Category: Not so fiction

New Year, New Day

January 8th, 2019

Happy new year, beautiful people!

I hope you rang in the new year surrounded by the people you love. And if you were alone, I hope you gave yourself lots of love too.

Let’s be honest, entering a new year isn’t always a happy jolly experience. One moment, you’re hugging your family and friends after counting down to 12 am and the next minute you’re thinking about the unaccomplished goals you set at the beginning of the last year. You still swear like a sailor, gossip, gamble, eat junk food, and you still haven’t left that toxic relationship you said you were done with last year. You look at the lives of the people you’re with and suddenly feel like a failure. Sally got that promotion she had put on her goal board; Jim’s body now looks like it was sculpted by the gods themselves, unlike last year when you both looked like sticks (sticks are beautiful too btw); and Fade now heals the sick and speaks in tongues. Last year, she was getting drunk every night and puking in bars – the worst part is that you are the one who took her to church and you can’t even find a voice to pray.

Don’t give up! Don’t give up on being a better version of yourself. And please, stop with the comparison. Sally, Jim and Fade might seem like they have their lives in order but there’s a good chance they have unachieved goals (and if they hit all, good for them; you’d achieve yours too).

Go back to the drawing board and tweak the wordings of those goals. Instead of being so broad and ‘finish line’ centred, give yourself little checkpoints. We all have different ways of motivating ourselves. Some people like to see the end goal and some people like progress checkpoints. It’s a new year, a new beginning. Forgive yourself for the shortcomings of last year and push on this new year.

If like me, you’ve already failed at some of the resolutions you made this year (yes, I ate that burger), don’t fret; every day, actually, every second is another chance to a fresh start – a clean slate – Let’s hope I don’t end up using this sentence to enable myself and break my resolutions LOL!

2019 is for YOU. Make it your bitch.
Crashing down.

December 20th, 2018

It’s eleven days until the year 2018 ends. Last month, I started writing my last post for the year. I wrote about how the year started rough for me and the roller coaster of emotions I experienced; the fact that I cried more than half of the time and had suicidal moments. But then I switched about halfway through my draft and began to write of how I rose above it all and how I’m a much better person who has learnt to live, to love, to forgive, to grow and learnt to accommodate.

I wrote about my newly found love for hugs and embraces; for the sun and bright colours; for people and their individualities. I wrote about my intentional approach to relationships with people and how my resolve to have open and honest conversations had made me a better person.

But last night, I came crashing down – HARD. I realized that I hadn’t really overcome like I thought I had. All the thoughts and fears I had struggled with for years came rushing back at 2 am, and I panicked. My chest hurt and I suddenly could not breathe. At that moment, I thought I was going to die. Not like it mattered to me.

So maybe I’m not really ‘healed’ or ‘grown’ like I had thought, but I would not sit here and say that there has not been some progress; that would be a lie. I’ve had great days this year, I’ve met great people, explored new places, laughed my butt off and felt a real sense of identity. I even let myself have a little crush – LOL! I know, it’s almost unbelievable that a makanaki like me would fall. Maybe I’ll tell you guys about it one day.

There have been tears; tears that would have probably filled a pool if I kept them. There have been times of distress, discomfort, sickness, pain and near surrender. And as much as I love to be hard on myself, today, I’d like to show a little love to myself. I’ve shown great strength and resilience to the bullshit life has offered me. I’m just here, hoping and praying for complete healing and a higher knowledge of my worth in the next year. If that’s even possible.

Merry Christmas and a happy new year guys! Don’t forget to laugh at serious moments.

Bold-ish
Regrets

December 5th, 2018

The day the mechanic died, I was in the kitchen giving a dance performance to one of Ayefele’s songs in front of my cousin.

I heard my dad’s loud voice from upstairs. He was singing loudly as he usually did. Flakes and I rolled our eyes and shook our heads laughing at his untuned voice and resumed my show. We stopped abruptly a few seconds after. That wasn’t a song. He was lamenting.

