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Hi guys, Well this is becoming quite regular, enjoy it (It might not last). With a little help from Panda, here’s a little story that has been playing around in my head for a while. Enjoy guys 🙂

“… AND I SHALL VISIT MY DIVINE WRATH UPON THIS HEATHEN PLACE! REPENT! FOR YOUR LORD WALKS AMONGST YOU! …”

My eyes flutter as I regain consciousness and realize the screams were not from my nightmares but from my roommate, Patrick, who is experiencing another episode of schizophrenia today. *sigh* I get up and try to make my way to the bathroom without Patrick noticing me. I’m not in the mood to worship him today, his episodes make him think he’s Ra; the Egyptian god of the Sun. Maybe I should worship him; at least he’s a much more accessible god than the one I’m supposed to be serving.

“… REPENT, LEST I GAZE DOWN UPON YOU WITH THE WRATH OF THE SUN! REPENT AND PAY HOMAGE TO YOUR SUN LORD! …”

*sigh*

This was not where I pictured I’d be a week after I walked into Boots pharmacy and bought ten packets of ibuprofen. I had researched extensively and I knew the correct dose to take to ensure hospitalization, but not death.

Why? You may ask.

Attention.

That’s right, I wanted, no needed everyone to fawn over me for once. I wanted my parents to finally realize that money was not a substitute for their time or attention. Oh, I enjoyed the money, a whole lot. It’s what made sure I had all the better things of life, but I craved more, I wanted Mr. and Mrs. Ogunja to want to spend time with me. So I worked up the courage, and executed my plan.

I failed.

After swallowing about 10 tablets of ibuprofen with vodka, I picked up my phone, dialed 199 and told them what I had done. I laid back and waited for the ambulance and all the attention. The only drama I got was my flat mates and hostel manager watching as the medics wheeled me into the ambulance. No one came with me to the hospital.

After pumping my tummy, the doctor said: “Mr. Ogunja, we have cause to believe you’re suicidal, for this reason, we are referring you immediately to a facility that caters to suicidal patients like you, your parents have wired us enough money to cater to your every whim”. I felt the blood drain from my face as I was transported from the hospital to my new home.

And here I am.

This place, which I have called home for the past month, has been hell. I thought I had it bad, but… now I know what hell is like. See, what the doctor failed to tell me is that the facility also serves as a recovery center for different kinds of people- recovering drug addicts trying to become clean, beautiful ladies suffering from chronic eating disorders, people with mental health issues like my roommate… and then me. I have not come across any other person like me in this place, no one.

My nights are filled with screams from the guys with the withdrawal symptoms, daytime is filled with stories of how people got here, lame exercises like coloring or meditation practice and meal times (my favorite) are highlighted by dramatic refusals to take drugs, puking sounds from the loo and desperate attempts to catch the attention of the girls eating on the other side.

Anyways, the point is that I have failed. Throughout my one month here, my parents have only called once. ONCE, and that was to say they had sent more money. I wish I could have money adopt me officially or something. I’m really, really confused. But in the midst of this confusion, I have come up with a plan. You see, when Patrick is not thinking he is God, he’s quite the intelligent guy. We have formulated a plan to get out of this place. And I have an extra plan to ditch him with enough money as soon as we’re out.

The plan has come together very nicely and although I can’t tell you when it will happen, it is really soon. Someday soon, you shall have a suicidal, attention seeking brat and an intelligent, schizophrenic lovable guy on the loose. You have been warned.

My name is Emmanuel Ogunja and I promise I’m not crazy.

I’m coming home.

Waiting on Never to Happen

Hey y’all!

First off; Happy Eid el-Kabir to the Muslim fam that read my blog. I’m waiting for y’all to bring my ram over o! Don’t dull me! I hope everyone’s enjoying this long ass weekend we’re having and all.

So I put up a post on Saturday called “[Not] Yours Truly” (if you’re carrying last on that, please click here) and it got a lot of good reviews. I’m glad y’all like it, and I may be trying out that writing style more often.

