How unique are you

Who you are is like a old wall; the only way to get rid of it, is to demolish it- one that happens as a result of constant and careful practice of being someone else. 

We all die in the end. Maybe. But who you are is like an old wall. You may paint over it, wash it down with bleach, but it will still be there to remind you of its existence and exuberance. What happens when you apply new paint over an old wall? At first the wall looks new and it attracts attention to itself, but eventually the mold will begin to show after the rains have unleashed their fury- and time her fury. This is what happens with human beings. You can paint over who you are for so long… until your mold begins to show. Why do we feel the need to bend over backwards just to be liked by another person who may be pretending to be something they are not? What good will that do? Think about these words. People don’t need our approval to be who they are, and we unequivocally do not need theirs. New walls, like babies bother rarely about who they are. New walls speak for themselves. But like everything on this earth, new things always becomes things of old. And old doesn't mean your value is lost. Your value doesn't decrease because of someone’s inability to see your worth. People value things based on what little understanding or perception they have of life. The value you place on certain things are influenced by how you perceive those things, or more importantly what sentimental worth it may hold in your eyes. Most of the time, we value things based on how it exalts us in the eyes of many. Humility after all is some kind of exaltation to someone. Do not lose the nimbleness of your mind and liquidity of thought on things that hold no worth in the world that we live in. Living to please another is not living; it’s modern day slavery camouflaged to impart some kind of sentimental gain. It’s life on a ledge. 

Hiding beneath the colors of a new paint doesn't change who you are. On the contrary it only imprisons your own true nature; your own true existence on this earth.  Your uniqueness.

Are you unique? I have always found the subject matter too delicate and complicated for open thoughts but in the many hours I have pondered over such intricate questions, my mind has more often than not betrayed me with a simple thought: Am I unique? If I am; in what ways am I unique? Comparing me to the remaining 7 billion people on this planet will be a futile experiment. Moreover, the 7 billion figure given as the world’s population is near accurate so I can’t say that I am unique. No out loud. Because I cherish the thought that some where on this planet there is another me wandering the corners of a small community enjoying the morning sun and breathing fresh mountain air. Are you really unique? My question is not an attempt to cast doubt on your uniqueness, on the contrary as far as DNA is concerned, uniqueness exits in this global village. But are you really unique? How are you unique? Show me your wall and I will point to another you.

Keepers - Prologue

Here is a short story I started about half a decade ago.

He wanted to go home but his yearning to stay grew stronger at each glance from her- a girl whose stunning look, attracted his eyes like a blooming red rose. Each gaze from him lured her to come close. His enviably handsome look was irresistible. Her eyes were lost in his and for that finite moment, Sam Clover, the robust, attractive yet undoubtedly introverted young man saw the twinkle in her eyes. She was the epitome of elegance and the most beautiful he had ever laid eyes on. Within that moment, he had daydreamed of their life together after the reception, which was brimming with joy and excitement as the parents and teachers got acquainted. She had seen him and had been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the reception. “Here you go, Mr.” the waiter said handing a note to Sam. 

It read; “From the lady in white meet me at the ‘lovers bench’… now!” Sam read the note written in red ink with a beautifully drawn red rose at the end and then looked up. She was gone, nowhere to be found. "Now, just where did you disappear to?" He whispered and excused himself from the conversation between his mum and Geography teacher eager to get to the lovers bench as it was called by the students. Built by the school’s alumni, the lunch garden served the purpose of lunch in a sunshade environment. It was fenced with hedges and shaded with trees and measured up to about a fifty ft. The seats were built around the trees with an umbrella-like covering. Most students enjoyed their lunch there but a little romance didn't hurt either. Sam walked briskly to the ‘lovers bench’ but to his disappointment, it was empty. He wandered around with an undying hope that she will appear any minute. Deep down, Sam felt a warm feeling stream through his body; his dilating pupils and his fast beating heart said it all. He liked her and he just couldn't wait to spill it out. “So you like her, don’t you?” She said, inching close. Her voice was despondent and filled with sadness. She appeared murky contrary to her usually calm and cheerful nature. He recognized her even with his head facing the other side. “So it was you, huh?” Sam said, as a smile lit up his face. “Of course it was me! Were you expecting someone else?” She replied teasingly. “Riesa Canon...” Sam said and turned only to see tears in her eyes. He hugged her, wiping the tears. “Hey... hey... What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He disliked how sad she looked and sounded. “We are moving next week." She said sobbingly with tears streaming down her face. “What? You can’t be serious!” Sam exclaimed utterly shocked as the words echoed in his ears. “Why? What happened?” Sam uttered. He gently wrapped his arms around her to soothe the pain running deep within. Even so, she was sobbing incessantly. She loved him as did he and now she was moving. “My mum got promoted to her new job….and it’s six hours away. I can’t stand not seeing you for like a week, Sam. It’ll kill me” She dug her face into Sam’s chest and sobbed.

They shared a special bond and had been friends since Sam's learnt of his father’s death. He had died a year before Riesa and her mother relocated to their neighborhood. Sam had experienced a terrible emotional trauma as a result but Riesa helped him. Each time he expressed any cold hint of sadness and depression, she affectionately brought him back joyful. The bond that held the two secret friends together was beyond all reasonable doubts strong, but was yet to be tested. At school, they acted as two classmates who hardly spoke to each other. However, they often met secretly to spend time together as two best friends would. After seven years the thought of leaving Sam’s side struck her deeply. She swung between pain and fear. The ugly truth of her departure was crippling her but her mum had worked assiduously for that promotion and she hardheartedly hated the idea of taking it from her. Sam could see tears well up in her eyes, and each time he dried them. Riesa's sad facial expression, tearing eyes and unrelenting sobs crushed Sam’s heart as the thought of losing what they shared finally settled in his mind. It was disconcerting. “Don’t worry… Stop crying. We’ll work something out,” He wiped her tears and hugged her. “Remember how you said we couldn't pull off being a secret? And remember how you said we’ll always be together?” Sam reminded her. “Yeah...I was so scared my mum will find out, and I’d lose you too.” “You and I, we roll together, you know.” He said in a funny accent. Riesa laughed and dried her tears. "Oh Sam…I love you so much,” said Riesa softly. Sam held her close, his arms wrapped around her. She meant more than friends but Sam didn’t know it yet. “I’d die without you."

