another-being

[another-being]

I really don’t want to talk about race issues but there’s a lot on my mind

I am not mad that Starbucks doesn’t support it’s workers wearing blm apparel. Sometimes it’s pandering and I’d rather they focus on organizational restructuring than on giving employees free reign like that. Work is still a professional setting and if that’s policy, it should be respected. We’re fighting for equality, not special treatment. Also, I’ve worked retail and I can see how wearing such…

View On WordPress

[another-being]

Stranger

Hi. Stranger.  Hi stranger.  It's been a while since we last talked.  Really talked, not exchanging words.  And what pains me about this dearth of communication is that along with our witty, energetic discourse went my zeal for the written word.  Don't misunderstand.  I have not lost my will or ability to write.  But with you walked out my need to pen life into my thoughts.  Give voice to the raging screams wracking my soul.  Fighting for release. I thought to write music for a while.  Fancied myself a musician.  An artist.  Am I really?  I who can bring myself to write no more than a verse before desperation and despair weigh me down.  I read of artist lives and I'm struck by how I have both too much and too little to write about.  I'm depressingly average.  But no one is.  So what am I waiting for? I'm starting to do that thing again where I don't really want to change even when I know that things can't stay as they are.  Hope your end is better than this limbo I find myself constantly in.

[another-being]

Promise

I will always write back. Even when I don't want to. I will always support you. Even if it makes no sense to. Why? Because we are friends. That's what friends do. They are there for all the ups and downs. The misgivings and insecurities of growing up. And growing old. Truth be told, I am tired. And thused - or whelmed - for lack of words. But not because of you. It's a state I have battled with in recent times. Taking an almost maniacal joy in little things. While being uninterested in the 'big' picture. Or focusing so hard on the long term, The smaller aspects start to blur. You asked for a piece, well here it is. Or as good as it will get. Follow your dreams, they said. Find your path... Well, what is my path? My part? My passion? Who the fuck knows??? For twenty-two odd years I've been trying to figure that out. Truth is I'm no closer now than on that blissful Saturday on which I was created. If it was a Saturday at all. For how can we truly know these things? But I digress. It's at once so complicatedly easy, isn't it? To have an idea and implement it, see it through. Turn something residing in your brain wito a living, tangible entity. Well, if it is, that why am I still broken? 

[another-being]

