The Workshop : Flaws

Over the next couple of weeks, I will be featuring some of my unpublished writings. When I started "The Workshop" series, I had hit rock bottom; flat on my behind with no hope, and nowhere to turn. I think it was the second time I had contemplated suicide. But during that time of my life, I was able to learn some of the important things about dealing with people and it helped me navigate so many friendships. I was able to decide on what and who I wanted in my life. I believe that relationships shape and build us and it is at the forefront of our very own existence.

I hope you enjoy the posts as I roll them out. The first is titled Flaws

I don't know about you but my first love experience was hot wheels. I mean it was the whole love 360 cut through, over the top, amazing. Come to think of it, I could have been run over by a car and would still feel the love that was serenading me from every angle. I have always said that the beginning of love is sweet. It is ecstatic and if you have ever fallen in love, you'd share the sentiment. Unfortunately, my first love fell apart faster than a race car at 120km/h. It fell apart because sometimes what you get is not always quite like what you imagined or desired. When you don't know what it is that you want, you are absolutely clueless when it lands on your laps. A person is a combination of good and bad, right and wrong, the human body itself is a combination. You are a work of art. You have a spirit, a soul and you live in a body. That is a combination of everything that you are. We are flawed in everything human, primarily because we live in a human world. Everyone in their natural state is judgmental and can be potentially condescending. That is a fact. But we all want to be perfect for multiple reasons- some of which are honest and pure. Our need to be perfect or to have a perfect something or someone stems from the need to complete our own imperfection. We have a good heart but it is in the wrong place. The simple truth is that our perception of perfection varies individually. The eyes see what they want to see because we are all different, and as soothing as that is, we are also flawed. The reason why I say this is because our portrayal of love is a simple case of give and take. I give you my heart, I take yours in return and we call that selfish idea of love, love. It's easy to tell someone you love them when they are showing you all the aces they have, but remind me how you react, how you feel, when they show you the ones and twos.  We are a flawed generation chasing after a perfect life. It doesn't take much to see that truth.

The first step to becoming a better person is accepting that there is a problem. we become better by accepting that we are good but we can be better. Accepting yourself opens a door to appreciating yourself

I can only get better.

I found myself working in the trenches of an old mistake. It's one that enshrouds me with  regret every time the thought storms my mind. But I can only get better. Worse, maybe the worst but I can only get better. I think human as we are, our imperfections fall in to oblivion when we are about to pronounce judgement for a  wrong done to us. The present eminence of anger and simmering hatred always clouds our judgement. I'm often not bothered by such things but  recently, I found myself at the eavesdropping end of a rather awkward conversation between two people who's names I'd not mention; but as far as awkward moments go, I think this one is a classic. What that eavesdropping moment taught me, was that as much as I'd love to degrade someone who wrongs me, at some point I will mess up too. I grew up thinking that forgiveness is a necessary requirement for every human being on the face of this planet, not because I was an expert at offending people -maybe a little bit- but because no one is perfect. Not that I hold myself in high esteem for being able to let things slide but I think that letting things go sometimes prevent utter chaos.

As far wrong doings go, everyone is guilty. If you are not, you will be soon. It's just the way life is. You have to understand that your forgiveness is what makes you worthy of forgiveness from God. We are all handed the same grace card, we are all drowning in the same ocean of grace- some faster than others- but we are still drowning. And nothing will change that. So if God has shown you mercy for all the dumb, mean stuff you've done, you don't get to exercise restraint when it comes to forgiving others. Take for instance the friend who become a little too melodramatic about your past when she failed to mention that she has a crazy past of her own. We are secretive people. That's never going to change. A hundred years ago, yes, maybe but not in this age. We are not proud of who we were. Who ever is? It's called the past for a reason. Forgive yourself and move on. People will always be people; quick to cover their wretchedness, just so they can point fingers and judge others. That's us. If we could do an exposé on you, do you honestly think everyone will still look at you the way they did. That exposé would spread faster than a prairie fire.

To be continued....

