Scribblings Of A Dramatic Introvert

Maybe it hasn't been all that bad. Everybody has been talking about their year in retrospect, as today is the last day, yet I found a way to get pissed off at the concept.  It's just another Thursday. Tomorrow is just another day and it doesn't matter. While I was sulking about how cliche it sounds to carry out an end of the year accountability and rub it in everyone's faces, my brother thought to ginger me and point out that I've not been a total bum this year.  Count your little wins and exaggerate them if it makes you feel better, he said.  I had plans to write of how useless the year has been, but here instead I'd sing about how great it's been. One tiny win at a time; as a blogger, social media noise maker, educator, friend and maybe, just a little bit as a one-time medical student. The bum: I had the worst oral exam of my life this year and cried for days in the bathroom and longer under my blanket because I'm such a baby. A few weeks later, my gro...

"It was love at first sight",  "I knew she was the one", "He fought for us", "I can't imagine life without her in it." A. Must be nice to sit back and watch your 12 grandchildren turn your house into a playground, screaming and sending your blood pressure up. You tell your wife not to chase after them because kids will be kids. Of course you're their favourite grandpa. It's your last daughter's wedding and she bagged a fine young man, like her two older sisters who wed before her. You hear her tell her friends on the eve of her wedding that she wanted her man to be just like you, her father- perfect.  You pull your beautiful, incredibly 'still hot' wife to your side and whisper that you love her. You do, in fact. Despite how much she breaks your heart, you love how much she has been committed to keeping you both together. She didn't have crazy dreams, she just took care of the babies and made a few cents to buy you a t...

Jittery The past few days have been tough. I've been slipping in and out of myself, questioning why I have to be stuck in this limbo, every new day bringing new meaning to edginess.  My pastor once said my generation suffers from information overload due to our exposure to the internet; social media being our go-to for every update. Torn between being ignorant and knowing what's going on, we expose ourselves to everyone's emotions; taking it all in without room for careful selection.  You're scrolling through your timeline and you see a graphic image of someone hacked to death, burnt, or shot at; you want to know what happened but the story is even much worse than the image. The brutality you realize you're not immune to; you could really just die for being unlucky. Insomnia, overwhelming sadness and everything else hits you. Today, I saw a police officer wield a pistol pointing to the sky, aiming. He wasn't the only one, as the others looked even more dangerous...

"Jeez, what happened to your face?" Yes, people would walk up to you to ask this. And yes, the question is as rattling as ever each time, as it brings all your insecurities rushing back full force. Usually, some shady routine is suggested for the ghastly incident on your face that ranges from acne to heat rash or some stubborn strain of  Tinea vesicolor stunting on you.  There's a classic disgust they wear on their faces while commiserating with you. It's usually at the edge of my tongue to say "It really doesn't hurt, unless you poke that way" but I keep it in every time.  So since I was a little kid, I've always had one skin problem or the other; my brother still hisses his frustration whenever I mention something else that went wrong with my face again. My mom said I was about  four years old when the first break-out happened. It gave me the worst picture memory I'll ever have, sitting there, trying to look pretty but with a body of red beat ...

"Looking sharp" sounds like a better compliment than "You look like a pastor's wife" which I had to smile to on Sunday, with a thank you, because church girls are polite and I look like a classic one; at least on most days.  Proverbs 22:6 classically says to train a child in the way they should go and they shall not depart from it (I just googled this Bible verse, my brain is empty for church things). Well, to be honest there's the part of me that is scared of derailing morally or rather "backsliding straight into hell" but other than that, I don't think Jesus is proud of me. Although that's personal; should be personal.  There's been interesting days in this church girl thing which I feel like writing about. One particularly hasn't left my head. The one at Ibadan. Nothing prepared me for the "sanctuary" I was visiting. Gathering of faithfuls? Definitely faithful to the movement. The fun part: As a Christian, I'm not n...

  What's your quarantine routine like? 161 days later, I know the world has indeed moved on from the pandemic, yet here I am, talking about it after 23 weeks (feels like 934 weeks, uurrrgghhh). I get asked "So what are you up to?" almost every other day and my handy reply is "Well, I'm living and breathing." Okay well, living things breathe and feed and do those MR NIGER D thingy, although there's not a lot of movement (I'm stuck in my bedroom cell 28/30 days a month), growth(I'm still 5'7 and all round flattened) or reproduction (well, mating isn't permitted yet) going on in my life at the moment. And clearly I'm not dead, so that strikes off the D. The "I" should be emboldened though, because I am soo irritable, but we don't want to talk about that now. Is this a whine about being stuck at home and being helpless about it, without any moral lesson at the end? Hell yes. Should I shut up and accept it? Well, I did that f...