Anyways, after that post, I got into discussions with some people, and one of the things that stuck out was that, most people would never come out and tell the person they’re setting P with, that there was no hope for them. More likely, they would probably keep giving them hope and letting them think they’re willing but just not able to get into a relationship with them. More than likely, the person who’s been hoped upon would probably still have a significant other, and be telling the person who’s hoping, that (s)he just can’t make up his/her mind.

I’m still not sure how that works, I haven’t been through that, where I’m letting anyone choose between me & someone else. It’s either me or nothing. But, listening to Adele’s “Best For Last”, I realized it’s more widespread than I thought. So, I asked my darling Moyin to write a poem, putting the feelings of a person who’s being kept on a string out there. Here’s what she came up with. I hope y’all like it.

Dashed Hopes

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick…” – Proverbs 13:12

I’m tired of waiting

It’s been 525,600 fucking minutes

Waiting…hoping

That maybe it would be me

Maybe your list would change

And somehow I’d top it

Waiting for that ‘soon’

The soon you promised me

The soon your lips spoke to me

When they glided ever so softly

Over my lips, my mountains, my mound

The soon your fingers spoke when they

Stirred up things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling

Soon.

Waiting for the time when you recover

From the heartbreak and want

And see that what you’ve been looking for

Has been here…

In me.

Waiting, hoping, praying, longing, pining, crying

Oh the pain, the anguish, the hurt, the tears I cry but they don’t show

Waiting. Waiting for that day,

When that smile…

That smile was because of me,

Your eyes linger on me a bit longer.

And I understand that every emotion

Every frigging emotion you feel was put there/ controlled by me

I’m tired of waiting

Waiting for our own ‘happily’

Waiting for you to make a decision

Tired of waiting for you to make up your mind

Do you want her or me?

Tired of this cycle where

She breaks your heart you come running to me

I’m not your fucking shrink

I’m just someone who genuinely cares about you

And wants to share your life

Can the waiting end?

Will it end?

Will you stop playing with my heart?

Kicking it like the dusty old football?

Because I’m done waiting

I’m fucking done waiting…

Fuck you!

So, what y’all think of this situation? Leave your sensible, and not so sensible comments in the box below. 🙂

The Boy With Empty Eyes

The Boy With Empty Eyes

The one thing I had always loved about him was his eyes.
He looked at me, and it felt like those deep brown eyes were drilling a hole through my soul… going straight to my core.
Uncovering every secret I held close.
Every single emotion he chose to show was reflected in them
His smile, whether genuine at a joke I cracked, or simply indulgent when I was rambling
His frown when anyone wasted his time, pure focus when he was trying to understand something
It was like his whole existence lived in those two globes of obsidian cased within his skull
with that unmistakable spark, happy or sad, afraid, confident or excited.

His eyes held hope, belief in what could be; a love for love that had never been tested.

And that test came.

First it was Wunmi the nerd
Cutest voice he ever heard,
Promised to love him all of her days,
Pleased him in all the right ways,
Like five and six,
Fish and chips,
Pencils and erasers,
They were inseparable.
All of a sudden,
“I think we’re going too fast, I just want to concentrate on my career”
That’s what she said.

I gently watched as those holders of life leaked
Buckets and bucket loads of salty water
Red from overuse and exhaustion
Three months it took
But they came back
And brought with them that natural ability to see what I couldn’t say

So naturally,
Next came me
We were easy,
Ying to my yang he was,
Not even the thinnest blade could cut through us
But I was an ass
I let my commitment issues step in the way
When I got the hint
He’d bought a ring
“It can’t work”, I said
When he got down on one knee

And in that very moment,
I watched it walk away
He looked at me and I felt nothing
Not fear or dread or terror
Just an intensity that everyone could see
As I ran and left him
On bended knee.

