God is so good.
you are angry with me i think. and me? i do many things in poor taste and with terrible timing. this is not one of them. i am just living my life. you will see me humming ‘round the kitchen. tasting this and seasoning that. i will come home from work with Chipotle leftovers in my hand. i would’ve joined a gym. i will leave early in the morning and return late at night with a smile on my face. you will not know that food loses its taste at certain times in the afternoon; that my stomach aches when i think about our home; that too many people now know our story because, the kind of comfort i need takes a village.
but this is how i cope. this is how i cope. the yellow light under your door tells me you are awake. you do not crack your door to shout a greeting. you will not come out. but you left the light on for me. i imagine hope.
see me, see trouble
a Nigerian saying, in pidgin English, to acknowledge the approach of wahala. it is a way of side stepping conflict; a way to say, i see what you are doing and i will not participate.
well i did not forsee this hurricane of a kiss. i could not have imagined, early on, the depth of feeling one can have for something that never was. but i have said i am sorry and i have forgiven myself but i am not waiting to be forgiven. i cannot live my life that way.
you know what’s dope?
when you meet a guy who calls a date, a date. no hanging out, kicking it or chilling. just a date. and after he asks you out and you say yes, he hits you with the necessary details. the when, the where, the time. are you available at that time, he asks. and you say yes. and when life gets in the way for both of you, he lets you know he’s still interested. are you? and you say, yes, i am. and he asks politely for more of your time. and you give him a day and he agrees. and then more time passes. and on the day of the date, at a decent time in the am—not when he wakes up or gets off from work or in between classes or at a time when it’s convenient for him— he confirms time, picks a place, asks again if that’s okay with you. and you say yes. and that time approaches. and he lets you know he’s leaving now. and he arrives on time. and continues to be the most straightforward, decent, stable, well-rounded guy you’ve met in a long time. and he doesn’t try to steal a kiss or cop a feel or be any kind of inappropriate. and you’re looking for the horn in the middle of his forehead.
but you have zero chexual attraction to him.
don’t have time
to be afraid
aside: [called my mother today. a rare thing for me to do. i have a complicated relationship with both of my parents. when you read my blog, it may appear that i always carry a little nugget of sadness with me. this is true. i have been melancholy for as long as i can recall. but i am not sad. i am not prone to bouts of depression. but my family hasn’t been right since i was 7. and last week i needed to be strong for my mother. needed to literally tell her what she should and should not do. and she said “ok.” you know things are bad when you dictate to your very African mother and she simply agrees. but yes, i am the strong one… for every one it seems. i give my 8 hours M - F and i come home to the empty feeling of not having done anything for me. but you can’t pursue a purpose when you don’t know what it is right? and that hurts too. and i carry that too. but honestly, i am happy. i am. i just need a place to put the heavy sometimes, so you guys get all of it. but back to my mother. nearing the end of our conversation, she said, onwere onye n’asi-gi ke kwanu? which means, are you talking to anybody? i tensed and said some vague shit. and she practically shouted, “be social, mix it up, i am praying for you!”
and there you have it. i am in the early-latter part of my twenties and my mother has finally given me permission to date. allow me to turn to page one of my forthcoming book, The Hoe Diaries: A Nigerian Girl Before Marriage