Before you speak calm your mind.

"Before you speak calm your mind. You cannot speak peace from a place of chaos, anger or depression."

The first thing I ever wrote dates back to my childhood years. I was 7 years. Yes, 7 years. All those story books were paying their overdue debts and I was cashing them in. It was a love letter-yes, a love letter to a girl I had a huge crush on. It was the last day of school in second grade and I was smitten by the sound of her voice. She was cute in every way and quite a catch too. So, on the last day of the third term of school, I wrote her a love note detailing my feelings for her. Can you believe it? A 7 year old has feelings. My friend, George, at the time, said to me, "Ebenezer, you should secretly put it in her school bag." I was afraid like amateur sailors on their first voyage on dangerous seas. I dreaded her parents finding out, because then, all hell will let loose and my mother will scold me terribly. Eventually, after much deliberation, I chickened out. I couldn't do it. I was not about to get a terribly beating for being sweet. Walking back home with a disappointed look on my face, I knew that was the end of it but I couldn't bring myself to shred the letter. The words were finely written in pencil and I cannot even begin to tell you about the vocabulary. I felt like a young, modern day Shakespeare and my exquisite handwriting was like lemon frosting on a lemon cake. Love was in the air, and this young lad was right there in the middle of that beautiful chaos. The following day, just before our daily devotion, my sister was asked to go bring her Bible and I must admit; to this day, I still don't know how she found the letter. I was seated next to my mom and suddenly she called out, "Mom, I found this note written by Ebenezer."
     At that instant I knew I was in trouble. I knew it like I knew my nursery rhymes. And my face gave me away. My mind had finally settled on one thing, "Don't say a word..." For the first few seconds that followed, she opened the note, and started reading it out loud. Every sign on my mothers face said, "You have no idea what's coming.." When she finished everyone laughed and then my mother turned to me and said, "Did you write that? tell me the truth." What to do... what to do. "Tell me the truth or else..." I saw how fiercely she looked at me. Someone was in trouble. "Tell me the truth! I won't ask again!" She continued, this time in a rather loud voice. Then I remembered, "Before you speak, calm your mind." I took a deep breath and said, "No! I didn't. It was George! He asked me to write it for him and when I finished, He just wrote my name there to make it look like I did." If there is one thing I knew about my mother, it was the fact that I could not, under any circumstance, outsmart her. And my sisters knew it so they kept yelling, "He's lying. He's lying!" He deserves a beating, mom! How can you write a love letter at this age." I was calm as if  peace was breathing down my neck. Seeing me so calm in the middle of that chaos, my mother figured I was innocent. Oh boy... oh boy, what a happy day it was. My heart was singing, "Oh happy day...Oh happy day."
     That was the song that did me in. Because as it run through my heart and to my mind, I laughed so loud. and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. My mother- a great teacher that she is- taught me that no feelings were too strong for the power of the cane. They bow down and pledge
their allegiance to the cane.
  

The unexpected is always upon us.

When summer unveiled itself in the year 2001, I found myself plunging to the great depths of love as I knew it to be. I wished for her all my life but this is not one of my many posts that talk about love. Let's start over, shall we?

I remember drowning in an ocean of astonishment when I stepped into my home and found everyone bearing  traces of sorrow on their faces. As I traversed the living room, and in to the room I shared with my siblings, the sorrowful chaos had mutated into an abrupt silence. I did not understand why my presence had caused such conspicuous change. "Come here," said my mother to me, a little boy of eight years old, who was, at the moment, mystified by all the unfamiliar faces looking in his direction. She handed me a piece of paper which had the letters, E-U-L-O-G-Y boldly printed in blue. I smiled, and was so overjoyed to see my favorite color. Of course, at the time, I did not understand the word 'eulogy' neither did I look for the meaning. I was simply buoyed by joy that I'd be reading a 'speech' that had been printed in my favorite color. I was bold, full of courage and my reading skills were flawless. My mother, a teacher at the time, had subjected me to a weekly dose of reading a new story book. I, on the other hand, was often tempted to skip to the end and yell with excitement "Finished!" But she assured me of one thing, "she was smarter than I was." After each yell, she'd take the book and ask me what transpired on each page as her hands flipped through the pages and my lips, as was custom, did the narration. There were bad days; each time I failed to give the right narration, canes that were hidden somewhere in the house found their place on my back. Those were the good years of blissful, memorable moments. But as she knelt before me, with her hands wrapped around me to as if to console me, I peered at her eyes; they were such beautiful eyes and they were filled with raw agony. My mother was in pain but she had to be strong.