The fort

It was a slow progression, the losing of my mind. I was born once, on a Saturday twenty-two staccato years ago. Since then I've been continually reborn on the anniversary of the day my life -- and inescapable death -- began. Often described as a phoenix rising, I did on many an occasion emerge from adversity a new, wilder being -- one added layer removed from the innocence with which I was saddled at birth; my consent not once requested. I hesitate to say I was born again, because I doubt I have the authority to declare that I was. If l was not, suffice it to say it was not for want of trying or inclination. Had I a dollar for all the times my heart sang at the invitation to surrender my will, my soul, my all to a higher power, well... I don't have any dollars. Make of that what you will. Heartbreak I know well. Heartbreak my old friend. I would say men have failed me, if I could. I would say my father, my first love, let me down. I would imply my brothers lowered my expectations. I would suggest that every male I met afterwards took advantage of me. I would tell you about how my mentors preyed on my naivety. But I can't. So l'll tell you instead about how my mother, mothers really, raised me back up. How my friends shaped me to who I am today. There's not much to tell.  Little wonder. I was young once.  Born a happy child.  Mother always said my smile could birth a shooting star. Had people eating out of my palm, with my gap-toothed friendliness.  Never satisfied till father got home from work and mother put me to bed with stories of the war.  Funny choice for a girl who would age to only watch romances and comedies.  I was weaned on a combination of Shakespeare and Achebe summaries.  Stoked the fires of my imagination by reenacting biafra in my prepubescent mind.  Learned family and love was synonym.  My last childhood memory was father walking through the door late at night, and my half asleep self jumping into his arms to be lifted for a spin hug, completely content to have everyone I knew to love safely together under one roof.  I was once happy. The first pain, a real pain that was to become but one of many heart shattering memories, was when I first saw father hit.  I refuse to remember whom.  I was still young, but less so.  I wanted to scream out to the mountains.  Shout in despair.  About how everyone I ever trusted failed me.  Betrayed me.  Deserted me.  Broke me down.  Held my darkest secrets and deepest regrets against me.  Scorned me for leaning on them.  Till I started to think family was a cruel joke from a psychotic God.  Watching me writhe in agony from the constant struggling to swim in an ocean of tar, Never sure which way to go.  Certain to be wrong regardless, for as soon as I got the direction they changed the stroke. Never fitting in.  I could talk up a storm about how I learned to cope by closing myself in.  Building me a fortress in my mind.  Populating it with all that I thought I needed to survive.  Myself.  My dreams.  My futures.  Daydreams of when I could be the me I had never been free to be because I'd never learned who 'me' was.  Alone.  Unqualified.  In isolation. Me. Despite having been an island from conception. I wanted no part of the world I was born into.  I let my smile, my rising star, wane.  I was, as it were, safe.  And as I was reborn that ceased to fulfil its purpose.  I met more beings like me.  Correction: I became, or was made aware of the existence of souls akin to but other than mine.  I could say my world expanded.  So I put up a pretty fence around my forte.  Planted vines that grew and wrapped themselves within.  I decorated.  Keeping fresh cut flowers to draw guests in.  Practised smiling, opening up to people in my new environment.  I was still in my castle, but my yard was open to visitors.  They could walk the grounds and admire my art, my house's beauty. See me only as my reflection to the world.  I could relate, but on my terms.  And not wither away into oblivion from lack of interaction.  No one would know me, though the idea of me was popular. This public image of 'perfection' I cultivated. Thinking it would keep my heart safe from being trodden on like ants in the garden sand.  The first time I was burgled, it was a surprise.  Not because I didn't know robbers existed,  I simply never thought I'd be vulnerable.  Had I not built an impregnable fort? What could I have of value to thieves? I would learn only too soon.  The thing I guarded jealously had attracted fiends, For what would I hide so fiercely were it not made of pure gold, diamond, or platinum? Surely only the rarest of gems could rest in such a beautifully guarded home! No, only my heart -- of no value to any but me... He took it, almost as though it was a salve for his trouble, Leaving me just the piece I managed to break off as we fought for ownership.  Hopelessly, l watched as the masked man made away with my only prized possession.  Here lay my body, hollow as the empty house.  If I were ever young, it is hard to remember.  My miserable piece of heart never grew back quite the same.  I was scarred.  Living forever in shadow, afraid of love and loss -- and thieves.  I moved my fortress to the beach and built it a deck.  Replaced the fence of vines with a border of shattered glass and barbed wire.  My days punctuated only by solitary activities and storms thrown by mother nature, mine in hers reflected.  Not a pretty sight so I had no guests.  No spectators.  Occasionally I would go to town for supplies.  Stocking up on all that I needed to stay alive.  Always thinking why I bothered in the first place.  Marking time, forever waiting... A passerby here, a wave there.  A handful of trespassers, merely children and tourists. No harm to me.  Yet even at sea, so close to the foremost life source, I never felt at peace.  For all the quiet around me, my soul relentlessly raged. I would accomplish a lot in my lifetime. Really I would, although I may not look like much. But humans will continue to confound me. Admittedly my self-exile may have dulled my sensitivity to subtext and relativity. But people baffle me. I still never can relax around them. Like Marilyn, always playing a part. Like Leonardo, always a portrait. Like Aretha, forever a record. Life forced me back to humanity. Jokingly she said,  "Stupid girl, don't you know you need people? Do you think yourself better than the nest? Or worse off? Dust yourself off, the world beckons! Nothing new ever walked this land that He didn't approve. Worry never did a woman of a babe make. And earth never stood still for one." I raised myself from my slumber. Rented a flat in the city. Diving right into the deep end, unable to swim. Everyday I ventured out, searching for a sign, any sign, that there was good in the world. That I would be okay. The world would be kind to me. I left my safety blanket on the beach. Often, I imagine going back to get it. But even if I did, what would I find? Some days, I dont' go out. I sit in bed all day, existing too big a chore for me. Other days I spend all my time a random blur of restless energy. Depression or not, I am what I am. Human. Flawed. Growing. Trying to adapt, always to adapt... My story is still writing itself. What and where will my final dwelling be? Eagerly I anticipate the end. Tragedy or comedy? The ultimate question.