Then came Ann,
Ann the psychologist,
The delectable Ann,
Hot, intelligent, well spoken,
She ticked all the boxes on his checklist
‘Match made in Heaven’,
‘Stuff of fairytales’,
‘Model couple’,
We all opined.
But it was not to last.
“There’s someone else”, she said
In that confident, piercing tone
We had come to relate with Ann.

He walked into the bar, and I knew.

I looked in his eyes, and just knew

Not again

Intense

He looked at me and the entire story was in those two globes of obsidian.

Not again

There was no emotion

His weak smile, as I hugged him

His frown as I asked what happened.

Not again

“I’ll be fine… I always am”, he said.

These days, I see him, but there’s something missing.

He laughs, we play, it looks like everything’s fine.

But looks can be deceiving

I know the look I see when I look in his eyes

He still reflects everything in them… every smile, every frown; his eyes still pierce through my soul.

But, it’s like seeing an old toothless man smile.

The smile is full and real, but what’s a true smile without teeth?

Empty…

His eyes are… empty.

 

 END

– By Moyin

I hope y’all liked it.

The Recurrence

Hey people.

So I haven’t written in so long, and I’ve been featuring a lot of people. But thankfully, my mistress Moyin has cracked her whip and from now on I’m gonna have to write. 🙂

Anyways, we had this challenge where we would both write something the other person wanted to write. She wanted to write a story but was somewhat stuck, so I wrote it for her. She wrote something for me as well. I’ll put it up later this week. I actually had to do some research to write this, and it left me with a new found respect for… never mind, read it. Of course, your comments are always appreciated.

Apologies, it’s a tad long

 

The Recurrence

These days my mind glazes just at the tip of my consciousness; forced there by pain so intense that I’m forced to exist within a small fraction of myself so I don’t feel it as much. They said that this pain was necessary. That it was a side effect to the treatment so that I’d be all better. But I’ve been waiting and waiting… the treatment and medications don’t seem to be stopping… and the pain they bring? Well, I’ve started to treasure the pain. It takes me on an excruciating trip to the edges of all that I know.

 

Yes, it seems like all I’ve been talking about is pain.

 

It started out with a little physical pain; that manifested itself in so many ways.

 

Weight loss that I didn’t need, and a small, tight feeling …somewhere… I couldn’t really pinpoint it back then. All I knew was that it was painful, even if only slightly, so I had it checked out. I endured the annoying pain of the needles pushed in my body and the equipment they used for all the multiple tests. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to not know… to just go away somewhere where no one could find me and then waste away into a vortex of human nothingness. Would it have dragged on like this? I don’t even know.

 

The test results came back; pancreatic cancer. I wish I could say I took it well. I refused to accept it at first. The doctors said I was going through the eight steps of accepting tragic news… whatever. I fought, I cried, I begged, I prayed… and then I accepted. I finally took it as something I had absolutely no control over, but I would do the best I could to get through it. I probably took it better than everyone else. I didn’t want anything to change, but I could see them changing. I could see it on their faces when they looked at me. I became the one who they had to tip-toe around. They had to always be careful not to hurt me or hurt my feelings because I had cancer and all of a sudden I had become like some expensive piece of furniture that you had to be careful with so that you wouldn’t break me.

 

That broke my heart more than any of them realized. Me. I was the one that everyone always had fun around. Enjoying my youth to the fullest and carrying them all along with me. Now I became … the invalid. All I heard was “Don’t stress yourself” and “Take it easy, you know you’re not well.”

 

You don’t mean it… I never would have guessed.

 

Their pity tested my patience in ways they just couldn’t imagine. All the stares and the tip-toeing became like a large weight on my shoulders, making it hard to move or breathe. Some days I’d get so choked up from the air being clogged with fear and impending tears on my behalf that I’d just leave the house. Leave them all and just drive. Drive as far as I could go. Right down Lagos-Ibadan expressway till I was tired or till I had to turn back so when my senses kicked in.

 

At least that was while I could still drive.

 

The chemotherapy started early so that the cancer wouldn’t spread far. Treatment upon treatment… it just kept going on and on. The doctors said it was cos they couldn’t give me too much at once, so that it wouldn’t damage my body. Now that was amusing.