“O God! O God why? O God why? Why?”

My heart sank and I ran upstairs jumping two steps at a time.

I met him in the prayer room. His eyes were red and wet with tears and he hid his face from me.

“Daddy what happened? What’s wrong?”

My mind raced and many thoughts entered my head. Did something happen to mum? Was his business okay? What could have happened to make daddy breakdown?

I probed some more before he looked up to me and broke the news – “Oluware is dead.” A cold shiver went down my spine.

You see, uncle Oluware was not just a mechanic to us. He was like family and there was not one week that passed that he didn’t come over. In fact, it was when he didn’t come over the last week that my mum figured something was wrong and reached out to him. He was terribly sick. He had adult measles and another sickness at the same time. But that’s not the point of my post.
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Dealing with loss

November 15th, 2018

I’d be the first to let you know that I haven’t really dealt with the death of my mother. I have buried it deep down and haven’t come to terms with it.

I honestly haven’t cried that I lost her.

I’ve cried that she didn’t get to see my husband and tease him, cried that my children wouldn’t be able to receive her kisses and unending love, cried for the people that depended on her, cried that I couldn’t save her.

But not once have I cried that the only person I have loved with all of my heart is no longer here with me. That I would no longer have air kiss competitions after she told me she loved me at the end of our phone conversations. I haven’t cried that I wouldn’t hear her call me ‘pretty babe’ while caressing my face or take a jab at my small bum and squeeze it.
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Back rubs

November 11th, 2018

The back pains started again yesterday.

It was a sad day.

If this happened last year, I’d have comforted myself in the fact that my mother would be back soon to give me her healing back rubs.

“Just a few more months. Be patient”

There was nothing to comfort myself in yesterday. Knowing that I’d never feel her tender, yet firm hands kneading my back and sharing in my pain with her words.

But I’m comforted in the fact that there’s a God who loves me more than my mum could have ever been capable of. So he’ll give me those back rubs when I need them. He’d not only share my pain, but he’d also take them away completely.

I have to learn to trust in his love and realize that he’s enough for me.
Bald-ish

November 8th, 2018

So I shaved my hair.

I had been thinking of shaving my head for over a year but my balls hadn’t grown big enough. “What if the shape of your head is bad? Get a boyfriend first, that way, he can’t leave when you shave your head. Is it not a sin?”

Finally, my balls overgrew and exploded.

*poof* (more…)
Protected: Blackbirds.

October 16th, 2018

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Conversations with her.

October 10th, 2018

“Onidi gan lebe,” she squeezed my bum. “I’m just joking. O de rerin”

I forced a small chuckle. She was too much sometimes, but I loved her anyway.
Fere Bi Ekun.

October 2nd, 2018

Tribute to a mother.

Most times, I don’t have the words to explain who my mother was. It’s really hard to condense her whole being and the different sides of her I got to experience into a few sentences. But I will try.

I’ll share a story with you. A moment I keep very dearly in my heart.
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Not so fiction.

September 24th, 2018

I recently listened to Chimamanda’s Ted talk ‘The danger of the single story’. It reminded me of old times so I decided to tell you my story.

For the longest time, all my characters had ‘English’ names; from Kate to John to my favourite name, Eric (I overused this name sote I’m sure all the Erics were sneezing multiple times). I struggled to give them the ‘abroad’ lifestyle that I was not familiar with. Forced them to eat baked beans, drink orange juice with their bowl of cereal and speak back to their parents. I mean, unlike Chimamanda, I knew what baked beans tasted like but it was the underlying problem I became worried about. I held the ‘international’ lifestyle so high that I started to think I wasn’t good enough. The characters in my writings mocked my Nigerian accent and my lunch of stewed beans and plantain. Why didn’t school serve us burgers as lunch? Why couldn’t my thirteen-year-old boyfriend sleep over in my room? Why couldn’t I go for walks to the parks? (more…)