Things come and go

I had woken up this morning just as I usually do, anew and renewed from the day before, not a care in the world. As I sat down gulping my breakfast, sitting contently and pondering over how I was to spend the day, a sudden inclination came over me to peer out of my high-rise flat window. I gazed at the metal fencing. My heart stopped. The world came to a standstill. For a moment I felt like a piece of my heart had died. How could the one thing that gave me so much joy and happiness just disappear in the darkness of the night. It was everything that I had wanted and more, it was the stuff of my childhood dreams. With it I felt invincible, able to conquer the  world-as free as a bird. My bike had been viciously stolen.

The traumatic experience was not that something had been stolen from me rather that someone had stolen a source of my happiness and joy. You see I had allowed a part of my heart to accommodate my bike just as one does to a pet. I loved my bike (and a part of my heart will always love it forever). For 20 years of my life people around me had either discouraged me or totally prohibited me from having a bike, I waited patiently until the right time would present itself. I would ecstatically ride my nephews bike when I was younger and learnt how to ride the beast, albeit falling off every second or so, or worse scraping the side of handlebar across walls or an unsuspecting nearby car, or even fatally I once busted the tyre of my nephews bike and at the time was so petrified that I had blamed my brother by letting him ride it and then pointing the guilt on him (that's was int he past, I hope my brother doesn't still harbour ill feelings towards me).

So when the opportunity presented itself over the weekend to buy a one-week-used bike retailed at £130 for a muggable price of £50 I leaped at the offer like a tramp on chips. I straddled on its streamlined body, couched my bottom on its triangular seat. As I began to pedal, the expression 'it's like riding a bike, you never forget it' rang some truths. I soared across the streets of East London, the breeze caressing my soul , the calling of freedom had seemed to be answered.

It was Tuesday evening when the fateful incident would come about 12 hours after 9pm. I was going about my Census job, finishing off the remaining households on my list. I had also had time to quickly nip into Lidl to buy some milk, jam and cheese and onion sandwich filler and to fetch some dinner for my two brothers. When I arrived home, I tried dropping off my friend to our storage space but the main door was locked so I resorted to tying my bike to the metal fencing outside my flat making sure to lock the rear tyre as well. The irony was that as I was being elevated to my floor I was thinking about taking out insurance for my concern of the recent boom in local crime.

So there I was 9am my heart racing like mad. I hurried downstairs and reassured myself that this was not some sick nightmare or a figment of my imagination. Sadly, the truth was string me in the face. My bike had been stolen.

I was distressed, I knew that I needed to talk this over with someone so I frantically began calling my friends. One friend did eventually pick up, despite the relative unimportance of this incident in the grand scheme of things, he reassured me, comforted me and advised me that this is a test from God, and that God only tests those whom He loves. Although it took some time, I realised that it is God that truly gives and takes, perhaps there is some good in this incidence, if not apparent now it will perhaps transpire later. That's all for today folks, stay tuned and 'keep it real' at Haidar's Honeypot.