“I love you too, Riess.”"Everything will be alright… Trust me. It will!"

Camden High measured up to about half a square mile, it ranked first of all the schools in Rosewood Hills. At the entrance a graven image of renowned scholar- also the founder of the school, and the students as well as teachers parking lot stood; leading the way through a series of well gardened lawns to the administration block. The rear end of the school lay bare with outstretching fine, mowed lawns sided with plants blooming with flowers. From the east, tall Oak and Elm trees spread out through the school campus. The classroom blocks sited right behind the administration block were shadowed by the outstretching branches of the trees. The school’s auditorium and science laboratories stood side by side on the western wing. Oled high school was held in high esteem for its diligent teachers- a trait most students vaunted about. All roads that run through the school were tarred and hedged with plants. The tiled outside corridors supported by meter wide cylindrical pillars measuring up to about twenty-five feet served as a walkway adding beauty to the curved edges of the class room blocks.

From a distance, a stunning brunette approached quietly. Her flickering curly hair and her brown eyes wandered around eagerly, like a hunter with limited patience, watching for the presence of someone- the young man she had sent a note to earlier. Her eyes spotted him from afar, but she was too late. Bewildered by the sight she beheld, she peered and curiously whispered, "Who is she? And why are they hugging?” The seventeen year old paused for a second and glanced. Undoubtedly, someone else had beaten her to it. Minutes later, to her surprise, a long hug followed by a kiss on the cheek and forehead before both parted ways.

Riesa dried her tears and drove off headed for the exit. She felt calmed by his words of comfort and his hug. It assured her of his love. She earnestly hoped Sam would come up with a plan. Growing up as a child, Riesa relied mostly on Sam. He was a great source of support and encouragement. He listened, helped, and when he couldn't, he always found another way.

"Where is he going? Didn't he get my note? Ugh!!" she said again in a loud strong voice, feeling a sudden stab of anger and disappointment. Sam had left the lunch garden feeling rather sad and disappointed. He stood rigid for a few minutes as his gaze moved around him, hoping to see the 'lady in white' but instead a deep chill ran through his body upon noticing that everyone had left. He was waiting for her sudden appearance when he saw his mum pull into the drive way headed for the exit. He quickened his legs heading towards the auditorium hardly noticing the young girl in disguise; her black jacket left little to be considered as the “lady in white.” She followed after him, but before she turned a corner, he was out of sight.

Dealing with Depression

When people tell you that you are going to be fine, or that you will heal from a broken heart; most of them say it with whatever sentiments they have left. The few that have somewhat experienced your pain, try to soothe it with comforting words like, “I know how you feel. You are coming out of this.” Words which are mostly camouflaged to make you feel some kind of relief- however brief- so that you can smile again, or be good company. When my first experience with love –the one most people crave- ended, I spent most of my nights awake, waddling in the corridors of my apartment and crying myself to calm in class. It was horrifying to feel loneliness crawl up my skin and seep in to the crevices of my neck again. I was reminded, minute after minute, of her smile and the sound of her voice bouncing off the walls of my ears. I was forlorn of hope, with a melancholic heart and a mind that was undone each morning of everyday. The first weeks were sordid, gruesome even- my heart ripped into shreds, and my life withering away like the ocean wearing away at shore. 

I loved her too much, but more importantly, according to her, I made her feel like she had run a mile after each conversation. She could not endure as I continually buried her underneath layers of my sadness. If I knew then that I had mood swings, and was suffering through depression, of some kind, she would have, perhaps, loved me better with much kindness. Love is like a seed sown into the ground. Only time can prove its strength. The impact of my encounter with depression broke me every night. I wrestled to find sleep. When I found sleep, it rewarded me with nightmares which left scars in my mind. Broken, lost, falling apart, and wishing to be taken away by death. 

Most of the time, it left me cold and dirty as the snow on the side of a freeway. I had no solid ground. I understood the song," On Christ the solid rock I stand..." I did. But it just did not mean much to me. To me, they were words-mere words which did not save me from that sadness raging through my bone marrow. For the most part, I felt worthless. My mind incessantly accentuated death. It broke me, left me clinging to that one thought. Laying down gazing at the ceiling on many nights wishing it to just give in and crush me to death. Wrestling with hopelessness and helplessness, my existence revolved around the thought that I was unfit to love and undeserving of any kind of love. I fed on negative judgmental assumptions of myself; assumptions which downed my spirit and crushed my hopes of breaking free. The day they finally caught fire, I carried a Bible in my jacket pocket and walked to a rocky beach which was about half a mile from my apartment building and tried to throw myself in the ocean. I whispered my prayers, knowing that they would be my last and less painful moments on earth. I did not know joy. Little drops of sadness had worn away my stones of happiness. No matter how many times I painted joy over the walls of sadness that held me prisoner, the walls were still there to remind me that I was a captive. On my best day, I’d feel the happiness bursting through the cracks, and for brief moment, a smile would brighten up my day. I have loved many times but have been in love once, and it almost took my whole life. 

Dealing with depression for me was the most difficult but bravest decision I ever took. I took hold of my life and begun to steer it towards a bright and early liberation. My first experience with true happiness was realizing that I was loved, irrespective of who I was, or what I looked like, or what I didn't look like. I fed on it; day and night it hovered in the deep dark places of my mind and I enjoyed sleeping to such beautiful thoughts. I began to take time to do the things that made my soul happy and provoked beautiful energy. Sometimes, I‘d take long walks at dawn just to think, and to have conversations with myself whilst watching the sun wake up. I learned the hard way that comparison will be the end of me. Because when you don’t have appreciation for who you are; wanting to be something you saw on television or a magazine is the kind of stuff that will wake you up at 4.30am thinking that you are not good enough. Besides the guy/girl in the magazine doesn't look like the guy/girl in the magazine. And for those of you who have had your hearts broken not too long ago, listen: “Sometimes you end up never speaking to someone who meant the world to you again. And that’s okay. You cope and you survive. Admire the beauty inside and out. Accentuate the positive. I now understand that my mind is a window to my soul. Not only does my soul see things through my mind, but the things my mind picks up eventually imprisons or liberates my soul.

