3 hours in and my body forces me awake. Body heat fluctuating because it can’t understand how I can sleep while my mind’s in emotional disarray.
The light pierces through my eyelids, and having the flash of bright light, I find myself staring at the white ceiling.
Maybe I’m not as good in communication as I thought.
The world holds its breath when she goes quiet.
I hold mine too,
Because the world fades to grey till she speaks again.
So we wait.
Patiently, we wait.
I do this a lot.
I dress my worries, concerns and ‘sigh’ stories in a series of unnecessary literary complexities because it has become increasingly easier to over-simplify the thoughts that race through my mind than to call them for what they are.
Nuisances
The thoughts, not yet spoken, bouncing around like a soda can about to be opened, and yet when the metal seal breaks it’s metal skin, instead of the expected rush of carbonated oral explosion, all I am capable of in that moment, is the gradual hiss of the sounds needed to ease off the pressure off my mind.
Carbon dissipates as the mind regulates back to norm, the coke losing the taste of what attracted its consumer.
I spend so much time navigating the whimsical nature of my mental landscape, as I and I argue the philosophical nature of the world I’ve been born in, often lamenting at how long the discussions take, and how little they manifest in reality.
Dreams upon dreams of change that I remain unsure as to whether or not they’d manifest in my lifetime.
One minute lost in the lands of Horizon Zero Dawn, marveling at the sight that a room of 100+ developers had managed to create, and the next minute, I’m sorting out the plans for my future, my scope, size and possibilities, seasoning the plate with relationship and familiar plans.
The world grows ever colder as the fires of hate burns brighter than ever. The broken branches of alliances being used to stoke the cold flame. The west and the east remain locked in a quiet battle as governmental figures joust with their words, their citizens being used as bet or worse, bait.
The rich acquire more as the not rich bleed the remains of their monthly gain into the pocket of the tax collectors and insurers. The healthy condemn the health service, hoping for dismantling even as the sick look towards the service that reminds them that they too are human.
We are taught that we are different, even though the we bleed the same red elixir of life when we are cut.
Truth is dismissed, regarded as a tool the media utilizes to control, as the people mistake facts for opinions. Lies become the standard of honesty, on the account of being able to “trust them to lie, hence implying i can trust them notwithstanding“
Fragility is one of the traits that represent humanity, in its delicate definition allowing humans to break… And be put together again.
And with our fragile hearts in its protected frame, we toss, pass and shoot like a game of handball, hoping that our hearts never quite touch the floor, but instead, make it into the court of whom our attraction is pointed towards.
Yet.
Emotional landmines litter the wall of life like a battlefield, waiting for victims to step on and watch their fragile hearts explode in pieces.
Then we spend the days/weeks/months/years carefully putting together what we saw break down. It’s frustrating, it’s hard, its delicate and tender, sore from its misuse. But we took, day in and day out at working to ensure we are protected for the next time, because we didn’t learn from the first time.
And still.
Even with all our hard work and sleepless, pillow wet nights, there always exists a missing piece to the full puzzle.
The eternal evidence that we will never really be whole again.
And that hurts.
I live in a world where my skin acts as the unwanted filter to whether or not i get particular life choices. Like an RPG game, where I’m hindered from progression via a pathway simply because I’m of the wrong race.
But we deal.
We buckle down and adhere by the rules of the land. We assimilate and confirm because it’s easier. Or so we’d like to believe.
It’s easier to listen.
It’s easier to not be eligible to buy a house because I’m not eligible for a loan of sorts.
It’s easier to work twice as hard for a position even though i already possess more qualifications than my counterparts.
It’s easier to be shot dead simply because i appeared more threatening on account of my height and my skin colour.
It’s easier to be profiled before speaking, then re-profiled for having a good grasp of the nation’s language, culture and art.
And yet, I’m still hated on account of me being black.
And then there’s you.
The average person trying to make ends meet, and better yet, achieve those childish dreams that made you colour books and play dress up.
I’m only a voice in the corner of the internet, having whimsical conversations with myself.
But you.
You can be great.
Heck, you ARE great.
Now i don’t know if anyone has told you lately, but take it from me… Me, the written calligraphic words on your screen.
