If you’re going through a hard time right now, read this and know that it’ll be okay. You’re not alone.
Author Archives: The Capoeira Panda
What do you do when your feet are held down by the weight of your own shortcomings, and each step you take is steeped in sadness, your pace slowed by the realization that you’re not half the person you wish you could be.
If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, then name one in my honor. But leave the streetlights without bulbs, so those that walk it see that I’m blind; blind to reality, blind to the things I should see, blind to the man I’m needed to be.
I ask to be taught, but seem to never learn. Maybe I ask for rewards that I seem to never earn. Erring on the side of the needful. Unseeing when it stands in front of me. Claiming to love but not showing what love gives. Desperately wanting to be right but not recognizing what wrong is. Failing the tests because I sat in class but never really paid attention. Getting an F because I failed to prepare. Give me that F because when it came down to it, I wasn’t there. Give me that F because feelings are f**k-all without some fiber of action. Give me that F because fathers aren’t made of flimsy excuses. Give me that F because at the end of the day… I’m just as F’d up as I said I wasn’t.
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So we’ve got a dog in my flat, her name’s Ella (it just occurred to me that I should’ve taken a picture of her before I started writing this, but ah well).
She’s a nine month old samoyed, and as with most of her kind, she sheds a lot and feels the need to mess up the flat to the best of her ability. So, tired of having the house stinking of dog pee all the time, my flatmate (her owner) got her a cage. The rational behind this? Dogs won’t mess up in the place they sleep, and so she’d hold herself while she’s in the cage and then we’d take her out in the morning to pee.
Sounds like a plan, yes?
Well, it worked for a couple of weeks. She wouldn’t pee until we’d let her out of the cage, and would whine and cry till we let her out. And for a little while, there was peace.
Soon though, we started to notice that she wouldn’t complain when we left her in the cage for long periods of time. She’d just lie down like there was nothing happening.
And then we smelled it. Dog pee, strong. All over the corridor. We were confused at first. It didn’t make sense; was she peeing in her cage? By dog instincts, that wasn’t even possible. But, the smell continued.
And then after a while, we realized what was happening; this dog would go to the end of her cage, angle herself, and pee right out of the cage. So she’d relieve herself, but not go against her nature of never peeing where she sleeps.
Which got me thinking; as human beings, we attribute a lot of actions to “nature”. We say people do somethings instinctively, and say shit like “I/he/she couldn’t help it” or “it’s my nature”. There’s a favourite scene from one of the Pirates of the Caribbeans movies I’ve got that’s based on that.
But is it actually impossible to do things that come to us as “unnatural”? Is it impossible to change, because we realize we need to change? Is this whole hiding behind “nature” thing nothing more than a Big excuse used by people too lazy and unremorseful to change? I’ve seen people fix their behavioural patterns, and turn their lives around because they wanted to.
On my quest for weight loss and healthy living, Luminus (my coach) always said (& still says) “you can find a way, or you can find an excuse”.
Saying things like “it’s too hard”, “I can’t do it”, “it’s (not) in my nature” et al, are simply ways to limit yourself and stay within your comfort zone. But the thing about comfort zones is, there’s no progress to be made in them. You’ll simply live as the person you’ve always been, wishing you could be better, but never actually taking steps to be better.
But what do I know? I’m just a flatmate that gets irritated when he steps out of his bedroom and is assaulted by the smell of dog piss.
Well played, Ella.
Have a great week, y’all.
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And when the Ink dries, and the pages turn to dust, so will we return to dust. – Frank Ocean
So… a new week, yes?
Did y’all have a good weekend? I know I did… I didn’t get to see my little Big Madam, but I still had s decent time. I went to church for the first time in… I don’t know…four months?
Damn. I wish I could make some kind of excuse but well, my hangups with churches and God will probably require a separate post, so I’ll just let it go.
Started a journey with TheMs, which had the potential to be very good for us. But as with all things, I’ve learned very well that the road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions, so I’m praying that it works out for us just like we hope it will.
Chef Fregz is amazing. I should just leave it at that. His Special went really well yesterday (at least I think so); the food was amazing, people came out to support him… I had a good time with family.
And speaking about family, I’ve learned that the best kind of family is the kind you choose to be with. Not like the one you’re born into is bad, but it’s one thing to have something thrust upon you, and another to choose that it’s what you want. S/O to TeamGhenGhen, J & TheMs… Yesterday was so much fun.
This wasn’t what I planned to post but well… Na so e dey happen sometimes. Now I’m going to try to get through the day with as much energy as possible, and not fall asleep at my desk.
Y’all have an awesome week.
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It’s funny how you think you understand how a person feels when you do something, but never truly understand until it’s done to you.
It’s a very painful thing to have a person doubt you when that person is meant to be the one that has your back in difficult situations.
I use a Sony Xperia S… homeboy just sat beside me on the bus waving an Xperia Z… I feel like punching him and trading phones. -_-
And what exactly is the big deal with this Suits show? My flatmates have been on about it for years… Twitter seems to be crazy about it, now this chic on the bus is watching it on her phone. Ah well…
And sometimes, we don’t do it on purpose. We find ourselves looking patterns from the past, and extrapolating to what would most likely happen. Sometimes it’s just easier to point out what’s wrong with the person’s plan than to actually ask “Ok, how do you plan to make this work? Let’s figure it out.”