The four page love letter I should not have written

At a counseling session, this young lady who could not be any more than 20 looks at me, and  judging by the book that I was reading- The Art of War-, she tells me, "Forgiveness is for you, you know. You need it more than the other person. The bitterness kills you more than it hurts them" I gazed at her, mouth gaping open stuttering who knows what.  A difficult time to fight back. She knew the supreme Art of War and she subdued me with mere words, and the element of surprise. I have been questioned before, even counseled at length about forgiveness and it stuck; so hearing her utter those words with such inspiring confidence was almost like the infamous saying, 'Same shit. Different day'. I later gave a resounding laugh as my response and then took my seat. The Art of War had nothing to do with forgiveness. It was about something completely different. She didn't understand why I was reading it, and I was not given to lengthy explanations to prove a point. Far from the fact that I had no interest in keeping the conversation going, she smiled so many times it was starting to freak me out. Why was I there in the first place? Counseling was unheard of in my neck of the woods- unless of course I was taking a swing at marriage, and I wasn't. The beauty of this whole variant experience and my reason for being there in the first place couldn't have been anything other than love. That "weird whatever they call it these days" was knocking me out of my comfort zone and daring me to do some of the darnedest things I have ever done in my life. Being on the giving end of unrequited love can be- if nothing- frustrating, confusing and your mind is always in a state of wonder, and eternal hope. The latter would not be such a bad thing if not for the endless chain of frailty it puts you in. We have all had that one person who made us feel like we were not good enough no matter how good we were. That one person who made us feel like we mattered when we were just their last maybe, and 'if all else fails' option. Boys do it . And the ladies are no different.

 Deep down we each have an evil twin who takes over who we were really created to be. Time hasn't changed but the times have changed and the beauty of love often escapes us because it is unlike most things we come to meet in the world. Love is not just kindness, or beautiful sensations, or butterflies floating around in the acidic pits of your stomach. For the record, a butterfly can't survive in your stomach. Moreover, those butterflies can be wasps. When your stomach flutters and your hand shakes and your cheeks flush, sometimes it's not love. It's pain. Accept it. Know well.

On the summer of a certain year- which I will not mention- I found myself at the mercy of such unusual sentiments. For those of you who have read my Sunbeams on a beautiful day, it was the edited version of the 4 pages. When I began writing the letter, every nerve in my body writhed in agony, pleading with tearful cries "Ebenezer, please don't do it" I listened and wrested but finally agreed with them. Eventually, when the thought occurred to me again I bowed my head and started scribbling anyway. I took me all about a week; collecting memories that I deemed worthy of the occasion and sampled them together with well orchestrated 'lines', strategically positioned with one goal: to make me look like a knight in shining armor. Last week, when I came across the letter for the first time in many months, I read it hook, line and sinker whilst munching on some crackers a friend had purchased for me. The first thoughts that surfaced, surfed along the lines of mere stupidity. But as I pondered, I realized how far I had come since I closed that chapter of my life. I began to understand that I was a knight in shining armor; just not hers. The beauty of love is not the harmony of reciprocity. The beauty of love- what makes love so desirable- is the giving. Letting it flow from within entrails, and the innermost parts of your spirit. Love is divine. No matter how good you are, and how well you love, the amount of love you receive will never be the same. By God's love we understand and know that we can never love Him the way He does us.  I think that we waste time trying to understand love because it's difficult to accept something you don't understand. More importantly we don't accept the love we don't think we deserve. I will end today's session with a simple question. To love is to choose. It is a choice we wrestle with in the chambers of our mind, and finally we decide. The question is, "Does anyone deserve to be loved?" 

And it begins again

How do you love a boy or a man? Be reminded, young ladies that a rose is a rose is a rose and when a man wants a rose, he wants a rose. If you are not that rose, best be moving on. For those of us who fell in the crevices of love at some point in a past life, we can affirm that being happy and staying happy is not the same thing. Lately, every time I turn on the television, there is a show about love, relationship,  some kind of social problem which has to do with relationships. About 80 percent of the films made in this country center on love. Wait scratch that, 90 percent.  And do not even get me started on the young single ladies who have never been married but somehow feel like their take on marriage is practical. If you have never been married, your advice on marriage is limited to a bunch of theories you can only assume work. Besides there is a reason why your relationship has been long overdue.  “Relationships don’t work in real life like in the movies or television. Will they? Won’t they? And when they finally do, they live happily ever after. Give me a break!” What are you? 9? Even 9 year olds won’t believe that crap! “Bottom line is couples that are truly right for each other wade through the same crap as everybody else but the big difference is, they don’t let it take them down. One of those two people will stand up and fight for that relationship if it’s right.” It is work and lots of it, because nothing is ever as it seems. We get so lost in trying to be the perfect couple when that is just an illusion that seems to escape everybody. Trust, love, forgiveness are the three basics. Don’t get lost in translation because eventually love is what brings two worst people together. Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means you've decided to look beyond the imperfections. It’s life! Nothing is perfect. Sometimes, it helps to think that everything will work out, because it actually does. Nothing might be perfect but nothing ever stays the same. Things change. People change. You might think that everything is against you, that life has no meaning and for someone with such good looks and a great social status; everything is supposed to work out for you. But boy do I have news for you. Sh** happens!

