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| Photo credit: Getty Images |
It’s New Year. Never mind that January is almost
spent. Believe me when I say the year has just started. At least for me, it
just has. I lately finished a prolonged sessional exam. You mightn’t understand
that. Well, you really shouldn’t anyway, it’s personal. But you still might. If
you started 2013 with the burdens of 2012 that you recently dealt with, you
would relate well with this; that the year has only started.
Do you understand the pains of feeling nothing?
Can you say you have ever woken up to the fear of nothingness, a tasteless
indifference? Now, see where I am coming from, life is full of sensitivities: the
sensitivities of pains; of losses; of gains; of love; of hurts; of shame; of
pride. When you wake one day and realize those are lacking, then you should
die. Or preferably put, give up your life, someone else needs the space. For
me, the year has only started, because now, I feel the statics of love; of
hurts; of shame; of pride; of gains; of losses. Don't bother that some I got
through empathy, at least, I am now more human than you are. My year has just
started.
I will tell you little about my Mum, little
about what she did today, this morning. She marveled me. Sometimes, I’d imagine
how my Mum makes my Dad’s love perfect, and I’d be jealous. My Mum did
something this morning and I hated myself for it. She surprised me. I have been
suffering from indecisiveness lately, my Mum changed that. She took a decision,
she was smart with it. She took a step, she did it briskly intelligent. Now,
she has become a roadside seller, transacting in what she loves best, in the
business she hopes to leave in our bloods.
She’s comfortable, she is
averagely rich. I wouldn’t know why she did that. But my Mum is a business
woman, not the formal one, she is creative in it. My mum did something
this morning, she set up a shade in front of our house, she commercialized the
spot. More puff-puffs, eggrolls and pies. Soon, I will begin to envy those school
children as they take bits of my mother’s care. My Mum did something this
morning, she took a decision when I was still snoring on my bed, dreaming about
lofty goals. She took a step and tooled with it. I slept with mine. I have been
sleeping on mine, drooling on it. She just started the year.
I have been in love. I was madly in love. I am
still loving. Three different statements that capture the turbulence of my
emotion. I am confused. No! That can’t be. I can’t be. Say I am a fool. I
opened my heart and roses were not thrown at it. I never said daggers were
hurled at it either. I hate poetry. If this paragraph is turning one, tell me
and I will discard it. They say love makes you mad and write poetry, that’s
stereotypic. How about this? It should be a diversion from the old; love makes
you blogpost. That sounds better. I loved from 2012, packed its grime and trash
to this year. The year can’t be messier than it is now. Love isn’t a mercy; call
it a mess, a patient, a sacrifice. I want to unlove now and face the year. The year
wouldn’t start with it. Folake knows better. Fake Folake faked me.
I have seen two deaths at a close succession.
Two deaths on different spots, at different locations. One had blood spilling
from his mouth and head on end. The other had mockery in its wake. I have seen
two deaths, two different deaths. One was lying in the middle of the road with
her fishes scattered about. The second scarred my love and changed her; made her
vulnerable. I have seen two deaths. One I witnessed with its fresh body still warm.
The other, I was told had been seriously mocked in sicknesses before its ghost
took off. I have seen two deaths before the year started. Now, I am born
because I have seen too many deaths for two eyes.
Let’s start this year
immediately! Welcome.
