It is 21:57
I sat on the brown leather sofa in the sitting room, my entire attention affixed to the flat screen right before me, dad had just downed a few glasses of Carlo Rossi.
if you stand and look at the sight of the shore, you’ll never cross the ocean…
Dad says to me: you’ve got to be ambitious,you’ve got to have a large heart, be a woman of vision…
If you stay within the confines of comfort, the ability to enlarge your coast will begin to elude you
Have dreams and have goals, life is valueless without them
My own father stopped with a motor-cycle, and whilst i was growing up, i vowed to do better, i got a vehicle 🙂 and you also have to do better
Final Admonition: You must have a dream, a very tall dream
Behind a man of success, is a woman of vision, and you must strive to become that woman.
Never be one to get entangled with someone that does not understand your vision
Do not be over-joyous with infinitesimal feats, a farmer may get to have a bountiful harvest now but he is oblivious of how the next season will turn out. Tables turn and tides change, sometimes for the better and other times for the worse, always have an alternative.
The most important people in life, are the people right here, right now, the ones that define reality,they make the seemingly impossible possible, choose wisely people who will support your dreams.
He ends it with Never stop dreaming my dear,never stop having a tall dream.
It has been a quite painful week, amidst the deep throaty laughter shared with my slightly crazy friends, the bubbling excitement over the resumption of a new and my penultimate semester in the faculty of law, university of Lagos, clasped in the palm of my mind had been the thought of what could have been.
How friendships could easily turn sour.
Myriads of emotions flowed through my blood filled veins, a staggering pain hammering its way towards the core of my all but stony heart. It wasn’t in the way he ignores me each time I try to say hi, not in the way he indirectly insults me on social media, not even the way he bad-mouths me to his friends within the confines of King Jaja Hostel mattered much to me.
It was the fact that this was a person I could say absolutely anything to, even the most ridiculous ‘gists’ manifestly laced with absurdities, I couldn’t watch a kissing scene without covering my eyes, but I could talk to him about Sex (something I couldn’t and still cannot discuss with any person on earth), the pains and glory without batting an eye-lash, with him I could just be me. And now as I stare from a safe distance searching for clues and subtleties about a man that had once held my heart spell bound, I see an alien; I feel a sense of loss, filled with so much anger, bitterness and self pride, he had become a person that I could no longer recognise.
I tried to run.
I would look at him with a longing I had never thought I could feel, later I would come to realise that he wasn’t interested. There was an ex in the picture that I never knew existed. I would accompany him everywhere as I never wanted to know the sorrow of departing from his glorious presence, yet still…
Secretly I would hopefully wish that we could together, bypass the formalities, damn the unknown and gracefully slide into some sort of fairy tailed intimacy. Often times, lines from a song by Colbie Caillat would cross my mind:
I don’t know boy, I think I may be falling for you, dropping so quickly…
I’ve been spending all my time just thinking about you, I don’t know what to do
A penny for my wishful thinking one would assume, but my thinking made me all the more penniless, if not even stuck in some form of abject emotional impoverishment.
I burned, I melted but I did it all alone.
And then love was damned.
It had all come down to the wellbeing of my sanity, feeling so small and stupid, I finally convinced myself that it was nothing but a lost cause.
After all, what has love got to do with it?
A second hand emotion or nah?
Good fortune would later bring me to the door step of a man who would love, cherish and respect me whether I felt the same way or not. Till today I still wake up at dawn to pinch myself and at the same time ask myself “Baby girl, it this for real! It’s been a roller coaster of brimming love I tell ya.
All those things about a guy calling you day and night to check on you isn’t too far-fetched, and trust me, it just never gets tiring NEVER!
The other guy, yeah he fell in love, did I mention that I was the “lucky girl” but by then, I was over it, done and dusted were the words stamped in bright tomato red over the ruins and ashes of what was but never could be. Let’s be friends we said, but that didn’t work out for long and at the end of the day it became a criminal case of an “Unrequited love”, a few fallouts and the end seemed near, it’s funny you’re the broken one when all along I was the one that needed saving.