Ghost Stories

Time has changed and my heart is in many places- almost lost in translation. I carry a lingering feeling that  you are a different person, and the walls which I built around you have been reduced to ruins. True as that maybe, I remember how your smile, since I last saw it, has stayed with me through some of the crippling days I have experienced. It is one of the few pleasant memories I have of you. To tell you the truth, I never actually thought my mind harbored any memories of you, and now that they are here, I sure am glad. There are days I am taken by your enthralling beauty, which is not a far-fetched reality because I have, deep down somewhere in the halfway corners of my mind, thought that you were a diamond in the rough. Here in the park, taking the beauty of cotton ball clouds profusely distributed through the ocean vault of the firmament in, I am reminded that the seasons of poison have grudgingly dissolved in to something inexplicable. I can't tell what exactly, but after a first date in the park and a second dinner chez moi, my mind has been sending bizarre signals down the valve that connects to my heart. And here we are bearing our hearts out after three cotton candies and a light lunch. I think of you. Each word, as it leaves my lips feels heavy with thoughts of you. Thoughts that have always hovered between my head and my heart like ghost stories. May be I should tell you a story about how I walked through the rain just to surprise you, to tell you that I am falling into memories of you and all the things we never did. Like smiling at each other, and saying little things like hello to each other. Now you see me; looking forthrightly into your eyes-so beautifully dangerous like the lightning, so enchanting to behold. For me there is only you.

If I were to tell you a story, it'll have to be in winter and we'd both have to be seated around a fire  beneath the branches of an old oak tree. Our eyes would be gazing in to the distant night cover as it extends before our eyes. I would hold you under the light of a thousand stars. Then I would tell you a story about how I am incomplete without you.

Sunbeams on beautiful day

Looking at her is like looking at the stars; the feeling is quite beyond words. I can't tell what it is, but I know I just want to keep looking. I've seen beautiful and I've seen her. I've seen the full moon in all its radiance but nothing of her beautiful face.  Words are amiss for the sensation, the shivers and the free falling of the my human soul into this infinite perfection. When my eyes beheld her, I disarmingly watched my defenses succumb to the illusion of her perfection. I wish I could show her, when she’s lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of her own being." There is not a word I couldn't possibly tell her. “Come back to the place where you've always belonged; the place where warmth and love dwell. I'm not ideal. The portraits I paint are for blind eyes. Come back to the start where you find in your heart you've always belonged. True love waits. Can't promise you perfection, can't promise everything you want, but I can promise you all the love I possess. It's not much but when the tide rises, it'll be there, waiting to wrap its arms around you and whisper, "We'll be alright". I want to see your face and know I made it home.

It’s the little things that make my heart smile and they are the things I treasure most about every time we've spent together. We never really talked about anything special or controversial but we never really run out of things to say.

"My hands are roaming the velvet-smooth feeling of being loved. Eyes shut, dreaming of nothing. I want to bring you to the tallest of mountains and the highest of treetops, where no man has gone before. I want to paint you the portrait of what it looks like when the light hits us in that 4:30 pm way. I want to tell you what it feels like to be engulfed by the flames of holding your hand in the cold. Maybe, yes. I’m still lost in this mystifying mist of memories that has left me powerless. I watch my heart go out like a light, thoughtless. I tried to forget but you grew roots around my rib cage, sprouted flowers just below my collar bones. All day I pluck their petals. I have not yet ascertained whether you love me. I sit in my room, alone, using light that peers in-between the cracks of the blind to document the moments I spent with you. The terrible sunlight which gradually sits upon my cracked porcelain fingertips continues to press ink among the pages. As the words gracefully sway out from my lips and onto the pale white piece of paper, the thought of you suddenly brings me back to life. Back to a life I wish I had; a life I long to relive with you. I fell in love with the way you looked at me, the way you held my hand, how you said the right words at the wrong time.

Maybe in the next life, my heart will be like air; felt and unbroken.

Imagine the Fire.

About a little over a month ago, during a night vigil service, our pastor had a near death experience halfway through his sermon. It happened seconds after he had said the words, "I want to see you, Jesus." The words carried the weight of his faith and in no time, he floated away. That very second, prayers were lifted up by the congregation. He was in a comatose state for a month until his eyelids parted to welcome him back to the land of the living.

There is a line in the neurosurgeon Eben Alexander's book that reads, "You are loved and cherished, dearly, forever. You have nothing to fear. There is nothing you can do wrong." This statement has stayed with me since I read that book, and I am- beyond all reasonable doubt- certain that there is life after this one.

Death is a medium- a door- through which we all walk to experience the aftermath of our lives. Some already have, others will in no time. The fact that you do not believe it doesn't make it surreal. On the contrary, it existed before you entered this life, and it will be after you exit. Simple truths are hard to believe but they are our salvation. Personally, I think it's only fair that in a world run by the devil, people believe his existence more than they do God. The mistake is that you fail to understand that the devil is not the opposite of God. God is above all else. He stands alone in his excellence and goodness. He has no equal, and there isn't a complete badness contesting the complete goodness of God. When I watched the recent version of Left Behind, I understood the young lady's unbelief. It easy to see darkness when you are surrounded by light. You can instantly tell when something doesn't fit. The same cannot be said when you have lived your entire life in the reigns of darkness. At first you have hope and somewhat belief, and then slowly that hope flickers into oblivion. The weight of that darkness can crush your dreams and hopes because it is designed to.

When I watched the film heaven is for real, it amazed me  how some of us Christians sit in church with something camouflaged as faith. The Christians could not get past the fact that heaven was real. Being a Christian is hard, I know. But our assurance is that God is with us even through our bouts of unbelief, and shortcomings. God has always been painting the bigger picture. One which may be beyond but we are called to, regardless. It is easy to believe in the depravity of the human existence: the hatred, greed, and the sheer evil that lingers in the hearts of many. It is always easy to believe that there is no God. True or not, death awaits your arrival. I used to think that death visited each one of us when our timer clocked in. What I failed to realize was that we were marching towards death. Our steps maybe like that of the tortoise but we are on our way to a door that leads to the next. Whether or not you believed in God and his gift of eternal peace in the afterlife, don't wait to find out. It will be too late for you. What do you have to lose? Your so called perfect life? 

The love between Life and Death

I am reminded of how fast and easy people slip into oblivion; their presence gone from within our grasps and our hearts ever empty and sore. Sometimes, in the awe of October, as fall unleashes her warmth and beauty, I am reminded that death falls down taking the best of us with her. It shows no mercy or restraints, with the passion of a lover claims the gifts life sends her way and never returns them for contentment abides in her heart.