     When the silent whisper bearing news of my father's passing reached the walls of my ears, they bounced back and made a run for it. My body went into shock mode and I felt the numbness crawl up and eventually bury me. Then came the uncanny visitor of denial. I could not believe it but the wailing of my sisters as my mother broke the news to me sufficed as confirmation. Everything had changed and we were nowhere near ready to continue life. 

     The unexpected is always upon us, yet we live like it'll never come. We busy about to avoid confronting ourselves about what's real and not. We are often tempted to procrastinate till we are pressured in to changing. I have always thought that change is in the nature of human beings. We are subject to change; sometimes by our own willingness, but most of the time, by necessity. There are days I look back at the journey so far and I never, in any way consider this as a boastful post or reminder that I'll make it, but a recognition and acknowledgement of how far He who loves me immeasurably has brought me. It's been a chaotic journey seasoned with sweet peace and relentless love that can only hail from God Himself. The journey is as important as reaching your destination because you can't get to the destination without the journey and God takes advantage of that to transform you with the journey. Pay attention, listen, enjoy the experience and when it gets tough, say repeatedly, "This too shall pass!" Because it sure shall pass. The reality of what awaits you surpasses the challenges that you encounter on your way to the destination. Sometimes to see them coming other times, you are taken by thunderclaps of chaos and the strange thing is you are always poised to think God has deserted you. He hasn't, didn't, and will not desert you. And you can believe that! Natural human instinct will always- always try to reason out the cause and the culprit  But sometimes the unexpected things happen so that you can see another side of God, so that you can see He's quite an amazing husband. I'm fiercely moved to say that, being with God is beautiful. It's beauty itself. I'm greatly mesmerized because I'm a broken person, I'm a leaky bucket full of holes and even in my so called perfection, I lack righteousness. The journey has taught me that grace is power, and it's favor at the same time. So he gave me favor, not just any favor but His favor, and that favor came with unending volts of supernatural power to endure all that may come my way. 

"I am the righteousness of God in Christ Jesus. No more feeling insecure about who I am. He LOVES me immeasurably. I don't live under the law, I live under grace. I make mistakes but guess what: He forgives me-we're married."

I hate to break it to you

“Insecurity is not a badge of “specialness” that you have to wear to feel good about yourself.” It’s not a uniform you put on like a captain of an airplane or a ship, and you don’t get any special treatment from life just because you are insecure. The world is an urban jungle and the weak ones get eaten so get over yourself and have some damn confidence. What makes you think someone is better? What makes you think you are not good enough? What makes you think you are not loved? If you are looking for sympathy from the world because something happened to you then you are in the wrong place.


People- some innocent- are getting killed in different places in the name of “war on terror.” There are people: who go to sleep with no food, walk miles to find water, abused by a parent or relative or a spouse on a daily basis. There is a whole lot of cruel, diabolic stuff going on out there so you don’t get to be comforted because you are not quite like someone you saw. Get over yourself! You are never going to be that person. That is complete foolishness. Is there some sort of comfort knowing that you are like someone else?


Here’s the thing: No one, I mean no one is better! I don’t care who you are, you are not better. Yes, maybe your position makes you look like you are, but you are not! So stop making other people feel like they are not worth anything. We all need each other but we have one difficult time getting together and we act like we are better than others.


