Hey everyone! This was written by a friend. His name is Victor. Enjoy.
Some say home is wherever the heart lies; others believe home is where family is. I say home is that place that has become a fundamental part of you, a place you know you will always return to, regardless of wherever you go, whatever you become or the heights you attain. Such places have an almost talismanic effect that makes…
I remember you
Your deep frown and hearty laugh
The way your eyes lit up when you were pleased
And how they darkened and almost disappeared as your grin widened in mischief
I remember how you would fold both hands and place them on your head as you sat
Or bring them together at your back as you walked
Kicking pebbles, shifting the weight of the world from one shoulder to the other (more…)
The darkness is here again. It’s gathering, crowding at the base of my throat, and if I look down for even a moment, I will drown. I think it’s my fault that it’s here this time; maybe I invited it by calling its name, and maybe I roll around in it a little; it’s comfortable and has room for self-deprecation and pity parties. Every year, it comes and slowly winds itself around me, squeezing until I’m gasping for air and blinded by its thick fog.
Ghosts of Christmases past and shards of broken dreams poke at my insides: the ghosts taunting with memories of what was and images of what could have been, and the dreams wailing, mourning their brokenness. I have felt the pain of two kinds of heartbreak: one from romantic misadventures, that feels as though someone is tap-dancing in sturdy shoes on the best part of your insides. Or like someone is messing with some controls in the upper left part of your anatomy. At least you know where to mend. The other one, is the pain of broken dreams; you’re shattered in so many pieces and scattered in so many directions that you don’t even know what or where to look after. Every year, hope comes to mend me, leaving less pieces than it found each time, and each time, life comes with its baseball bat right after and runs it through my dreams again, right in the middle.
But I won’t look down this time. I’ll keep my head above the darkness. I won’t look down.
Where I grew up, the last three months of the year are known for the harsh cold they bring. I remember occasions when my face wrinkled like the skin on an old woman’s neck; you dared not powder your face and you better have a jar of Vaseline in your purse. One of the things that surprised me when I first moved to Lagos was the year-round heat. Before you even get to the Mowe – Ibafo area, you…