The pains of yesterday have left my heart, and even as I sit behind my old computer to forcefully push the keys of these letters, I am grimly reminded that no man lives forever in the confines of humanity. Death is like rain... it falls on everyone. Death is like the other child that almost ripped your family apart. You know the one. The one the your parents argue over at 2 am in the dead hours of twilight, the one that never makes it to the living room but when she does all hell breaks loose. That one.  She reminds us of how time is unpredictable, and how sweet things can turn sour in a split second. It doesn't take minutes to die, or hours, it takes a second.

Truth is you don't get stronger as you age. With each year's passing, you draw nearer to your crowning moment- to your reception party in the afterlife. My grandmother's passing after 86 years of life did not hurt or provoke any emotional turbulence. To be honest, I have never always been able to source out that emotional side of me. She was old and her timer was long overdue, so when it clocked her ticket to the afterlife in, I sang with joy that she had been freed from the suffering of this world- received by her maker. And then two friends who were no older than me slipped away in the cold hours of winter. Gruesome, horrifying and utterly heartbreaking. It sank deep into my heart, lived there for months and my subconscious feasted on it- provoking thoughts that were beyond me. I understand now why people take life for granted. If you have woken up every morning for the past 20 years or whatever years you have lived on earth, it is hard to think for a second that tonight's full moon could be the last you see, or that you may be enjoying your last sun bathing experience. The reason why we should be joyful is that one day- like everything on this this earth- it will all be over. But cautious because you don't know when it will be.

You could be in the middle of cheating on your wife when your timer stops. No matter how worth having you think the things on this earth are, none of them can save you from dying. After all, to be alive means death is evident and to be dead is to be alive forever wherever your final destination is.

As you go about your daily activities, I want you to think about these words:

Death is a beautiful lover who cherishes the gifts life sends her. The minute you were born, life sent you on a journey as a gift to death. Your journey may be long or short, but whatever the case, you are on your way.....

ETA: N/A

Open Mic.

In these pitch black corners, I've sat quietly; calm like a stalker with unlimited patience, waiting for the seasons of poison to swallow my love in one gulp, with an earnest hope that they do not disappoint. When I was 7, I thought love was being abused by a 19 year old girl who was a freshman in college. When I was 8, I thought love was asking her to marry me. She said yes, and I painted a portrait of love for her. I left with the promise of forever with her, but before the night unfolded, she set it on fire. She robbed me and left me stranded at the altar with my wooden ring which I carved out of a withered tree branch. The years have slipped into oblivion. My skin has matured but my mind on the other hand, has yet feel maturity. I have often loved the darkness and wondered when the light would challenge me to be better. I’m a broken soul, maybe hell-bound with no remorse or regret. The life I live, I live in the shadows of my own eerie reflection. For what it’s worth, you can’t hate me more than I hate myself. I could fade away on a cloudless summer day, or on a beautiful spring day and no one would remember my existence, however brief it was. The days slip into oblivion and I have yet to grasp the full extent of my own nature and why I do what I do. I have seen how the storms come and go, how people always leave, and lived on broken promises.

We turned the pages as the fold of time slipped by, and we watched like strangers who had known each other forever. What to pen these days is almost lost within me as I wrestle with the notion that distance has been cruel to us...it is almost like passing a camel through the eye of a needle. I have for many days pondered in the depths of heart profound thoughts that could better explain a perfect frame of us. A frame  where  we both exist in time present. For what it's worth, every smile that creases your lips is a ballad to my heart and  it lingers like beautiful mist in the corridors.  To leave the borders of your love would bruise my heart and burn my soul. So I hold on to the heart that holds mine, to the hands that comforts me, and the embrace that brings me warmth. You. Maybe distance will part and separates us. Maybe our  hearts will let go and fall into oblivion about how we feel about each other.

Portrait of Us

The idea of love was not entirely novel to him; but as it stands she was uncharted waters and he was no sailor. They were both utterly at variance on the idea of a first date,  but she handed him a red rose which she bought from a young boy because he overly fretted about sending her the wrong signals.

 I tell you a story about the great uneasiness he felt when he left her side, and how empty he felt knowing that it would take forever to see her again. Days without her felt like eternity with an unrelenting pain of emptiness. So I tell you a story: one with a sad ending, one where he realizes that she was the best thing yet to happen to him. The fold of sea waves swaying at the command of the air could only be a sign of a pleasing late lunch. As he clearly remembered, it was her initiative that had brought them to the picturesque spaces of the Bouregreg Marina in the Moroccan capital. It was a beautiful late afternoon and the sun sailing down the horizon could only be defined as listening to a ballad arm-in-arm with a beloved. She was well dressed, simple yet extravagant. He loved her fashion choice and how she carried herself. Bold. Her confidence was nothing he had initially thought. Before she moved any further, he had taken a snapshot of her as a smile creased her face. It was simple and genuine. True to her nature, and what she was feeling. He didn’t stand a chance. How could he, he was free falling but the weight of her impression had dulled his heart to the sensations of love that were beating against it. She walked in front of him like her hips moved mountains and she knew it. Not that he ogled but his eyes did glide pass the view. It was unexpected.

If it was intended to be a first date, then they both would agree that it was a beautiful one. A simple, nonetheless perfect date, which was filled with laughter, meaningful conversation, good and terrible food, and ice cream. Love took its own sweet time in arriving, more so he was not ready to admit that she was by far and large his best first date. As they ambled on, he spotted an empty seat a few inches from the ocean and invited her to sit down. Before long a young boy trying to make a few dirhams- which he was certain was money for a cigarette- hustled by with a dozen roses trying to make a sale. She bought one and handed it to him. It went straight to his heart. Like a bolt of lightning ripping the sky apart, it tore through his defenses making him feel again. The conversation had taken turns with honest admiration for each other. He admired her strength and she held him up there with realness. They enjoyed hearing each others stories and experience and the intensity was brewing.

But then...

Simple midnight black, period.