If you want closure, come  get (over) it. A couple of years back, I had this incredible breakup barely one month into dating and although I was the instigator of calling it quits, it felt so awkward and off to just end it that way. For me, I couldn't stand it anymore and felt like I was being strangled into accepting the relationship (although there's details that might not add up if I start with the list now), so I said I wanted out and since he plainly told me there was no option of "taking a break"...Whatever. First set of persons that I told I had broken up with my boyfriend thought I was batshit crazy. "How dare you mess with such a lovely human? What on earth do you want, you unsatisfiable wench?" They went on and on and left me in shock. I thought I did the right thing. I mean, he had flags blazing red before my eyes. (He was really a sweetheart to everyone though, so yeah I was the wench) Anyway, I decided to go down the closure lane, following the a...

I said so many sorrys and forgot what I was apologizing for. It makes everything better when you take responsibility and mutter the word, sorry. I learnt that very early in life, so I mastered the art of apologizing. I accepted my flaws right from being a terrible cook, (or maybe that's what I've been made to believe since I had to apologise for every pinch of salt that exceeded the cut for her taste buds), to being an awful student who never had perfect grades. I get scared before presenting myself to be assessed and when a comment is passed about a stray hair strand outside the bun, I apologise for it- Identity crisis? I say sorry for looking below par and being poor at making myself pretty. I said sorry when he walked over me, and apologized to whoever cared to ask for being so gullible. I said sorry when I tripped and made people ask if I was okay. I said sorry when I choked on water and made everyone worried. I said sorry for not eating a lot and being skinny. I apologized...

There's a whole textbook definition for pain. Yet, the amazing thing is that pain is what the person tells you it is. It's subjective. This time, mine isn't the abstract kind of pain, it's the physical one. I can clearly see what's causing the gut-wrenching screams of ache. My feet is killing me, and my abdomen feels like a knife is being twist in and shoved deeper. My head is ringing and when I place my hands over it, I just want to yank it off, while closely considering the option to slit my wrists to relieve the pain that shoots through my arms. Everywhere is so cold and I can feel the life leaving me. When it sets in (some five minutes every goddamn hour), the pain has a way of messing with everything I think I can normally handle just fine. So many chemical pathways; some poorly understood and others well outlined. The basis of all these is simple: pain eats me up. It makes me forget who I am and what matters to me. I need it to stop so bad, and as I try to not...

2017; It's not second nature, but the only nature you've got. Very much worse than a petty habit; it's your addiction, glued to your oozing skin, reeking of every piss you excrete from your flayed pores. You gotta do what you gotta do- For you it's spinning webs of fables. It's human to err, you say to your dying humanity in defence, yet you seem to have become a god at the art of fable-spinning. I bet you can't recall the last truth you ever told, since every turn in your sick life is a damning lie. I hope the stench of your rotting conscience fills up your nostrils, even as I pray with all my heart it never reaches in time. Probably until your soul is caught up in the tangle of thick blinding webs you've drawn, in your bid to cast a veil over the eyes of unsuspecting victims. I hope you end up clawing at your own throat from the deceit that ever rolls off your tongue. 'Siyah

  Send me lilies...    I caught  my heart racing when I read through your mail. It didn't stop for two full hours, and for the next twenty four hours I couldn't get your face out of my head. I tried, you bet I did. Catchphrase: The trick is to not think about it. So I stopped thinking of everything that could go wrong, and sent you a reply. That wasn't hard, easypeasy; it felt right. I want to write more about you; how I've asked myself what on earth is wrong with me more often than not, or how I wonder who first lost their minds of us both- but I'm just going to dance around the words and come up with gibberish. Send me lilies when you can. Call me. Chardonnay sounds nice. Tastes better. So let's have some one evening in November. Then, I hope to still want nothing more than listen to you laugh and call myself a fool. You asked what I expected when I said hello, I said nothing.  There was nothing to expect, you just were-  White lilies; White is a favourit...