You are good enough to fall in love. You don’t need to look a certain way before you find love, maybe it’s patience you need not starve yourself to look pretty. Society keeps telling girls everywhere that they need to look a certain way to be beautiful. Well, I think that’s some corporate nonsense used around so that big firms can sell their so called beauty products or health drugs. A girl/lady/woman is beautiful, she was born beautiful. She’s beauty itself and women all over the world show the many faces of beauty: mind, heart and soul. I think the body and the face is just an added bonus. Stop trying to be like someone! If you were suppose to be like him/her, then you’d have been him or her. Don’t you realize that it’s your insecurity that pushes people away from you and not the fact that you are not like a certain someone. You are a great original so stop comparing yourself to other folk you think are better


There’s always a crazy someone trying to change you but I think there is somewhat pride in knowing that If I searched the 7 billion people in this urban jungle, I’d not find one person with my DNA. Isn't that something?


You got your DNA, I got my DNA so please you do you and I’ll do me.

Fix Me

Yesterday evening, I took a long walk around my neighborhood for some fresh spring air. I was bored and I needed something new for a change.
 Lately I just feel lost in all this noise and I feel numb. Numb to everything. I'm mutating into this person who I've never encountered before and It scares me to death. I go to bed every night not knowing if I'll wake up the next morning; most people just say that, but I live with those thoughts as they finally sing me to sleep every single night. It's so scary, too scary, sometimes I don't want to go to sleep. It's like I'm screaming inside and no one can hear me. Daily grace says, "I need Jesus!" And yes, I know He's there with me through it all but lately, I just don't see/feel Him. I feel like a withered tree by a running river and inside me I have all these loose emotions running wild like a nudist colony in July. I'm confused and it's okay because times like this remind me of my humanity and weakness. There are so many words around me; words that do nothing but set my confused mind on fire. I need some quiet in here. Too much noise scares me. It makes me lose control of my emotions. So here, I am, Jesus. Fix me. I'm broken inside in many places, prisoner in a body I wish to be freed from. If you are there, deliver me

Times have changed

"They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time. It'll be the last you hear them say it.

I heard the dry winds of an early summer sigh through trees, which once stood beautiful with the inenarrable blooms of spring as they flaunted their beauty with pride like peacocks. After a torrent of rainfall in spring, which most said was abnormal, their leaves withered, and their barks were rough like they'd been sandpapered with sharp knives. No one feared the drought that lingered in the shadows of fall: no one did, so dancing and merrymaking was chosen over the most suitable option of preparation. Most of it involved relentless gathering and of food and water for survival but everyone celebrated life in the name of "seizing the days". After all, no one could outrun, outlive, or outshine the crown of death. Strangers became friends, friends became lovers, even animals were considered family. Men pouted in their corners drunk over beer and bad wine: their bellies protruding out of their tattered clothes and their funny posterior. They boasted of their ancient glories and bitterness than no love had been able to cure. Love itself was overrated; it had promised many bliss and wonder and their disappointed faces did little justice to the hurt and ruins it had left them in. I heard their deepest fears call out when they smiled and their heart burst with pain each time they laughed. I was afraid for them. I was afraid that they'd lost the strength to love again.

Sunflower and Tulip

These wastelands lay bare with no sign of life, and I’m tormented by the demons that lurk in the shadows created by distant trees and the glimmering moonlight. Underneath the oak tree I sat and watched, enraptured by the embers of a campfire that once scintillated in the darkness. I’m scarred by my own reflections- horrified even, by the mystical darkness hovering over these lands; lands that once defined beauty. For the first time in many years, I heard the cryptic words of nature calling to me. I was lost in a deep sleep and in a surreal land full of infinite possibilities. It was then I remembered what your soothing voice sounded like. It had, in the not so distant past, serenaded me from the dry, dark skies above at ungodly times of sleep deprivation and meager love. I felt my body yield to the lullabies that floated on your sincere lips as they echoed in the cushioned walls of my ears. You were the ideal of what I had always known to be beauty itself; beauty of the heart and mind. My dreams were studded with vivid images of us grooming the love we shared, and more than once, we sat in a field of flowering red and white roses sharing abstract ideas of love and hate. Somewhere in the middle stood a radiant sunflower and tulip that glistened as if it was planted with stardust. They lived in harmony and together sounded like a symphony of love that could have only be written in the eternal realm of time. Each night, the sunflower bowed it’s head to kiss the petals of the tulip which flickered in excitement. When the night finally covered us with its ineffable beauty, we idolized the two flowers, mimicking a gesture so profound that our hearts could not grasp its depth. And you whispered into my soft, sensitive ears sweet words which pampered my heart and exploded every doubt and fear ever harbored in the corners of my mind. “I’m your sunflower and you are my tulip.” When my heart feels empty as it withers in times of drought, you are the tulip that revives me with love and passion my mind can't even begin to fathom. 

