KEZIA
‘You can be the author of the happiness that you crave.’ Kezia’s last words are as fresh in my mind today as when she first uttered them eight years ago. Obviously, she never knew what impact her words would have on me many years after. Ensconced in those words were grace and gratitude. I clutched the words as if they were the words of a dying relative. The words connoted meanings beyond the literal sense. They struck at the very core of living. They were inspiring and instructive.
Till this day, the words continue to have a sobering effect on me. In the last eight years, seldom has a sentence been quite weighty in moulding my attitude. In just one meeting, Kezia taught me the importance of cultivating and disseminating personal happiness. The day I met Kezia in Glasgow was wet with a light rain. Three weeks earlier, I had arrived in the Old Firm[1] with high hopes and nursing the possibility of ‘walking on water.’ Glasgow University, where I attended a short course, was my home for one month. The buildings of the university took me back to the fifteenth century. More than five hundred years after the founding of the university, its cloisters remain a place of spellbinding beauty. Yet I was feeling slightly depressed that morning.
With just £3.08 in my Barclay’s bank account, I was not only low on money but more critically, depleting self-worth. ‘Perhaps it was a misguided decision to choose Glasgow for the course. I could have gone to Chicago or Toronto,’ I thought unappreciatively. Moreover, the fear of terrorists’ attack haunted the city following a failed attempt by an Iraqi immigrant to ram his SUV into the Glasgow airport lounge a fortnight earlier. In addition, the mounting academic work presented another huge worry. I saw my dreams fading away like the sound of a speeding vehicle. Preoccupied with these challenges, my outlook was shrouded in pessimism, with my hopes beginning to flail. En route to the university campus via Victoria Street, my walk was not brisk but measured. My mind could hardly focus on any particular issue. Victoria Street was a quiet street in the slightly swanky west end of the city. It was a residential area, with few small shops dotting the street. The street was neither too wide nor narrow.
The pavement was highlighted at two points by traffic lights. It was at one of the traffic lights that I met Kezia. ‘Hello,’ she greeted and I turned facing her. ‘Hi,’ I responded. ‘Please where is the candy shop around here?’ She asked. ‘Come with me… It isn’t far from here; it’s on Perth Street just at the end of Victoria Street.’ I explained. Kezia was blind but was aided by a guide dog. Kezia had an American accent and was probably in her late thirties. ‘I hope it’s not too much trouble…’ she enquired. ‘Not at all, I’m happy to help,’ I assured her. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ After a brief introduction of ourselves, I asked, ‘What’s your dog’s name?’ ‘She’s Laura.’ ‘She’s really beautiful! Both of you must be quite a team!
And your confidence, courage and independent spirit are so admirable. Do you always feel comfortable going out on your own?’ ‘Glasgow is generally safe except for few isolated incidents. And with kind, friendly and helpful people like you around, I’d be paranoid to feel otherwise. In fact, it was one of the main reasons that compelled my husband, our two teenage sons and me to move from Chicago to Glasgow, where I now teach at the School for the Blind’ ‘Amazing! Well…here’s the candy shop. Do you need me to accompany you inside?’ ‘I think I’ll be alright on my own.’ ‘Thank you for your wonderful company, Kezia.’ ‘I should be the one to thank you. Em…what can I say; you can be the author of the happiness that you crave. Goodbye, William.’ ‘Goodbye, Kezia.’ As I traipsed away I thought, ‘How did she decipher the state of my mind?’ It is rather unfortunate that I almost allowed my warped emotional state mar an otherwise charming experience in the city where soccer is an inexplicable ‘religious’ ferment. [1] Nickname for Glasgow
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