The conversations in my head go this way. Sometimes I have no idea which of me I'm conversing with, but more often than not, she is. "This too shall pass away. Do not panic. It's easy for me to whisper this to you, or try to convince you to focus on nothing but your breathing, but it is what it is. You can't change a lot of things that happen to you.  Choices? A friend once asked if I really believed we had any.  Control? I have none.  So why do you tell me not to panic? It changes nothing, and you know this.  You have no control over your reaction to how bad things may appear. But you have a decision to make, whether or not to spend time thinking about the already made choices, or sunbathing and leaving your life to the tide the heavens choose for you. Are the heavens real? Are they even seven? No, I don't know. You feel better when you don't try so hard to justify it all. Why do you bother about my pathetic reaction to what I have no control over? You're ...

Life 307 "You don't get what you want , you get what you get."  -Gregory House "Maybe you could've made better decisions." I offered, as Sam opened another bottle and passed it to me.  He nodded, taking a swig straight from the beer bottle in his hand, "I've been told I married the wrong girl. Your mother said she's bad luck."  He was staring at the night sky, reaching his hand to slap at a mosquito drumming in his ears, audible enough for us both to hear and cringe-  a downside to living in the slums of Agege. "I don't think so. Your wife is awesome." I wasn't kidding, Rose was the best woman I had ever met. When I was younger, I created an image of my own future spouse just by looking at her. He scoffed and watched me squeeze my eyes shut as I gulped from my bottle. "It's a mess. My life is riddled with bad luck. Just mine." I opened my eyes and tried to peer into his, under the moonlight. I saw the regret ...

My brother gave me the scar on my left wrist. That was nowhere near his fault. I can't recall what the fight had been about, but it ended with a wrestle with me claiming I could beat him up. The war of superiority. We heard the crash of the ceramic plates- the ones we refused to pack up after lunch- onto the hard tiled floor, as we were locked in on each other, trying to inflict injury on the barest visible flesh on the other contender. I felt the sting of pain, and it was when I started screaming we realized there was blood all over the floor. I got stitches in some hours later. We had a shouting battle a couple of years ago though. There wasn't a turning point after that fight. He bought me a bracelet for my last birthday. He regrets the wrist incidence, even if he never said it. I've never seen him so scared all my life. Even worse, I'd never seen concern so evident on our parents face, but dad is a jolly good man. I told him this evening to practice the walk down th...

Rotting leaves sweep into the dim-lighted room as the cold wind blows hard around the building. I can faintly hear the old nurse lady whisper to the Reverend, "she won't see the morning light." It's been a year since I first felt your presence, Santa Muerte. That bright Sunday morning that brought dusk early, when brother fell and I choked on my tears, begging the Lord for answers. His skin had blackened as his eyes slowly turned out. I was peering down at him, his gaze holding mine, while the life left him. Tonight, I'm going to be the loss. I want to see you as you come for me. To hold your eyes, while I slowly feel my grasp losing from what light is left in me. I can feel my lungs collapse as I hear the distant wheeze. Mine, maybe. Now I understand the phrase, "as you draw your last breath". Hades.  I want to scream, as you wrap your claws around my throat. Pain.  Realization that I am last of our name, and no one left of my bloodline would mourn me. ...

The caret is blinking on my screen, urging me to click letter after letter as I try to create a post about the story of us.  Yet minutes later, I find myself mesmerized by your B/W JPEG on my screensaver. Lost in your eyes.  You'd been gazing right at me as I took the picture, mumbling about my annoying penchant for snapping you at the oddest of times. I was being silly- joking in the most serious of times, you had told me as I took several snapshots, definitely getting that smile to reach your eyes. You're so beautiful, and I beg you to indulge me as I devote myself a sucker for you. My goofiness ain't it, you keep saying. Yet your eyes tell me you'd keep me goofy all our lives. You said you'll die first before losing me. I believed you. You could've lied in my face, and I'd be damned if I fail to admit how great you are at it. You made me royalty. Yours mostly. Once you caught me in your arms and backed me up against a wall, your breath fanning my neck as ...

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, handing me a glass of water.  I'm  staring at the clock mounted above her.  Forty five seconds.  It wasn't just about you forcing yourself onto me. When you ripped my dress, I choked on my own screams. It was shock. They never told me it leaves you utterly confounded. You shoved my head against the headboard. That must have been when I stopped thinking. It didn't matter what I did. I was ruined in that moment. Hours, days or light years. It took forever. I mentally counted the ticks off the large wall clock high up and close to the ceiling.  I recall the seconds hand was hanging onto 1 for so long when I got caught in the envelope of pain; it ticked ever slowly as you pushed harder, I thought I was going to die when it reached 6. It struck 10 and you grunted, lifting off me.  Everything became a blend of blur. There was pain. The physical one when you entered me. There was the other pain; I was locked up in it. Yo...