"Put down the bleach. Your skin is not dirt that needs to be cleaned out like yesterday’s shirt. You are comprised of sienna, chestnut, and warm mahogany. Dark as the night sky, constellations are tucked neatly underneath your bones. Your skin reminiscent of the hot chocolate that warms winter nights. Like rings around a tree stump, you too have history etched into your melanin. Don’t let the glaring whiteness, blind you from the beauty that you are. " As to why you feel the need to change all that with some chemical that will eventually kill you; beats my imagination
They tell you that a black girl is beautiful if her skin color look lighter. You are black. A Black girl is called a black girl because she is black. Not light black, or chocolite brown. Simple midnight black, period. You were born black! If God created you black and you are using some chemical on your skin to get a job you prayed for, because you were told that God helps those who help themselves, then not only are you dumb, but you have meager knowledge of the God you serve. If God is going to establish you, or give you a life changing job, He may need you to dress right, decent, but the last thing He would want- that is if He reckons that creating you black was a mistake - is for you to change your skin color. 

Personally, I think that people who bleach their skin are insecure and need public admiration to wake up in the morning. It is sad and depressing to know that you are killing yourself, and people are admiring you for it. And what is worse: you are happy about it. The fact that your race is defined as black means that you are black, and you can't escape your race just by changing your skin color.
They tell us that black is only beautiful when your skin has that white appeal. and that black women are only winning, the more “exotic” we can make ourselves seem. When we say black is beautiful. It means simply means "BLACK" not some fake white wanna be.

"We can only be accepted when our skin is lighter than a paper bag." Yeah true, but why do we need to accepted? And for what? Why is the person who is accepting us important? What makes their existence more important than ours? Do they shit gold bricks? Or is it because they will live forever, and them accepting me means I will live forever too? Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings? Get over it! No one's existence is more important that another's. It's bad enough that years ago, they marched us from our rich lands, took us as slaves, stole all our valuables - still stealing it in the name of trade relations-, made a name out of it and didn't feel bad about it. But for us to bleach our skin just to please their ego, and get some meager acceptance smile, and a pat on the shoulder; that is worse.
If God created the world and everything in it, and you believe He doesn't make mistakes, then what exactly are you telling Him? You play dress up in the church looking  all lightened up singing and shouting for a miracle, when all you have done is tell him, "I know you love me and all, but I think you got my skin wrong." Why can't we be proud of the fact that we are black and we are still beautiful regardless of our color. Why should we associate beauty with just once race? Hell, they get a tan so they can look a little darker and you are proudly lightening up your skin to look like them. Does it have a nice ring to it? The sad part: you get some terminal cancer illness, say your mother is a witch and that she did this to you. Stay with me. Eventually, when you are waiting for death to take you away, you will feel there is hope with some fake pastor who will rob you of your money in the name of a healing miracle and then you will die.

Tsk tsk tsk..... sad sad story. I'm black, African, and a proud one too. And that's what's up!!

Keep Calm and Carry On. We all have one life and we all die once.

Sympathy for the "devil"

Lewis B. Smedes said, " To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you

You may act like you don't deserve it but deep down you expect to be forgiven because at some point you forgave someone for the the bruises this someone inflicted on your not so innocent self.

The truth is: Everyone deserves forgiveness. You cant parade around with a holier than thou complex deciding who deserves your forgiveness. Your forgiveness is not worth anything if it not true. Its nothing but words recited by a toddler seeking affection from an irresponsible father. Hear me this: You don't get to decide who you forgive because you'd be telling God that His salvation is worth nothing.

Pain is not cheap. It is a wrecking ball that wreaks intense havoc. Think about the first time someone betrayed you, or your first heartbreak. Two words: Hard, cold, and a ton of hurt. Now you share it proud as if it was your first serious jail time. If I had to guess, you were violated many times by cruel thoughts, and painful memories. The memory of pain is why we can't forgive. And I agree with you. Why should you forgive them? "They were selfish, and even though they knew it would hurt you, they did it anyway. Why should I forgive them?" You have given your anger a shoulder rub and you've comforted your pain with the promise of a bright future. What you do not realize is that you are you are killing yourself... slowly. That poison of a pain will feast on itself and consume you. You will become bitter for the rest of your life about something that will eventually become irrelevant, and you would have traded many happy moments for a lifetime of broken relationships and terrible decisions. Let it go. Have some sympathy for the "devil" that caused you the pain. It is your cure

If you truly love someone like you claim, forgive them. Let the pain go.

Second chances are a gift. It’s a grace card that goes around, and keeps giving to the worst of us. We all need second chances, and the second one after that second chance. It is just a way of saying that I am as human as it gets. Second chances always come along; to remind us that there is no shame in falling because we are all trying to stand on two feet. Our decisions are influenced by multiple factors; some of which don't come into play until we are the crossroads of decision making. Actions are not all guided by experiences or careful thought. Some are impulsive, influenced by selfish desires and urgent needs; and and sometimes those actions become wrecking balls that...........(Well, you catch my drift). I learned the hard way to be grateful for pain and the people who caused them because sometimes it takes the worst pain to bring about the best change. Once you forgive someone, you feel like you lost something. Your pride. You lose your crushed pride, and you begin a long journey to living with pain as it slowly leaves your body.

Let it go.

If you have ever wonder whether you are forgiven or not here is something for you. “You can never know if a person forgives you when you wrong them. Therefore it is existentially important to you. It is a question you are intensely concerned with. Neither can you know whether a person loves you. It’s something you just have to believe or hope. But these things are more important to you than the fact that the sum of the angles in a triangle is 180 degrees. You don’t think about the law of cause and effect or about modes of perception when you are in the middle of your first kiss.”