[another-being]

Lost love

I had a love and let her go Seemed the right thing to do I woke up once and missed her so Never, my love could I regroup... This morning was hard. Normally I don't think of you so much, but in a passing thought or fleeting memory. Today was different. I thought fist of you as I was frying 'dodo' for breakfast -- once, then I couldn't stop. The pain was intense. I missed you, I missed everything about you, I missed all of you. Today I thought of you, and how different my life would be if you had never gone. This morning was hard. Normally I don't think of you. I've been called cold, a fortress. I don't cry where people can see so thry don't see how weak i really am. A friend asked, "How do you do it. How do you never feel anything?" I laughed. I laughed because yours was the first face that popped into my head, of people I shouldn't long for. A truth i know surely as I've ever known anything, you made me me. You gave me strength, and for that I am grateful. I've been called cold. I don't cry. My mind plays tricks on me. Sometimes I wake up thinking you're still around, close to me. Of the many mistakes I've made, you were the stellar. I came to and searched for you but you were long gone. Many times I search for you and atimes I find you, and it's beautiful. Then you have to go again, and I despair. Of the years I've known your love I daydream. The worst isn't loving and losing, but loving what's lost. My mind plays tricks on me. Sometimes I wake up. Do you remember our many talks? About everything and nothing all at once. How you took one look at me and saw right through to my soul, and understood. But you are still a mystery.  Years later I'm still running circles in my mind trying to figure you out. So sure of everything, and also nothing. How can you not know your beauty? Did I never tell you I worshipped at your feet, ever in awe of your flawless? Do you remember our talks at all? About everything.  I was a young girl. You had lived so many lives I couldn't reach you whenever you went away from me. Pain and anger and frustration and disappointment are all part of life. I learnt this in the time I took to grow. To be someone worthy of your unwavering devotion. A person capable of living her life honestly, for herself. Pain passes, and in its wake heartbreak remains. I cry thinking how easy it was to let you go all those years ago. I was a young girl. You had lived so many lives...

[another-being]

Doubt 2

We have to doubt sometimes.  If not, beauty passes us by, Life goes by so fast.  Was it only yesterday I was five. Sitting by my mother's leg,  Doing homework by the light of a lantern.  Then I was ten.  Watching her send off children to boarding school, Wishing I could be as cool.   History will say I took a dive at fifteen.  As memories of her were frozen, While I learnt of science and religion.  Twenty was a crazy blur.  Faces, places, feelings, dread, Cocoon phase many years ahead. I'll never know who I'll be.  All I have is the stories I tell, It's imperfect, but unfinished yet. 

[another-being]