 

Less than a week after the therapy started, my whole body began to spiral downwards; I had to take more medication because I was falling to other illnesses, and I was constantly in pain. It was like a haze all over my body. The Yoruba people call it “paja-paja”, a pins and needles kind of feel. But this was so much worse and all over. Sometimes I wished I could skin myself alive just to stop the pain. And in the times when I wasn’t in pain, I was totally exhausted. My hair fell out. It was like, one day I had hair, and the next day, I was having a bath and suddenly I didn’t have any more hair. It was a bit shocking, but then I had never been too attached to the vanity of hair so it didn’t hurt as much as I’m sure it would have if I had been a hair person.

 

Slowly but surely, I began to look the part… I was “a cancer patient”.

 

And they said the drugs weren’t damaging my body… ridiculous.

 

My days in the hospital were full of so much boredom, I welcomed the pain when it washed over me in waves – at least it was some form of activity. The days passed into weeks, and at the end of the month of treatment, I had come to know all the nurses names, their boyfriends/husbands names, everyone that was having an affair, including that secretly gay doctor who had disowned his son because the boy had come out of the closet. Gossip had never really been my thing. I was just focused on getting through the treatments and getting better, and I was definitely happy when it was time to go home.

 

They threw a big party to welcome me home, but all I could do was put on a sallow smile and thank everyone kindly for the emotional support. All I wanted to do was sleep, and then start working on getting better. The doctors had said the cancer was in remission thanks to the treatment. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be back.

 

Getting better wasn’t easy at all. There was more pain, adjusting, walking… I hated being weak, and dependent. There was nothing as painful as having to depend on my little brother – I carried him when he was a baby. I taught him how to ride a bicycle, and now the tables were turned – to help me move around, and stay with me as I went through my workout and healing process, so he’d be there to catch me if I fell. But I healed with time, food, friends, family… everybody chipped in. It helped, and things got better. My hair grew back, and after a while, I was normal again.

 

That was a year ago.

 

Three months ago, I passed out while I was walking to the front door.

 

These days, all I feel is pain.

 

 

 

Moyin and Me

Hey peoples…

So my life’s been pretty upside down… okay, this is a lie. I’ve been very lazy. I promised I would write, but truthfully, it’s a whole lot easier to sit and wallow and think about why I’m not in the mood to write anything, than it is to actually pick up that pen or open that Word application to fight & write. I think I need somebody to force me to do this. Somebody to act as my… I don’t even know what to call it.

I’m not sure what to write right now. Truthfully, this isn’t meant to be my writing. Recently, I found a writing partner that my soul seems to have resonated with. Her name is Moyin (or @NerdyChique if you please). Moyin and I have decided to write together, so she’ll be giving me stuff to write about and vice-versa. So you can expect to see a lot of Moyin related writing here.

So she wrote a really nice poem and I’ve decided to share with y’all. Hope you enjoy it like I did.

Wishes, Wants and Needs

I wish I was yours

 

I wish you had that look in your eye when you look at me

 

I wish you even see me at all

 

I wish you notice the way I die for your attention.

 

I wish we had one more kiss

 

I wish I held you longer

 

I wish I had your number

 

I wish you notice how I go out of my way to do things for you

 

Stay awake all night to make sure you’re reading

 

Pray for you so all your pain goes away

 

 

I want you

 

I want you to want me

 

Maybe a bit more than I want you, if that’s possible at all.

 

I want your arms around me

 

Your lips on mine

 

Our bodies together in the tightest embrace

 

I want you to see these tears I cry

 

Because you’re not mine

 

Might never be

 

I want to be the one that makes you better

 

The way you’ve made me

 

I want to be the one to remind you

 

That not all girls are the same

 

I want to be the reason you change your mind about love

 

I want to lie beside you

 

And feel my worries float away

 

I want to love you in more ways than I know.

 

I need you

 

I need you to know that I need you.