Fear is a good motivator.

Hand made into a fist knocked on my old, wooden door; it was loud, life threatening and it woke me from a deep sleep. A deep sleep that only God himself could wake me from. Panic sprouted within like nature birthing new plants; it seized me like a man guilty of a crime of passion and shoved me in dark corners; it held me against my will to be courageous.

I was running scared in my own skin; wishing in that finite moment, of several possibilities, that I'd be a different person. Someone much stronger, with the courage of an ancient warrior who subdued dragons with a swing of his sword. Because, then, my heart would not be thumping this hard leading me to think I might die before my legs, in their attempt to be strong, brace the old wooden door.

'A man has to do what a man has to do!' words as old as my door took a dive into the dark corners and liberated the bravery in me. Confident like a mouse on a food expedition, my feet still wobbled and my arrogance exalted on the achievement of three steps. The knocks grew more violent each second and I was, at the moment burying myself in thoughts that would only kill me in my sleep. But who was I not to wet my loose-fitting pajamas when the door forcefully swung open. It was the ghost of the woman next door who passed away three days ago. She had returned to remind me to feed her, evil cat who I swear was bewitched by the devil himself, and many times robbed me of my dinner on those late nights I returned from work.

I hate that cat! Oh dear Lord, I did. Its meow sounded like a woman saturated with sexual pleasure. One look at the cat and you could tell it possessed terrible intentions.

I was lost from all the numbness in my skin and her ghostly hands hitting hard against my round chocolate cheeks felt like air beating against my chest. She was serious, yet I was still in shock, gazing at her eyes wide as if the dead had just come back to life. The dead had come back to life and my pajamas was soaked.

Emotions

Your ship sailed away from my beautiful port; it always stood empty until you docked. Like any great captain, you’d mastered the rough seas and lived through those stormy days to tell the story of your surreal journeys. For a while, the sun gleamed, you stayed, and life was blissful. It was something to remember. Calm had returned with fond kisses of fall;  but it was spring time in my heart. I remember the days of endless grief when nothing else mattered, and my broken heart felt numb to the pain caused by your absence. You fled in the ship you came in, sailed away with lies of your return. Looking into these fiery old eyes which held nothing but love for you, lies floated on your honey lips and I was the fool who gulped them down my throat as if to quench an insatiable thirst.

Lies. Lies. Lies. There are those days when I wake up in panic, mostly at the thought of your absence. Here I sit, holding on to the remains, hoping, wishing, praying that they’d mend, that this port will gaze upon your stunning beauty. I dread the days ahead. I dread the chains of fear that have seized my heart. I dread the pure insanity that comes from feeling the void that you've left.There are mornings when all I do is croon to my pillow, eyes welling with tears awaiting your return. I’m a deserted island that no ship dreams of sailing to. I feel the bored despair and the waves of depression that shadow the little moments of joy when you are absent from my thoughts. I’m lost to the world because I remain yours. I died the day you sailed away. All the roses you left me have wilted because like me, they miss your presence, your touch and the sound of your voice.Your love was war, and it left me a prisoner

