Musings-&-Memoir

Only the most deluded of persons would deny that summer is well and truly over. Not only does it feel quite chilly, the trees also think so. Hyde park, which by much squinting I can just see from my 13th floor window at MO Corp, is covered in a layer of browns, reds, golds and the odd green patch crafted by fallen leaves as the trees acknowledge autumn. The sun on the odd occasion it manages to peek from behind the dull clouds seems weak, tired and offers no real warmth. Moments like these are those which fill me with a misplaced sense of nostalgia. Mercifully, I have my fleece with me as I head off to lunch with the team from work. ...

A wry smile plays on my lips as the ‘Angel of the North’- that behemoth that towers over the North East - comes into view. It is the one landmark that definitively asserts that I am back ‘home’. It is akin to a familiar tree ensconced at the junction of multiple roads whose stump - weather beaten, fire scarred, sometimes hacked for firewood - remains indelible, unmoved, an un-poured libation to the gods to whom we as restless travelers owe our protection. I consider this city a spiritual home of sorts for me - much like Bombay in Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaramis to his character. I came here at a time of great personal turmoil in several areas of my life - and I like to think the two great years I spent here set me on the path to redeeming my life. ...

It is the age of the internet - email, Facebook, Twitter, Hi5, MySpace, Instant Messaging and even SMS have contrived to depersonalize our communication. These days, my default mode of communication is electronic. I often reach first to my twitter account to send a direct message (DM) to my closest buddies, or then an email - and shock of all shocks - a phone call as a last resort. Growing up, hand written notes were the apogee of communication, especially between guys and girls. We went to great lengths to procure the right paper, practiced our cursive hand writing and parodied the writings of the likes of Shakespeare to present the right impression. ...

They say life is about simple pleasures - everyday things which we are wont to make light of - which taken together serve to generate an ambience of normalcy around us. Each week, I will attempt to identify one simple thing I have grown to delight in… from my otherwise uninteresting life. When the subject of music, and my taste with regards to it comes up, I always declare unequivocally that my taste is eccletic. In the past week for instance, I have listened to Eminem, Donnie McClurkin, the Backstreet Boys, Kenny G and today Heather Headley. ...

When in doubt, discretize…. - Probably the most important thing I never learnt

I miss the old days. Growing up on a University campus in Nigeria, books were my salvation and the BBC World Service was the information source. We didn’t have decent television (it was an archaic black and white National television set with aerials that never worked), didn’t have the internet, was the weird kid on the block, and generally stuck out like a sore thumb. I got my nose in books, the bulk of which were boring, ponderous, academic reads. ...

I suspect……. …… that beyond all the rhetoric; behind the superfluous arguments, the cynical barbs and the seemingly pragmatic fronts we put up; at its most prosaic, life is about the desire for acceptance, the illusion of autonomy and an ineluctable gravitation towards the certainty that safety brings - And we want to love, and be loved, inspite of our protestations to the contrary. Sigh…

Every night when I sit across the room from him, eyes glued to the TV set trying to avoid the endless background information he has on every show on the BBC, the thought never fails to cross my mind that whoever runs the Universe has a queer sense of humour. In a way our lives are akin - I have been given a second chance to restart my life after a mid-life crisis of sorts; he has been given a second chance with a heart transplant… ...

Today I leave the NorthEast, hopefully for the last time in a bit. I have called this place home; lived here, eaten here, made new friends here, grabbed a degree here, cried here, and now its off to new challenges for me. In total I’ve spent just under eighteen months here, eighteen months of near perfect freedom, aside of the back breaking swotting for exams. The people have been great too; I only had two questionable incidents - one where a clearly drunk bloke kicked an empty coke can in my direction and shouted a poor imitation of a racial slur, and the other when some kids made all sorts of noises and pointed as I walked past them in Brandling Park. ...

Aside of the occasional foray into the main street to either shop, use the ATM, go to church, get to the Library or some other mundane task, I have spent the last few months indoors. Today I went out to the ATM. Normally there should not have been a queue but today my eyes were assailed by a queue, stretching into the distance. There must have been at least twenty people on the queue occasioned by the demise of one of the two machines. These are the only two machines in walking distance of my house, which is shocking considering we are just off the city centre. ...