I believe in you.
Go be Awesome.
The beauty of the shiny green pastures wheeze past me gracefully, as they remain static in their growth, dancing only to the soft wind that blew across the quiet land.
Back when it was just me, enduring the quiet rides by the windowsill of the Virgin train that ran all the way back to the place I’m duty bound to call Home. The carriage maintains a just above average hum, of the occupants discussing the day’s events, retelling stories of past memories, making plans for the weekend in London and the likes.
It’s at times like this, where I look towards the horizon and watch the night sky slowly take over the activities it’s day sister has relegated to him. The purple haze at the horizon point, slowly painting the sky into an artistic blue, before place the yellow dotted wonders that make up the starry sky. Sometimes, if I focus enough, I remember the days when I’d sleep outside with my family, back in Nigeria, on the cars of the house, due to the absence of light.
And we’d indulge in our dreams of the future but most importantly, the quiet companionship under the starry sky.
Reality however, has a odd way of taking things off you when you believe it is all you could ever want. But Life, as it turns out, would make it clear you don’t need.
The train used to be just me.
Then I introduced myself to you, in the blue dress as you sat quietly in the corner, watching the minutes pass by on our mutual’s graduation celebration. I hadn’t thought that far ahead when we exchanged names, and I pestered for your number.
Here you are… next to me, and as we spend the journey watching a movie as the train makes its way back down to the place we call Home. Your focus is on the scenes taking place on the small screen of my tablet surface, while my mind’s focus is on you. You. In my serenity, causing me no comfort.
I can’t look out the windowsill anymore, to the beauty of nature that the Creator blessed the Earth with, because you now stand in the way, and any attempt of mine to look past you ends, with me just looking at you.
But.
I think He gave me a better view of the beauty I’d like to keep on seeing for as long as He’d let me see…
You.
Over the last couple months, I’ve lived, loved and lost.
I’ve enjoyed a wonderful set of months that words don’t quite come close to explaining it. Ironically, I haven’t done much so maybe it’s the relative peace of mind I’m enjoying. And that’s coming from someone who worries a lot.
I’ve loved and still loving, to be completely honest with you, the lady in my life has she has taken it upon herself to become the deterrent to my not so pleasant self. She’s awesome and I try to let her know everyday
And I’ve lost.
If you’ve stuck around to listen to the conversation I have with myself this has to be something that has cropped up over the years.ive lost friends, attitudes, some hobbies and some aspects of my personality I’m still not sure I’m supposed to lose, but methinks that’s a different conversation.
That said.
The future is more focused now and all I’m focusing on is the intensity of that which I don’t know. The uncertainty at taking the next step in a life journey without actually knowing what the step will lead to.
Its like standing at the helm of a cruise boat staring at the possibility of a sunny trip, torrential downpour and storm, wondering where the steering my lead.
It’s all confusing.
All these information being absorbed and yet my mind can’t sift through fast enough to figure out my next plans. My eldest sister would argue and say I have no forward planning.
Before I’d argue but now I’d agree, albeit in a rebellious reluctant attitude, but how can I have forward planning when I’m don’t know what forward I’m trying to move towards to.
Society popularly teaches that the early 20s are when you should be unsure about the future as you try to find your feet, but I can’t help but wonder if that timeframe is extended.
I know what I’d like at the end of the tunnel, but I’m left second guessing if it would be worth it. With everything else suddenly fighting for priority, would my destination at the end of the tunnel change?
More importantly, is this how people’s dreams die?
At the murderous hands of uncertainty and non-existent clarity?
The time is past sunset now, the dark blueish tint enveloping the night sky above.
It’s a Sunday. Stereotypically evident, by the lack of cars on the road, and the orange glow of lighting in everyone’s home. It’s the day to cut back. Society would have you believe that should be a Saturday but it’s a lie.
Sunday is when you rest. Sunday is when you reflect.
In a few short hours, the subsect of the world of which it remains night goes quiet as the mind relegates to it’s battery saver state, preparing for the morning wake and the subsequent actions that follow. Clockwork really, as the body gets set back into its routine of making money and pretending to look busier than they actually are in hopes of making more.
Typical stuff.