Hate/Death/Forgiveness

In your eyes I see beams of nothingness: of pride, and consuming ego. I'm lost in my own mind because I'm busily searching for the statues that once held my thoughts of you together. When I find them, they'll meet sudden annihilation. I want to fade your existence from my thoughts and free myself from chains of love that have bound me all these years. I took a walk on a rocky beach; the air was familiar, and the breeze tasted like the salty specs that have been running down my cheeks. I know, because once on a crystal summer day, I felt this sharp pain in my rib cage. It was my broken bones, scrapping away the tattoos that I'd etched on the walls of my bloody heart. I want you erased from my memory. Whether or not we shared bored moments of bliss, here's to the take over. The separation, I hope, will last till I take my last breaths in this cold, forsaken world. I hate you! I hate how freely, I let my being get carried away by your so called affection. Now they've turned into demons that torture my reasoning. My flawed judgement plunges me deeper in regret and an endless list of 'had I knowns.'
I wish I could slip away secretly after my last words have fled from my lips, then I 'd spread out my arms and feel the winds of freedom tug at my armpits as my body takes flight I'll fly with invisible wings to lands that are not of this world. And there, I've heard, true love awaits... I hate you so much that I'm constantly asking for forgiveness. 

Brooke was here

Paint your words of love beneath the layers of my skin and into my bones. Let them be the lights that hold the darkness captive and carry me to lonely paces of bliss. Suffer me not to part from your dead, cold soul. Suffer me not to part from your insensitive fingers. Suffer me not to part from your stony heart and your infinite walls. Untie the noose of deceit you've hanged around my neck and unchain these iron wrapped around my wrists. 

People like us are not loved; we are liked by the sands of time as if we were the water meandering from fiery hills. We are applauded but not remembered; abused, yet remain silent because our pride lies with the joy of other. cruel you say, wrong and selfish maybe, but nothing is wrong in the eyes of love.
I want to catch the depth of Your love so that I may paint its beauty with divine words and make music in the hearts of men.
I couldn't quite tell how you happened. I promised my fallible self that beneath these cotton ball clouds, nothing could ever go wrong with a silent whisper into your ears. I found happiness in your frail arms and your big, gleeful eyes. I watched the sun set between your eyebrows as I wandered through your misleading thoughts. It felt like a wave of hope sweeping the concrete floors of my mind. You were different but like everybody else, uniqueness was a challenge likened to a stroll on water. Now, here I sit, behind these rocks trying forcefully to etch my emotions on these plain surfaces. The salty specs rolling down my perfect cheeks build up in the indents of my skin. There they sit, reminders of my mistakes and cowardice. But they are reminders of courage and lost love.

S. E.

I'm unsure of how to write beauty or how to tell you that you give me chatting jitters each time I want to say hello. I can't count the times I've recited my lines before they left these chocolate lips. You are the fragrance of good ointments and your name is fine ointments poured forth. You fill my life with the beauty of blooming roses and you make me feel love with your porcelain fingernails but more than anything my heart rejoices with the thought of you returning to my arms. Lead me away in your warm embrace and cover me with your beautiful whispers and inspire me to better.

'...hopeful romantic...' you whispered into my ears. They were still like the air at dawn and the shivers that run down my neck as your neared were effortless. You made me nervous because you knew me like the sun knew the sky and your words often left me breathless.

I remember when my eyes laid eyes on you. You were distant and my blurry vision did me little good. I remember how the gleaming late afternoon sun set between your eye brows and how you told me about what you love and made me understand that I was better than most.

You held my heart with such care as if it was yours. Your words tasted better than ancient wine and they healed me when I was broken. You are a beautiful soul and love flows from your fingers and your lips.

A frequent thing.