Death to love

And this is how relationships die. You move away. First to go is the conversation. The little nothings you argued about. You're grateful for even 1 missed call because at least it means they care. So worried about fighting you agree with anything. Or resist everything. Cut them off first so you don't get rejected. To assert your control over a helpless situation. Every call takes on assumed meaning. No word just itself. Rather a symbolic expressing of pain and longing. The only form acceptable. Talks revolve around mindless chatter on the weather and deep confessions of a philosophical nature. Yet with all those words feelings are never shared. Implied maybe. Or announced with an overly affective display as to render them void. A joke. 7 hours of back and forth via text and still nothing is said. Sleep eludes you. Stolen in snatches as your body fights valiantly to keep you from unplanned suicide. Hours of mindless living waiting to hear their voice fade into a frenzied scrambling for things to say after the perfunctory hello. All the subtleties of a life shared made inconsequential by the constant recounting of daily encounters to someone no longer living your reality. Communication is dead. Soon to follow is interest. It becomes too much of a hassle to pick up the phone and dial. Messages left unread -- or worse unanswered -- for days. The time difference takes its toll. Mornings and evenings blur till the construct of day and night become farce. Zeal for life dies a double death. In yours and theirs. Activities become repetitious and dull. Unfulfilling. Frustration sets in. Eventually you have to let the pent up emotion out somehow so you lash out. Heartless and unrelenting. Aimed at the one person you want to be close to. Blame is apportioned and a hefty serving of guilt and resentment shifted. You feel good for a second. Until with clear mind you recollect why it is you loved at all. And because you still love you see you were wrong. You battle shame and pride and embarrassment to apologise. Come clean about the pain. Heart in your throat you wait for a reply. Something to show you're not crazy in love alone. They cautiously respond and you talk. The first real talk in a while. Carthasis is had and you tell yourself the worst is over. You can survive this. Because the connection is still there. Technology makes fools of us all. The euphoria fades slowly at first. You both trying extra hard to be what the other needs. You promise to do better. Be better. Your relationship evolves to progressive and accommodating. Understanding the odd hours. Pretending to be okay when you go out. Or being supportive of a new relationship. The boundaries are unclear. As much as you want to be part of their life, you know they have to move on. You feign support as your heart breaks. Your imagination of things a thousand times worse than the reality. You shut yourself away because a fraction of them is better than nothing at all. A tether to a life you once knew. Months later you randomly realise that the person you once talked to daily hasn't called in weeks. And you remember only in passing. While talking to old fiends. Or after seeing a picture of them on social media. You ask about them or scroll through their profile. Shocked that they changed while staying the same. Amazed at how little you know of them now. And how easy it was to lose track of them. Even as you swore you'd be the exception. Other things got in the way. Maybe you call and maybe you don't. Maybe you forget. Maybe you worry that they won't be the same person you used to know. You want to reconnect. Don't overthink your reasons why. Guilt, jealousy, regret. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn't. Either way it hurts. Eventually you chalk it up to bad timing. Your attention is needed elsewhere. Finally you lose the memories. This takes time. Depending on how many, how important, and how often you revisit them. You can't forget on purpose. So you either hold on to tight they slip through your fingers. Or set out blindly creating new ones to replace the old. But the real loss occurs when you aren't trying. You forget the broad idea of them. It takes a while longer to recreate a moment in time. Or some mental pictures just can't be completed. You ask friends to help fill in the blanks. Amazed at how differently they remember things. Just when you think it's all gone you see a small reminder. A trigger. A momento from your time together and it all comes flooding back. Little moments take on major significance in retrospect. Perfected in hindsight. The longing returns. Another attempt to reach out ensues. Again and again the cycle goes till you learn to live with it. The memories never fully fade. You just learn to not act on your impulse to rekindle old fires. You keep away. This is how relationships die.

[another-being]

Girl. In progress

Maybe she just needed time to grow A flower in distress She was not a rock And she was not perfect Not unlike a crystal she had her edges Rough but priceless Was she flawed A thousand times yes Broken and scarred by secrets she kept Maybe she just needed time to heal A babe in the woods She was not a killer And she was no fighter Unlike the hunters and the predators Brash and fearless Was she lost A couple times sure Aren't we all when we become uncertain Maybe she just needed time to rest A young, naive child She was not yet jaded So she was not ready For the intricacies and the politics Friends and family bring Was she weak She thinks so but no It's only hard living in a solitary reality So she will learn to break out of her insecurity and her negativity And find inner strength, peace, love and joy She will find her path and follow it Or die trying And though it's hard she will learn to live Come to terms with the fact that plans change Nothing in life is certain And when it seems like all is lost we find ourselves The best is yet to come If we can only see We'll be alright, eventually she says The game ain't over yet And she'll keep smiling until it is That is life.

[another-being]

Letters to an old friend (out of sequence) #2

Hello, stranger. It’s been a while since we last talked. Really talked, not exchanging words. And what pains me about this dearth of communication is that along with our witty, energetic discourse went my zeal for the written word. Don’t misunderstand. I have not lost my will or ability to write. But with you walked out my need to pen life into my thoughts. Give voice to the raging screams wracking my soul. Fighting for release.