When I was younger, I used to fantasise that I’d be sitting at the edge of a building, or beachhead or balcony, watching the sunset in the horizon. This…dream would usually be populated by close friends and a girlfriend, conversing, laughing, socialising and eventually being comforted by the silence of being next to loved ones, as we gaze into the distance of where our deepest dreams lay accomplished. The sunset would usually be in its earliest position, the orange glow bathing us in that warm hug of loving goodness, just before it dips below the horizon.
The sunset is different now. My fantasy having being transformed by life experiences, the orange tint is absent. Now? It’s just me at the edge alone, sitting with my eyes closed.
It’s relevance in being open is useless here.
After all, what’s there to see but the dark purple mix of warm and cool, painting the sky in the uncertainty of what the future might hold. I had once believed that my path onwards would be one taken together with a group of like-minded people, walking hand in hand.
My naivety has been cruel to me. I once led myself to dream that we’d all congregate in years time, together on that edge but even I knew that to be a lie.
Maybe it’s time I get up from the view before me and return back to the house.
The world is currently amassing into groups and crowds as the global clock ticks towards the end of the day. The end of the month. The end of the year.
As expected, numerous blog post will post up new things to look forward to in the new year, or new outlooks to embrace, or games to expect or movies to anticipate, so on and so forth.
Some will congregate inside churches, dancing, praising and worshipping their way into the new year, while the others will congregate in clubs and bars and all, dancing and welcoming in the new year with unbound reverie.
The darkness outside forces me to cast my mind back through the year, to inspect on how the year has gone and all I have is a sober gratitude to my Maker that I’m at the door to the next one.
If I localise the feeling, it’s been a wonderful year. I’ve got a girlfriend. I’ve got a new job. I feel different and happier. There’s a new respect between my dad and I. While admittedly, I have a few gripes with certain plans, it’s been a good year.
If I expand the circle past the boundaries of home, the world has become increasingly dangerous. Radicalism is back on the rise as people take advantage of deep seated frustrations and transform them to hate. So we’re back to hating each other as the ones that rule us intentionally cause discord and divide between us.
I don’t know what next year holds.
But my hands on the door, and I guess I can only hope and pray that next year goes as God wills it to.
Happy New Year in 3… 2…
I can taste the blood in my mouth, strong, iron. My tongue flicks in disgust, curiosity and conceded to the truth of the matter. My gum is bleeding somewhere. My finger goes in to inspect, i feel the teeth, following the tongue as it led me to the culprit. I touch it, I check.
My chest rises and falls as my mind contemplates the occurrence of the bleeding gum. It is fleeting however, as my mind returns back to the conundrum at hand. The box of cold cases opened at the feet of my mental detectives.
It remains in the middle, as they all stare at it frightfully. Certain boxes, after all, really shouldn’t be opened, especially after much hassle and heart pain had been felt over the cases themselves.
Imagery aside, I find myself jousting with the same foes that I have battled for a long time. The same set of enemies, the same set of moves… just this time, we fight on a new battleground.
The darkness outside reminds me I’m alone out here. Minimal social contact, except for housemates but not enough to fill the void within. I feel lonely. A feeling I fought repeatedly when I sought work in a time when I had none. The feeling of being stuck in the cubicle of a room, staring at the walls and the phone hoping someone could draw you out of the house even if it was brief. But no… not over here. It’s cold out. And the absence of a four-wheeled beauty meant my legs stayed stuck to the floor of my room, as I found solace in what used to be my coping system. Gaming.
I power the system and wait for it to come on.
“En garde”, my mind shouts as I battle Frustration with frustration. Frustration at the fact the my future is still a mathematical puzzle with no imaginary number to solve it. I’m not even trying to take control of God’s plans for my life, but I’m quite literally staring at a blank screen hoping that it would eventually show static.
Frustration at the fact that I’ve spent so much but gained so little from all the driving lessons I’ve done. Oh, I can drive, but when your job requires you to move about just before your driving test, then you get into a bind of sorts. Multiply that with the multitude of new lessons in a new area, plus the postponement upon postponement of test date, then you have to question why your bank account has a picture of you doing a back flip into the red zone.