The broken I cannot mend and the lost I cannot save because I, myself have been crushed on the harsh floors of reality and all that's left of me are shattered pieces. I've exhausted my courage and yet still indebted to fear; stoutly it builds within these skin pores. Beneath these decent exteriors lies my shattered self. They deny me peace and wreak havoc. I lay awake in the middle of the night and my mind wanders through the different cities created by my memories. I'm broken but beautiful and I'm at peace.
I heard my heart pulsate as your words left your lips. I never understood how you could have such an effect on me. Your lips bleed joy and they mend me, they fix me with linings of unfamiliar emotions.
January washed away the bleeding walls of my heart. They'd been pierced with needles and left for dead. I was drowning in pool of my own actions and decisions. I should have known better. I should have know not to trust a stranger with my emotions. I feel clean, I'm relieved.
I see myself in the invisible mirrors that your words have created. They reflect bitterness, bruises and gatherings of despair. I'm exhausted like burned out bulb; a reminder of the demons I carry inside. They lurk in the shadows, in the walls raining torrents of torment in my veins. My heart thumps beneath the frames of my chest; it is the sound of chaos. In hindsight, I'm flawed in my understanding of their fixation and how to heal the lingering brokenness within. The shadows betray me. They've left me to die at the hands of your words; words scratching their way through the walls with their poisonous fingertips. All that I am now reduced to ashes as embers of distress fill up my lungs with a dark smoke of depression. They yap at me from the low lying depths of my dying soul

Awkward!!

So the other day, on my way home, here was a 'me'; a young nigga relaxing in the bus because I was pretty much exhausted. We had just passed the tram stop at the Medina heading to Bab Chellah when two other black guys boarded. Now here's a little need to know info about 'a' me: Not that I'm 'a' racist or anything. Plus I can't be 'a' racist towards other niggas when I'm 'a' nigga. I don't like it when other niggas who I've never met, sit beside me and start to chat me up about how great their life is when the whole time, they be asking 'a' nigga to pay the for their bus fare. This time it was different because they actually sat behind me, next to an old man who appeared homeless but surprisingly smart.

Have you ever been in a moving bus and experienced that awkward moment when some other niggas engage in a heated argument with a Moroccan? I mean, it's much better when the Moroccan is decent. When he is not decent, like the situation in which I found myself, everyone starts eyeballing you like "ooh look at that other nigga, why is he not part of the argument?" In this case, some two Arab niggas seated two seats ahead of me on the right kept eyeballing me. In my mind, I'd smacked them like five times. And the whole time I kept saying  why won't these crazy niggas shut up. Of course I could smack them but I don't have to tell you what that could mean for me. They will beat the issh out of me. I mean, it's good to meet one on one because on those grounds you have a fair chance but two or three-to-one, nigga please...

And then the argument got interesting. Yes, I was listening. These other niggas kept bragging about how "there is nothing au maroc and how they spoke all the languages. English, French , Arabic, German, Spanish and all the other languages. I bet if the man argued on that a little more, they would have said, "we even speak Greek and Hebrew."
I was like, "Why are they arguing with him?" Because they are talking about literally nothing. And then old man dared the guy by asking "como estas?" And guess what? Awkward! Nigga couldn't speak isshh. I'm sitting there like, "Busted! Nigga, if you don't speak the language, don't say you speak the language." and then.....

Great depression

My life is a distant ongoing circle which hasn't reached it's prime. Most of the time, I think about nothing and my emotions don't betray me like they used to. I'm learning to catch up with them. I remember the old person of me; a stranger to my own being, a stranger to my own culture. Life wasn't at standstill but my life was an unending trance. I tried relentlessly to understand the chaos within, the confusion, the late night gruesome restlessness burning within the walls of my soul and the storms that was alloyed with bouts of grief and depression. Several nights on my bed, I laid lifeless like the dry, withered  autumn leaves falling without hope. They were nights of no bliss, void of peace, of courage to fight back, of strength. In the absence of joy, my sorrow festered till I was consumed and buried in it.  

Death tarried not. It came in the dead of the cold, horrid night to reap the reward of my actions.

Now here I am again crying myself to sleep. Sometimes, my eyes gaze upon these constellations as they dissolve into the dawn sky. My eyes are swollen from crying too much and my heart is drowning in a pool of pain. I don’t know how I feel. If I do, I can’t describe it. Why do I feel this way?