Saturday, April 23, 2011

Soldier on...



6:45pm
 Tip tap tip tap, my feet move in sync with the piano’s and drums of Tracy Chapman’s “telling stories”. It’s hot, very hot and my skin feels like its being bombarded with pinpricks of fire in every pore. There’s only one star to be seen, matching my feeling of aloofness and loneliness, but tonight, it’s not the physical that’s the problem. It’s not my too big arms, not my not-flat enough stomach, or my recent facial attack. No, it’s much more deeper, it’s not even my paranoid issues of being secretly disliked by everyone, except my family. It’s my future here, my life’s mission. Yes, I’m only –teen, but it’s important to me I know where I’m going and right now, I feel like the rain is down on me, pouring heavily and blocking my view of what is and isn’t important to me.
It’s The Temper Trap’s “soldier on” playing. Today I saw the movie, “an education”. Carrey Mulligan plays, jenny, a smart, but ill exposed girl whose parent struly want the nest for her, but go about it the wrong way. Her dad is an overprotective, mean man who insists her life consists of only her books and her plans for Oxford University. She can’t attend concerts or engage in anything fun. She meets an older man, David (Peter Sarsgaard) who entices her with concerts, fabulous dinners, auctions and makes her feel grown up and happy. She begins to soon forget what’s important because she has never been told why her education was important in the first place. She discovers he is a con man, but still continues to see him. He asks her to marry him and she agrees, abandoning her education. Her parents. Agree, thinking David is an honourable man, who will take care of her since that as the point of her schooling in the first place. Soon she discovers, David is married and has been doing the same to girls before her. She is not accepted into her old school and struggle to re-write her final year exams, while being homeschooled. She ends up getting into oxford, but considerably wiser. The point is, all of this would have been avoided, had her parents made her aware in the first place. Back to me now
I’m a living, breathing Nigerian version of Jenny, albeit, slightly less obnoxious parents. David to me was a metaphor for distractions I will face before my priorities are in order. He’s the rain, blocking me from seeing any farther, by distracting me with its cool drops on my skin. David represents boys, binge drinking and everything that threatens to topple me. But unlike jenny, I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance to redeem myself once I’m thrown off course. I met someone today, she was smart, talented and had quite some experience. She was an average run of the mill-not very goodlooking-college girl, but she was different. She was passionate. She knew what she wanted from life, and went for it, nothing stopped her. She had experienced a summer semester in Harvard and was currently on a full scholarship in school. What am I doing? Constantly moaning about my lack of opportunities all the time?
All I want to do is write and talk. Translation: become an accomplished, internationally recognized journalist/writer. That’s all, but why do I see myself, not getting halfway there? My personal David: my innate ability to disbelief myself when I need to believe in myself the most.
I want to have a life, but at –teen, I have none, except a school oriented one. Not much of a friend person, no alcohol history(mild or binge), no sex life, nothing. I hate girly gossip …most times. I have an amazing level of nonchalance. I wake up each day and take at least two walks. Walks in which I pass people, nod and move on. I don’t want my David to hinder me to the point of permanent regret. What do I do? Like Jenny, “all I want is to go to school to study English, listen to French music, each French food”. Translation: Go to UM, eat English food, listen to and read classics and soak in the air of prim sophistication…and come out the best version of me. Flawlessly intelligent, charmingly witty and radiantly beautiful

Sunday, April 17, 2011

To the perfect ex..




“I have very strong feelings for you, whether they’re good or bad, I don’t know yet”
I HATE you so much right now. I wanna simultaneously choke and drown you on your lies and deceit, but I can’t, because as much as I hate to admit, I feel very strongly for you and the simple theory of your existence feeds those emotions. I’m damaged, I can’t help it. But as insane as it sounds, you’re even more damaged than I am. We found ourselves admist all the perfection and organization which is in itself imperfectly perfect.
We struck a chord. We talked, actually sat down and talked. We weren’t the typical I’m-attracted-to-you-and-I’m-just-talking-to-you-because-you’re-cute-and-hot. No, we found some fucked up solace in seeing a mirror reflection of our psychotic states in each other. And being humans, we got swept away by the unexplainable gravitituous  attraction that came with it. In layman’s language, we hooked up
I don’t know why I’m rehashing memories when all I really want to do is tell you to masturbate to gay porn and die, but I’m stalling. Stalling because I can’t completely hold you over the cliff and drop you. Some damaged part of me wants to fall over instead and let you walk away. Because even though you’re an asshole, you’re my asshole. You’re smart, funny, a damn good lay and most importantly, the balance I need to my life. I clung to you so much because you were a walking, talking, breathing fucking addiction. You were my vice, my opium, my reason to wake up and smile. Turns out, you were my painful blast into reality too. My rehabilitation. My re-entry into dark, stark, painful life. You were a lie, a fucking lie, and you prove to me, that I could never be cured.
I can only keep up the pretense for so long. You definitely will be shocked to see this, but I’ve met them all. Jane, Anita, Mariam, all of them. The smilimar patters, the looks, the expressions, right down to the fucking menu. GOD!. Fuck you fuck you. Each fuck you is a tear to my already worn façade and I’m coming out. I will always feel very strongly for you, maybe even relapse and try to get back together…you will always be my emotional paradox
It’s over…
From a damaged ex