A Thousand Suns

The king was dead. Truer or more significant words had never been spoken of old the king. King Aron Neau had finally bowed his head to death after a long hard tussle with the grim reaper. His body, although lifeless, bore much peace. “He was ready,” said Ogol, the great seer. His old fragile hands pulled a white cloth over King Aron’s body. Sadness bore greatly on Ogol’s wrinkled face, but it was sadness for the maidens of Agrameth. The news of King Aron’s death still lingered in his room. “Do not let anyone come to this room.” He cautioned, the guard maintained his posture and nodded in agreement. “Not even the queen must know that her king belongs with the dead now.” Ogol closed the door gently and made his way to the room at the end of the corridor. As troubled as he was, he had to keep his composure till the sun broke silence

Irida had been covered in gold dust as Ogol had instructed. The servants had covered her entire body in gold, leaving her almost unrecognizable by anyone. She was a living golden statue, and words like beautiful failed at defining how she looked. She glimmered like the sun. The moment Ogol entered the room, Irida knew what had happened. It was as if the answer had been shot like a dart to her heart, and the impact almost crushed her. “Yes, he is dead” Ogol whispered. What time will not change, death will and like the many kings before Aron, his death would bring pure, unadulterated sadness. “Sometimes, I think this kingdom is too cruel for your innocence, little sister” Ogol touched his hands to Irida’s golden cheeks. He wanted to console her, to fill her mind with words that would steal her mind from the kings passing; but he failed terribly. Irida refused to speak regardless. Her mind was consumed by the task ahead.

Darkness hovered over Agrameth still, and queen Nann had grown out of her patience. She was restless and needed to see the king. By the time she arrived at the door, Ogol was speaking to the guard about her sister, Anissa. Irida was carrying out the first rites, and Ogol had decided to wait till she was done. He was asking the guard about her family, when she instantly froze upon seeing the queen approach with hell beaming on her face “Ogol, I am the queen of Agrameth and I command you to open this door at once.” Nann ordered in a rather loud, strong voice. “Your highness, you must calm yourself.” Ogol replied with a cunning look on his face. “Guard, you will open this door now or I will have your head by morning.” The queen’s anger was beyond question. The guard looked at Ogol, who nodded in affirmation but before she could, Irida swung the door open. “He is ready for you, your highness.” Irida said. Her voice was soft and gentle. When the queen saw the gold dust on Irida’s hands, she hurried through the door. “Oh, my king,” She wailed. The pain seared through her like a sharp knife, and she went to the floor, which was cold and hard with a heavy plop.

Anissa welcomed  her mother who had stepped in to the garden  as dawn eased into sunrise behind the rolling hills. Isabelle Bailef had harvested a basket full of fresh tomatoes, aubergines, apples and peaches from the fruit garden. Anissa yelled in excitement as her eyes feasted on the harvest. “We should ask Sybil to join us for breakfast” Anissa said as she danced around her mother. “Please, mother. You have to let Sybil join us” Isabelle laughed as her young daughter danced around. She lifted Anissa up and kissed her cheeks “Yes, my dear one, Sybil will join us” She said with a smile. “Yes! Thank you mother” Anissa kissed Isabelle on the forehead before she put her down in her bed. Isabelle paused for a moment as she made her way through the kitchen, thinking of the last time she saw her daughter, Sybil. She wore Sybil’s last words at heart and regretted deeply what she had done. It was confusing and painful trying to sort out the swinging cacophony of disturbing emotions but she wasn’t going to disappoint Anissa. No. She would swallow her pride and ask her daughter Sybil to join them for Anissa sake. Isabelle poured out some water into a bowl and begun preparing breakfast. From the kitchen she could hear her daughter playfully soliloquy from her room. Her mind, as it drifted to old memories, was quickly interrupted by a loud bang on the door. Mrs. Bailef! Mrs. Bailef!! Please open up! Ivo knocked violently on the door, so violent it startled Isabelle. She rushed to the door. “Oh, it’s you, Ivo.” She said to him, sighing relief. “Are you alright, Ivo? Come in!” “Mrs. Bailef, close the door. Quickly” Ivo said as he tried to catch his breath. His heart was pulsating as Isabelle fetched him a cup of water. “Mrs. Bailef, you have to take Anissa out of Agrameth now.” Ivo uttered. His breathing was returning to normal. “Have you lost your senses, Ivo?” Isabelle replied. Her shock had mutated quickly into displeasure. “I do not appreciate you telling me what –“. “The king is dead.” Ivo interrupted. Isabelle froze. The weight of the news dulled her ears to any other words Ivo said. You have until midday to leave Agrameth or your daughter will be dead.” Without another word Ivo left the house leaving Isabelle Bailef scared for her life and Anissa.

About Time

Over the weekend, I was invited to a classmate’s wedding; and besides the fact that I was sick and bedridden throughout the weekend, I really did not want to attend. A couple of weeks prior, when I was informed about the wedding, I gave a resounding “no” as my response. But a young lady said to me, “If you don’t attend someone’s wedding, no one will attend yours.” It was true and I was okay with it. If no one came to my wedding, I’ll have my bride, my best man, our families and that will be enough. Everyone else would be appreciated but I would want them to be there for the mere reason that they want to, and not because I attended their wedding. I love marriage, and hope to tie my knot in the not so distant future with a certain special someone when I finally meet her, but I am not a big fan of wedding events. Personally, I think that weddings are overrated. The cure for love is marriage and the cure for marriage is love again. I think that weddings should be true, intimate and full of nothing but love. That feeling of beauty should come from desire and passion and not just expensive wedding gowns and the exquisite china used at the reception. If that is where your beauty comes from, that’s okay too. I actually think that you should have the best cake though. Because cake is cake and a great cake can make you forget all your troubles. In a movie I watched yesterday, the bride wore a red dress at her wedding and I thought that it was simply amazing. Truth is, if you wore a red dress to your own wedding in Ghana. First line of thought, “Oh, my son is marrying a witch…” I guarantee it. That is beside the point but the subject of reciprocity is always used when it comes to weddings. And it applies to basically everything we do.

First: attend a wedding because you want to, because you care, and you want to share in their happiness. Not for the main course meal, or the drinks or the cake. Acts of love, care, should come from a place of love and not from a place of reciprocity. We love, because we love; and not because we are loved in return. In what ways have we loved God for loving God since He loved us? Loving God should be easier because He does not change. And we have failed terrible in that department. I know I have.

