as good as them.

I judge people harshly who share the same features that I hate about myself. Okay, maybe not judge them, but spite them.

Sometimes I'm sad. Sometimes I'm not funny. Sometimes I just want to be alone. Sometimes I stay at home on a weekend because I just don't want to see the "Perfection" going on around me. Sometimes I want to drop-kick a perfect person's head across the room.

There are many more ways I'm imperfect, I'll be sharing these on facebook all week.

"Perfection" infects every corner of society. It infects our schools. It infects neighborhoods. It infects our workplaces. This is not to say that there aren't a lot of genuinely, happy people. I am one of those people. Most of the time. There is nothing more beautiful than a person finding true happiness in who they are and what they believe. No, this is not me trying to diminish the happiness in others. This is merely me pathetically attempting to put a face on a problem that I see everywhere but few people ever notice.

This is me asking the good people of the world to find somebody to put their arm around and be "real". This is me, wishing that people would realize how beautiful they are, even with all of their imperfections. This is me, sad and desperate for the boys and girls in this world to love themselves. This is me, a very imperfect man, trying to help others feel a little more perfect by asking you to act a little less perfect.

Will you help me spread "Real"? Tell us below just how perfect you aren't. You never know who might be alive tomorrow because you were real today. You never know who needs to feel like they aren't alone in their inability to be perfect. Even if you comment as an anonymous guest, please comment. Tell us what you struggle with. Tell a sad or dark secret. Get vulnerable. Get real. Let's see if we can get 10,000 people showing the world that we're not defined by perfection.