I thought to write music for a while. Fancied myself a musician. An artist. Am I really? I who can bring myself to write no more than a verse before desolation and despair weigh me down. I read of artistes’ lives and am struck by how I have both too much and too little to write about. I’m depressingly average. But no one is. So what am I waiting for?

I’m starting to do that thing again where I don’t really want to change even when I know that things cannot stay as they are. Hope your end is better than this limbo I find myself constantly in.

He and I are not a thing anymore. I don’t know why I started that anyway. Another form of escapism.

So I reread the piece you sent, about a cheating girlfriend who wants to but can’t leave the guy who ought to value himself more than to stay in a toxic relationship. I feel that way about my life and relationship with myself. I lied about considering suicide. I have, many a time. I can’t say exactly why I haven’t gone through with it. I guess I’m too practical and is not as romantic as it seems. Or I’m vain enough to wonder how my family will survive that, even though at my lowest points I convince myself I’d be doing them a favour. I need something I don’t know.

In your words, I need… more

[another-being]

Objective impermanence

There is beauty in life, You only have to look to see it. It’s in the supposed permanence of things. Remember how big and important your primary schools seemed back in the day? When you could not comprehend how your parents forgot about their childhoods? And chalked it up - erroneously - to their not having had fun in school. Does any of that matter now? Is it of any relevance or significance to your daily living? Do we not only feel the tidal wave of memories flowing through us in rivulets when we have a need to delve back into our pasts? Then we are shocked by how much we remember… But more so by how much we seem to have forgotten. For we had sworn that we never would.

[another-being]

Another

The plight of the African wife. Life companion, Mother, Mentor, Teacher, Role model, Primary care-giver, Baby-making factory, Nurse, Event planner, Cook, Sex machine, Cleaning service, Laundromat, Co-breadwinner Counselor, Therapist, Entertainer, Superhero, Problem fixer, and much more. The best thing to ever happen to mankind.

Not ever to be mistaken for the thing you got stick with after you knocked some random chick up. Not a punching bag, Not a sex pillow, Not a money bag, Not a plaything, Not a mistake, Not an outcast, Not a last resort.

But most of all…

…Human.

[another-being]

Living for the ages

I wanted to write about life. About all the things that happen to male us who we are, To bring us to our expected, if not desired ends. But I could not find a place to start my story from.

I tried to write about strife. About the sorrows and turmoil that we must endure, Going and coming about our respective daily lives. But I dare not be the one to reopen sores barely scabby over.

I meant to write about things I cannot put a name to. About all the ideologies and philosophies that fill me up to overflowing, To create an avenue for the outpouring of my soul to you, on paper. But I can not.

I cannot because I have yet to fully grasp the essence of my message yet. I cannot because to divulge the innermost workings og my mind would leave me exposed and vulnerable. I cannot because I was raised to know, and do better. I cannot because I do not know how.

Everyday I try to push myself. Strive harder to break boundaries. Achieve more… But to what end?

If we are all products of our environments, why then do I try? Am I not preconditioned to be exactly who I become? Can I honestly in the end say, ‘I was destined to be A, but I chose to become B’?

I may not know much, but I hope that if ever I am found wrong in my life, Trying shall not be counted among my crimes. At least they will say I lived, And mine was a life for the ages…

[another-being]