People argue that there are different kinds of love. This is true but love is still required for the other kinds of love. The common denominator is LOVE.

Let’s face it: Life is hard and people do not always return the liberties they take.Show by hands if you did everything right and the guy/girl did not choose you? I bet a lot of hands are going up right about now. Did we still love them after they chose someone else? |Hell to the no! I am sorry. What? You still want us to be friends? Is your friendship supposed to be a consolation prize?| Show by hands if you have ever felt like that? Good! That is absolutely normal. You put yourself out there and you crash landed. It must have hurt terribly. I know, I have been there. Maybe I did not hurt like you for the mere reason that I have a titanium heart, but I felt the impact and that is similar. I do not want to be sagacious, but I want you to understand that loving someone is not about you; it is about the other person. You have to understand that you can do all the right things and still be the wrong person for someone. And you should learn to be okay with that. I speak on the subject because we do things with unflinching expectations of returns. This is not business, this is personal. You will argue that there is no fun in that, but you must understand that if you want to be a better person, it should be about you and not the other person. You develop a giving heart because you give a loving heart because you love. These are the times that try men’s souls. People take a 180 turn for others because they are in ‘love’ with someone, eventually when that ‘love’ dies down- and it will- you will have nothing but your old self, with a broken heart, time wasted, no self-improvement, and you are back to square one except you are two years, six months, half a decade, older. It’s better to grow and be ready.

If I were to tell you a story...

If I were to tell you a story about how I met you, I'd make sure we were sitting at a coffee shop with a street or ocean side view. There is something about the ocean that calms me, and a unique feeling I get from watching the cars and people. I would still ask for your opinion which may consequently lead to the two of us spending the rest of the day around town, looking for viable coffee shop options. I enjoy long walks as well, so that will definitely be the icing on the cake. If and when we actually find a suitable place, I hope it'll be somewhere in the park; where we can have some cotton candy. I like how it just vanishes in my mouth. Don't blame me. I like weird things. There will be no cakes or cookies on this date, but we'll both sit in the park, knowing that a dinner date with dessert was not that far away. Your smile at this point assures me that you are not considering walking away because I said dinner date. It'll just be two people having a home cooked meal with pecan pie, and maybe cheesecake as dessert. Think about it.

We'd be sitting somewhere gazing at people who are taking the nature of the park in. No one can argue with the beauty and the kind of serenity it breathes, even when it is filled with people. In that moment of reflection, words like, "I admired you when I first saw you" leave my  lips, followed by a slow pause and  a gaze in your direction. The moment as captured in my thoughts would be surreal but you'd be there "Your long legs and boyish appearances did you all the justice as far as I remember." We'd both smile and you'd ask me why I was always hostile towards you. My face would be beaming with guilt and a still long painful moment. I'll recall all my frowns as they mutated into what nots as time passed. "You were such a nice person but you also talked like people were made of iron and not flesh and blood." That was the straw that broke my admiration for. We'd sit in silence for a bit and Id' draw your attention to the cotton ball clouds

profusely distributed in the blue vault of the firmament. Their beauty would serenade us for a few second and I'd begin a story about how you were in my kitchen once whilst I was cooking trying to get me to talk to you. "I was mean."  Truth is, I remember each memory frame with you in it.

Now the day is here. The sun is shining straight through the openings in the clouds and you are inches away listening to the story of how I met you. You keep smiling infinitely pleased with an incomplete story. When the feathers of friendship tickled our hands, I reckoned that we were not so different. From behind enemy lines to the courts of friendship. Sadly, I never saw you again... until you were taking short walks with me through the park. Out on the wooden bridge, I'd stare back with a smile as I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of your hair behind your ear. Years have sailed and time has slipped us by but here we are, me creating with words and you reading miles away.

And then...

The Human Expericence

I am at point in my life where everything is fuzzy. I am constantly swinging between multiple moments of insensitivity and giref. Sometimes I wake up early just to take a long time to feel alive. There are days when I feel numb all day long and starve myself till the next day. But during my time at the hospital last week, the pain and hopelessness of the patients cut through me like an electric shock. It simply took the life out of me. My posture stiffened again and again. It broke me and knocked me out of the whole fuzzy phase.

What that visit did for me is beyond words. It hurt being there but I had to take it in like a man and understand that our bodies are designed to fail at some point and to place a value on life

Life of a person like a seed begins when that one sperm beats the rest to find the egg. Even that is no victory, because you must understand that a success like that never always produces the end result which is birth. Not all foetuses make it to the end of the line. Like a seed planted, not all are able to germinate. This makes me think that will is evident even before we identify it as will. The will of a sperm or a seed is channelled through many stages to sprout out of the ground. Will is evident even before we come to this earth to exercise it. Once here, we grow like trees and enjoy a certain privilege that some did not. We are here. Our minds capture the thought that we have it all until a storm teaches us different. They ply away all those layers and leave remains of all who we really are. Deep down we are just naked, vulnerable and afraid. We are, each of us, a tree of life created to leave eternity on earth before we partake in it in the afterlife. The hard truth that most people have a difficult time hearing is that no matter how much you fortify your body, it will fail. You can have muscles like Mr. Olympia, be super fit and all but one day, you’ll be reduced to a lifeless, motionless body. You can run, run, but you can’t hide from death. The evidence and existence of death should teach us the importance of life and living it. Learn to teach yourself to live and not to exist, to settle for mediocrity in the name of will. Strive for progress not perfection. Learn to live out the reason why you are here. Live out the human experience.

There are over thousand spieces of trees on this planet. Each serving humanity, there are those which produce fruit and others shade and others we cut to serve our dubious pleasures. Why can't we be like trees living out our purpose. Bring joy to your soul by living out your purpose. There is nothing so rewarding.

At the hospital, I realized that all these people like trees get pulled down by a storm, or illness some are fortunate to regain their strength and continue the good work. Others are not. Don't sit there and think that you'll always be fotunate to make it through. You can be fortunate enough for so long.

Here is something to think about:
If everything on this earth was created to serve another thing, what were you created to serve? Yourself?......