But the truth is, anybody can cast shadows and doubts. Anybody can poke holes in plans or tell him/her what exactly is wrong with what (s)he wants to do or how (s)he did the wrong thing. But with one person? Sometimes all that’s needed is support. Unflinching support. The simple knowledge that however this turns out, (s)he’s going to be right there with you, trying to figure it out.
(S)He could be anyone; your friends, parents, significant other… whoever…
I don’t know… I guess it took one offhand “yeah right”, to make me truly understand this morning.
Y’all have a good day.
So, as usual, it’s been a minute.
I was thinking to myself as I was walking to get on a bus, why it is that it becomes a bit more difficult to write when I’m in a relationship.
Well, if I think about it, my blogging ink sorta dried up when mon amant and I got together. And I’m not saying it’s her fault, but there has to be some relation between our getting together and my not having anything to write about on my blog.
There’s this woman falling asleep beside me on this bus and tilting her head towards my shoulder… Would it be unfair of me to bump her off? I’m not very… comfortable with the contact.
Anyway, so I realize, that this blog is sort of an outlet for me, where I can write what’s going on, but find creative ways to do. And that’s not a bad thing. But then when I’m with her, I can say everything that’s on my mind and pretty much bare my soul out. So by the time I get back here, there’s basically nothing else to write.
It seems like the times I’m able to write best are when I’m alone and I have to shoulder through my pain alone. Am I the only one like that? Who seems to find a muse in Pain and Loneliness?
I’m not alone though. I’m blessed with a wonderful person. Would I have to shut her out so that I’d be able to focus my words? Make her suffer for something that isn’t even her fault?
Not even happening.
There has to be a way around it.
I’ll let you know when I figure it out.
In the meantime, have a great week guys. With lots of blessings and good news.
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“The most sincere words are often birthed from the tears that fall when your soul’s water breaks.”
I don’t even know what the fuck that means.
All I do know, is that right now, I feel broken.
I don’t even know how it happened, or what was said.
I wish I could go back in time, and find the exact syntax of words that were said, & stop them.
Words are powerful, you know.
I remember when I was kid, my mum would always tell me to say to people that made fun of me: “sticks & stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.“
Somebody lied, right?
I need a reason to write.
Yes, the post before this one (if you actually wasted your time reading it), was borne from this problem;
I feel like I have nothing to write about anymore.
I took up a job as a writer for GreenlightNG. I write for them twice a week; nothing fancy, just articles reporting things that I consider interesting. I have no idea why I did, seeing as I’ve been wailing about how I never have time to write anymore. But I felt like I needed it. I needed something to make me open a word document and type something that isn’t related to anything I do between the hours of nine to five on a weekday.
My girlfriend asked me yesterday; “Does the maverick no longer have a perspective?”… I didn’t tell her, but that was one of the most painful questions I’ve been asked in a while. In a good way though. Because now, I want to write again. I want to find that pot inside me where I drew my ink from.
Ugh… I’m just sha complaining.
Let’s see how this goes… one day at a time, yes?
The pen gives.
Thoughts made manifest; ideas turned from simple wisps of smoke into concrete patterns broken down into letters and sounds.
Where does it take me?
I have no idea.
I think, therefore I write. Right now I write down these thoughts as they throttle through my consciousness. I must confess, I have no idea what I’m meant to be saying. But there’s no light or day in my brain so when the sun shines I play in the hay of words till they’re tumbling out my ears and down my fingers.
*chuckle* what am I saying?
So… I stumbled across a folder which I called “Unfinished”. It’s full of stuff that I started writing once but… you get the point. I think I’m going to try posting these unfinished pieces… or maybe try to finish them, I dunno.
Anyways, so I started reading this piece I wrote in 2011 when I was a heartbroken buffoon. *chuckles* Those days were terrible. I spent a month in my friend’s crib, smoking pot and writing sad poetry.
Anyway, so I started writing this, a few days after I read a poem on WriteHisWrong’s blog. I’ve said once that I feel like Julius and I get the ink for our pens from the same pot. I read that poem and it felt like I was reading something I’d written.
So I started writing (but never finished) this:
I pray that I have the courage to do this; as I type, my fingers fight through the tears that are pooled at the base of my keyboard, and are weighed down with the burden of typing out the words that afflict my heavy heart. I write, not because I cherish reliving pain, but because words are the only way I find solace when my soul aches. So if you read this and see lines blurred in red, understand that at those points I didn’t have the ink to go on so I dabbed my pen in the spaces of my heart left open when what we had walked out.
I play some Frank to calm the ocean that sends raging waves of pain flowing across the sands of my heart; washing your name from the places I wrote it, thinking it would stay there forever.
I wish I could write an angry poem. A voluminous tome filled with words to tear you down from this pedestal I placed you on; built from the bricks of mistakes I seemed unwilling to learn from. Even now, as I type, they trickle from my fingers like the solitary tear that runs down a heartbroken maiden’s cheek.
Memories are the ghosts of times we sometimes wish we could relive. I lived the times we shared with no ideas of what the future would have to bear. No fears for the past. Not because I had gotten past the past but because a future with you seemed sufficient to suture any wounds left open when the door closed behind my last love as it walked out.
I have no idea where this all started. By sheer will, you broke through every defense I put in place and replaced them all with a need for you. Walking right through carefully built walls and tightly locked emotional doors.