Almost on a whim, I signed up to sponsor a child via World Vision. The decision was taken without much thought whilst passing through the Mall at Union Square. November 11th is a special day in the RustGeek household; its the day the patriarch and the matriarch completed their nuptials as well as the day the one we lost to the genes was born. In the part of the world where I am, it is also Remembrance day. ...
For Gracie, who the genes took… You never saw the thirteenth summer through- before the genes claimed you. You always were - the sallow one, knuckle- kneed, paper thin, but - the lights in your jaundiced eyes shone: through pain and fear, and hope and tears. The strength in your voice never dimmed, never waned, until the genes - like a belligerent marabout’s curse - turned you, to a mound of red- dead earth ...
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. ...
The Script’s Break Even just came on the radio, and as usual it brought back memories. In the main they are somewhat pleasant memories, even though the lyrics to the song are particularly sad. Capital FM played the song ad nauseum last summer, and in a way it became the signature tune for that summer of my life - blighted by so many could haves and would have s. Summer started ok; my days being filled with the boringly mind numbing task of completing my dissertation. In between, I threw in attending a wedding across the Atlantic in Houston, planning my move back to my old Nigerian job and being very good friends with TheB. Capital FM was my constant companion at the time, as I stayed awake into the wee hours of the morning slogging things out. In an uncanny way, it seemed the song became a self fulfilling prophecy - Bisi and I never progressed beyond the friends zone, the Nigerian job fell through, and I missed a first on my degree…. ...
I think things tend to look either worse off or better off in retrospect.. There must be a technical term for that - like nostalgia bias, or retrospection bias or warreva… (Help me out one of you psychologists)… Bottom line is i think when we look back at the past, we either think its much better than it actually was, or much worse…. I just had such a moment.. Thankfully, Me the pragmatist won - eventually….. Blame insomnia, the wacky DJ over at Capital FM, and nostalgia…. ...
It is not what is lost that hurts the most, It is the thing that takes its place - - Jerome Kugan (The Myth of Displacement)* I say the things that try to take the place of what is lost - yet fail to do so, or even come close - are what hurt the most. They bring back memories…..which often are more legend than reality - the perfect bloke he never was, the doting girl she never would have been, the manipulating mofo everyone but you could see….. ...
Growing up in my own neck of the woods was an experience. We nicknamed our Pops the Ogbodons - not sure where the term originated from any more but my back side was a living testimony to his varied abilities and multiplied skills in inflicting pain. Mum didn’t help matters as she was was as resolute in hammering our ’evil’ proclivities out of our systems. I got the opportunity to contrast that parenting style a few weekends back when I went visiting some distant family members in London. Clearly their less than 3 year old daughter has more leeway with him than I do with my own parents at my (huge) age. ...