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The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.
We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.
Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers @CashMyFocus
This is his story.
The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.
My father died when I was 17 years old in Nigeria. It’s a long story but I’ll try cut it short.
I was a high school student then, in a boarding school and usually didn’t get to see him often because when he was back home for his journeys, I was usually back in school. The little time I spend with him was only on christmas break in the US or in Nigeria. Nevertheless he always called me through the school phone booth to always tell me he misses and loves me so much, and his plans for me and whatnot. We really didn’t spend much time together in his life time.
Anyway, the day of my late uncle’s funeral came and passed peacefully. Everybody went to bed that night and woke up the next day except my dad and he was supposed to leave for the US that very day. Well, no one told me nothing till I came home on mid-term break. When my mom informed me, I felt something leave my body that moment, I was heartbroken, I almost committed suicide. I knew things would never be the same in my life.
To make matters worse, after my dad passed away, his family wanted to share his properties between themselves before they start talking about burying him which resulted to a big fight between us and my dad’s family. But thank God for my mom and the strength, wisdom He gave her and for HIM being with us all through. We finally buried my dad 7 months later although it wasn’t a befitting one.
My life changed afterwards. I became a man cause, I’m the first son. I’ve tried to get over his death and find other father figures to bandage the wound, but I still think about him. I still have a hard time dealing with his death. That’s why I smoke, drink, and spend money fast. I’m not doing these things to fit in but for the temporary navigation to nothing. No thoughts. No brainstorm.
But now nothing is working. Not even Alcohol or weed could keep my mind from thinking about him. I cry when I think about him, when I say I cry; I mean I cry. Eyes red and you can look me in my eyes and tell I’m lost and when those crying moments acquire, I blame it on the wind. Lol “Naw bro, the wind got into my eye.”
So to those people that have already casted their stones at me, I just pray that you never wonder endlessly in this world like me.
• • •
Don’t just read, say a prayer.
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?
N.B. The project goes on with Today’s (4pm) ’Her Story, XXII’ by an Anonymous writer
You can still send in your own true stories to firstname.lastname@example.org
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