Photo by Hermes Rivera on Unsplash. For The Poetic Asides prompt #554 ** Sometimes I think that my sight is leaving me, the common, quotidian comfort of seeing the world that touches me slowly slipping away, taking flight but not yet gone; only a little less close the next time morning rolls my way. Maybe it is my mind forgetting where the thin discs of shimmering glass that bring the light end, and where my rods and cones ...
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash ** It was my birthday the other day, and in keeping with what is becoming a tradition of sorts, I spent the morning wading through a flurry of WhatsApp and text messages before a fairly lengthy video call with the niece who I almost share a birthday with. The rest of the day was spent off-grid, which has become one of the more enjoyable parts of the day. I don’t remember when the need to unplug on the day first came to the fore but I am finding that in the aftermath of all of that mental stimulation, some downtime is helpful. As I have reflected on here before, the five weeks between the 8th of July and the 15th of August tend to be emotionally draining ones. Dealing with a move - which is quite frankly a culture shock of sorts - has only added to that this year. ...
A Poets & Writers prompt from a few months ago asked us to explore ourselves by using the ten questions guests on the TV show, Inside the Actor’s studio, are asked. A few months late here goes my response: What is your favourite word? This would have to be ‘Quotidian’, a word I’ll admit to first hearing from Chris Abani’s 2008 TED Talk. Between the man, his work and the heft of the word, it is my favourite word, one I once made the theme of an entire blog. ) What is your least favourite word? Like, when it is used as an immensely irritating filler word. What turns you on? Boobs and brains. I’m partial to a well-spoken, well-read damsel with a great rack, cload in something just slingy enough to highlight the cleavage a wee bit. :) I’ve clearly thought too much about this…. Like this, which I’ll have to admit is disturbingly specific.. :) What turns you off? A nag.. What sound or noise do you love? I love the sound of rain on a tin roof, maybe a throwback to growing up in Nigeria and the freshness that a thunderstorm brings, washing dust and dirt away. A tin roof speaks of solidity and shelter I think, and the sound of hearing the rain rage outside whilst I’m safe within is one I love. What sound or noise do you hate? Dripping water. I suppose it is a counterpoint to rain, not least because dripping water drips in that annoying way, never quite making up its mind whether to be unleashed in a torrent or to just stop. Neither hot nor cold in a manner of speaking to use a Revelations metaphor. What is your favourite curse word? Fecking, like fucking but maybe less in your face? What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Medicine, psychiatry or family medicine. How close I came I’d never know but both my sisters ended up towing that path and have quite succeeded at it I’d say. What profession would you not like to do? Policing, politics, and the pulpit… If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? Could you have made your existence a little bit clearer and helped us understand our origins? What was all that cloak-and-dagger stuff about?
Photo by Jose Antonio Gallego Vázquez on Unsplash ** When I reflected on life at the turn of the year, and wondered what the year would be for me, Delve Deeper came to mind. Behind that was the understanding, inspired in part by the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Builders, that everything worth its salt is tested, and only those which had roots sunk deep would survive. I was also on the cusp of quitting my job up north with the prospect of the move of a lifetime looming. Whatever your particular take on COVID-19 is — elaborate hoax, a pretext for instituting a new world order or a symptom of a broken world — what is incontrovertible is that in its wake has come a seismic change to the world and what we know of it. For all the preening, posturing and the facade of strength the world economies have presented, 2020 has shown it all up like an edifice built on shifting sands to use a biblical metaphor. The Emperor’s new clothes, for all we can see, are anything but a covering. ...
\\\* Seemingly like in the blink of an eye – like play like play in the pidgin English of my youth – we are somehow at the end of May! Summer is finally here, bringing in its wake the realisation that if I had stayed up North, the first of my Nine Fridays of Summer would have just gone past. As it is though, I find myself in an intermission of sorts, loitering in the space between a past life and the future in which an adventure in the sun hovers just out of reach, 70 days late. There are of course worse things than swapping grey granite for verdant green or being cooped up with family, like dying or very nearly dying like so many people, including a few closer to home for me, have over the past few months of this pandemic. ...
As part of refreshing my Life Plan at the end of last year, I took the Enneagram Personality test, which suggested I am a Type 5 with a 6 Wing. The Enneagram is a personality categorising methodology of unknown (but ancient, possibly some Catholic mystic) provenance which was brought to the US by G.I. Gurdjieff and and eventually to pop culture by the likes of Richard Rohr. I owe my introduction to it to Ian Morgan Cron and his various appearances on podcasts I listen to regularly, as part of his book tour. More information is available here. With the benefit of time on my hand, I decided it would be a good time to re-read the book (The Road Back To You) and reflect on what I’ve learned about myself in the process. ...
This week’s assignment was to interview someone, summarizing what we learned about them in 300 to 500 words. Here goes.. Image by Clint McKoy on Unsplash \\\* R was hunched over his phone typing furiously when I pushed the door open and walked into the restaurant, one of the many that dot the roadside on this corner of the seaside boulevard. I was three minutes late but he, ever the most punctual of people, had arrived early and was in the middle of typing an acerbic note to me. ...
Last week was about thinking about the underlying reasons for writing, this week was starting off on the journey towards sharpening our powers of observation, the idea being to hone our ability to find stories in the quotidian. A city-centre eatery late one night was my muse. \\\* It is a little after 8.30pm when the smell of French fries wafting in through the door draws me in. The first thing that strikes me as I stride through the door is how empty it looks, the bulk of the two-storied structure being cordoned off, with only the small section to the right of the counter open for use. I find the emptiness surprising given it is next to a major bus station and right in the centre of town. As I wait for the chance to order, I find myself behind three people, all decked out in the garb of people dressed to brace the cold, with the brightly coloured logo of a food delivery service gracing the insulated bags they hold. ...
The year I turned thirty, I was a student battling to put finishing touches to my master’s degree dissertation and pondering what the future had in store for me. That the success or failure of that year, and the year before that, came down to that singular task was the result of an unanticipated turn of events which turned what was a leave of absence to return to full-time study into having to leave my Nigerian job. Grad school, my response to the year before that, had made sense in my head largely because it seemed a low risk, given there was a reasonably high likelihood of returning. I, as it would turn out was ultimately mistaken. ...