You know all those things lifeguards do at the beach to resuscitate a lad who almost got drowned? Yeah I tried that but someone’s larger than life ego got in the way. Trying not to go all Taylor swift on you but the question still remains:
What has love really got to do with it?
I do not blame him for not knowing the gentleness of my soul
When I only showed him how violently I loved
I remain loyal man but;
If people were rain you’d be a drizzle and I a hurricane, your love came a little too late, and what is that proverb about an opportunity lost? Well, you get the drift.
It was 8:25pm, I and my sister had been waiting at the bus-stop for 30 minutes, the streets of ketu was getting unbearable, the stench of raw and spoilt tomatoes filled the air, the acrid smell of smoke stung my eyes and I was getting hit left and right by pedestrians who were scurrying home. There was absolutely no means of transportation, it was as though all the commercial buses had been evacuated from the streets of Lagos, a million curse words ran through my mind as I tried so hard to contain my frustration, there was no one to vent my anger on save my younger sister who was also as upset as I was. Not long after, a loud shrill rang in the air like a clap of thunder. “Owode-onirin, ajegunle, ikorodu garage” the conductor screamed. E wole pelu 150naira change, mi o ni change o, he kept ranting like a mental patient, it was obvious he was drunk, not with wine but with cigarette.
I looked at the Japanese made tata molue and made up my mind that I’d rather crawl home than go in. Then again, nobody knew when the next bus would arrive. I said a short prayer under my breath, summoned courage and entered into the molue with my younger sister following suit. As I stepped in, I literally lost my breath, not because I was fascinated but because of the horrible stench that teased my nose. Finally got a place to sit, was somewhat glad for a moment as my tired legs got the rest they deserved. Alas, I never knew my woes had just begun. I turned left to adjust my bag, there I came face to face to an ‘ancient’ man with scaly skin, I tried to turn my head but I wasn’t fast enough, he opened his mouth to shout at the conductor, and as his ‘breath’ tickled my nose, I felt my brain shut-down, and then I knew I had died a second death. As if it was not enough, his skin kept grazing mine, and at every touch, I cringed as if I was being sliced to pieces. Not long after, a tradesman stood up to advertise his wares, “goorevening good nigeriens, I have come in peace and not war, today I have this breast enlargement cream, for u women wey no get bobbi, if u rub am, your bobbi go big sote, your man no go fit leave you”, as he was speaking, a black young man asked: ‘how I go fit know say this tin go work’ and the other man retorted, shey u no know the size of your girl’s bobbi ni, you go see the change na, and at once they all burst into laughter. I opened my mouth to speak but no words seem to come out, how in the world did I find myself in this bus? Quite a pity no one could hear my thoughts but me. All of a sudden the bus stopped, the conductor started ranting again, calling for more passengers, I burst into hysterical laughter as I tried to imagine where they would sit or stand as the bus was already filled to its brim. How gullible this conductor is, I thought to myself, just as we were about leaving, a BRT bus rammed into us from behind, the force was so strong that it immediately sent shock waves to my brain. Everyone started to rain curses on the driver in the usual Nigerian fashion, the cackle of noise filled my ears in such a large volume that I feared the loss of my hearing. We were already half-way, my mind was pre-occupied with how I was going to spend at least an hour in the bathroom scrubbing and ridding my skin of any poisonous object I might have picked in the bus. As my thought process was going on, two fat men started a legal argument. I tried to focus on what they were saying, the more I listened the more the biblical saying ‘my people perish for lack of knowledge’ rang in my head, bemused I was as I heard a literate and illiterate man exchange words in brittle banter over a thing they both had no knowledge of. Not long again, a religious argument rose up, I thought to myself, cant these mere mortals keep shut for once, their incessant noise was pushing my frustration up the rung of the ladder. Then the conductor screamed again AGRIC!!! I shouted back without thinking twice, conductor owa o, e ma koja bus-stop mi o ehn ehn, mo ti so temi fun yin. It was 10pm, I finally alighted from the old rickety stinky molue, indeed it was a heavy sigh of relief, and I waved happily as the bus departed from sight, knowing fully well that I’d never board such again. What an experience I mused, I’ve got to write about this!