“10/10 would Olympics again”
Frustration at the realization that I am prone to forgetting stuff which in turn makes me make blunders that I spend time apologizing for. I stress that audible articulation is not my best form of communication. Yet people expect just that. Heck, as it stands, written is not even as efficient but it tends to be more precise than the things I say because my mind is quite humorously inept in stringing sentences together well enough for me to say them.
Cue the ho-hum.
My mind flips through the other cases… Hope, Life, Career, Love, Motivation and a couple more obscure names flash across. It chickens out and closes the boxes with an exasperated sigh.
The cold cases get dropped as usual, as the mental detectives find comfort in the mental donuts of memes. Why worry about that which supersedes your mental strength?, I feel my mind whisper to itself as it wiped the sugary white dust off its mouth. I grimace and tighten my hold on the gaming controller.
The screen comes to life in a colorful glee that I gladly lose myself within the folds of that which remains unreal.
Why worry?
I want to write you a letter.
At first the feeling dawned upon me like sweet morning dew gracing the beautiful green of trees and plants everywhere. The colours became clearer, the sounds became sharper, and deep within me, I knew I was dead certain that I want to write you a letter.
But I am stuck.
You see, I find myself dangling on the edge of possibilities of what the letter could entail just for you, but still left indecisive as to what would be best.
Do I write to lift your spirit up? To tell you how life, while complex in itself, is simple when left in the hands of your Creator? To motivate, teach, push and assist you through all that might hinder your progress? I recall the day we spoke last, about dreams and goals and I recall you being just as indecisive as I am right now. You remained unsure as to what path to take. Thinking back, maybe I should have nudged you down what I thought would have been better for you. Then again, I wonder… would you have been offended if I did that? I don’t know. Hindsight.
Do I write to describe and display my vulnerability to you? give you the potential to wound me deep with your pen and word? Do I tell you the things that make me weak? the things that make me afraid? Do you remember when we had the discussion we had about the mistake I made when I was relatively young and naive? I had gotten so relaxed in flesh that I didn’t see the pitfall in front of me. My goodness, did I fall.
It’s all hilarious now when I look back, but my goodness was I afraid. Of consequences, of future, of self. Hindsight.
Do I write to address the issues of the heart and how I feel about you? Will you accept it this second time round? Will you forgive me for writing it, as opposed to saying it? Because my oral articulation suffers when incoherence sets in from anxiety pressure. We did this dance once, back when we were younger. Maybe I shouldn’t write it, as that led to you raising me up from my metaphorical knee and softly rejecting my advances. Maybe I’m still naive. Maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe it was fleeting.
As more possibilities cloud my thought-space, I find myself still considering what would best be put in the letter that you’d read addressed from me.
I’m still unsure as I realise I can write about the dreams I dream about.
I can write about the fantasies I play out in my head, all colourful, diverse and ultimately expensive enough to demand a hollywood budget.
I can write about my memories and show you how much nostalgia I carry within this body of mine.
or maybe…
…maybe I should write to leave a piece of myself with you.
Can I…? Can I write a letter to you to remember me by? A letter to leave a piece of myself with you, should the day come when I am gone and ‘we’ are no more…
The future is always filled with uncertainty, so I can’t promise I’ll always be here, no matter how much I will love to be. Having lost a lot of friendships along the way, I can’t guarantee the same won’t happen to us.
It may even be out of my hands, as everything the Creator wills, happens for a reason.
I think I’m going to write a letter to you.
I just don’t think you will see it.
Musings and books from a grunty overthinker
My tangle of words
Exploration of Literature, Cultures & Knowledge
Interviews with the characters of your favourite books
Writer | Audio dramatist | Short Stories | Folklore Blog
International Microfiction in 100 Words or Less
Grab a warm drink, a book, and read with me.
None of that semi skimmed stuff...
A place for book reviews and bookish thoughts
Two girls swimming in fiction
Read it! 📖 Spark it! ✨
Book Reviews by Emma b Books
Book Reviewer and Blogger
A Progression Fantasy Novelist
Home to the Stories on Reddit Serials
Author of the Small Worlds series
Home page for LadyLuna21's Writing
Words of my mouth, meditations of my heart....
Welcome to my I. Ogunbase's Page 