Letters to an old friend #4

When we first met, I had no idea you would mean this much to me. Cliché I know, but true. How could I have? I was at the comfortable middle of a different phase in my life, And you, I could never tell. Self possession seemed your forté, And I was reduced to acting like a wide-eyed schoolgirl. Over-compensating for my initial pull towards you, I kept away. Life has taught me time and again that people aren’t always what they seem. I used to keep away from people, Had perfected the art of cultivating meaningless friendships, So naturally when I met you, it worried me that we had so much in common. I told myself that it too would pass, But it didn’t. I told myself the novelty would wear off, But it didn’t. So I gave into it. I’m not one of those types to keep in touch, I have commitment issues a mile long. But for some strange reason I find myself looking forward to our conversations, Smiling when I remember something funny you said, Thinking about you and the little quirks that make you you. And I have come to the conclusion that maybe this is how things were always meant to be. I often wondered why I was different, Whether I’d ever be able to relate with people properly on a real level, I mean, I’ve struggled with trust issues for years, So I guess what I’m saying is, Thank you. Thank you for being there. Thank you for letting me rant about pointless issues, Thank you for letting me wake you up at all hours of the day to ask for dumb favours, Thank you for letting me sleep off on you after overly long conversations that are essentially going nowhere but eventually mean everything. Thank you basically, for being you. I love that we can talk about random shit all day and still have something new to discuss. I love that you are open about who you are and who you hope to become. I love that after over a year I still get excited to talk to you. I almost love you, or I do… The rest is history in the making still.

[another-being]

Missed

And that is how it comes to be that we fall in love with our memories of a thing, Rather than with the thing itself. Maybe it’s just me, But in all my dealings with people No truer saying have I encountered than the common phrase Absence makes the heart grow fonder So it is that in the first hours of being away from someone, I start to crave their company Experiencing withdrawal symptoms from not being in close proximity with the source of my pleasure, I start to miss the little things that make them them, The way they smile, walk, talk, act I miss them What’s funny is I don’t even have to particularly like whoever it is My missing them is just an acknowledgement of the fact that someone who was once in a certain spot no longer is. I mourn the passing of the moment of their existence And am saddened by the realisation that such an occurrence may never again be repeated I may never get that chance again So in essence I don’t miss the person, I simply missed the opportunity they represent.

[another-being]

Individual

It’s in the little details The things we do for those we hold dear, Those we care about, Those we have no reason to treat with anything other than mere civility.

It’s in the small gestures The thoughtful acts that show consideration, Gratitude, Appreciation of people we have felt blessed for knowing.

It’s in our ways of life The habits we have cultivated and sustained, That show our heritage, plans, hopes and dreams. Bearing testament to lives led and lessons learned.

These are what make us individual.

[another-being]

Oo

Pushing yourself past your limit is the aim. A friend asked this morning What is the point of aerobics in nysc camp While aerobics in themselves are unrelated to the nysc mission, It’s simply a means to an end. Everyday we are taught the value of many different traits that are commonly associated with being of good character Honesty Discipline Perseverance Respect Responsibility Hard work The most obvious connection for aerobics is perseverance So many times, you have to keep pushing even when you feel slightly winded Keep going Till it feels better and gets easier. If we master the art of exercise it can easily be translated into other spheres of our lives. Making us tough enough to face the tough times into which we have been born. Last word? I’d say aerobics sessions cure us of our learned laziness. As kids we were full of life and energy Who but society says we have to give that up as we grow up?

[another-being]

Letters #5

I give my all Its not much, but it’s all I have, so be gentle. I may have thick skin And talk way tougher than I am But I bruise easily.

I can’t be the only one I know I’m not so different From the rest, but I am Removed from the standard Something other And I tire of speaking on how that has shaped me. I choose to dwell not on the things that make us all dissimilar Focus instead on the common thread running through all our veins. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not trying to start a race or tribal war. Even in our families we are constantly judged and judging others by some unstated criteria that they are more often than not bound to not live up to. As I said, I tire of the constant evaluations and criticism. It’s not constructive if it if offers no room for correction or improvement, Simply assumes and accepts a particular state as the current and takes that to be the definite state of the being, Forever tainting future encounters with the memory of the not so accurate first idea it came to represent. I won’t talk of prejudice, bias or perception If I start to maybe I’ll never finish Or maybe I will We may never know. Or may we? One of the most beautiful things about life is its perfect randomness. I speak repeatedly of how much I value the people I’ve met on my life that have helped me become who I am today, But even if I had not met them, Not shared experiences with them that shaped and cemented our relationships I would have been ok. Maybe not awesome, Or maybe better than. And the clincher is that at this one point in time And forever infinitely Until there is uncovered a means of living in, analysing and comparing parallel universes simultaneously We will remain unsure.