meaningful ramblings

I think all humans are born to with a predisposition to trust and to take chances. We are given first the explorer's mind; nature egging us on to explore, to feel, to experience and to conquer. To participate in something that is outside of us, sharing in the wonder. Until we start to learn, experiences shaping our individual realities in more ways than one. We start to make conclusions about life, ours in particular and the world in general and in relation to us from the results of our learning. The child who learns to walk sees that two legs up and nature forces him to get up, one step above the animal, conquering the self that is defined on two hands and knees. The child sees evidence in walking and is fuelled towards that achievement regardless of how many times he falls back on his bottom. He knows that at some point, he will retain his balance and he will stand. It seems like as life goes on however we lose that predisposition as a result of learning and experience. Our ...

It has been such a long time. Such a long long time. I don't mean since I wrote as that much is clear. It has been a long time since I let love happen to me; since I let hope lead... It's maybe not so unrelated that I haven't written in the time in-between. At some point it became impossible to pour out my feelings when I was bound so tightly inside, protecting myself from hurt and pain and fear became the reason. My reason. Today I was having a discussion with my darling S about Being Mary Jane and it led to our own love lives and the choices we have made over the last couple of years. Late last year, I finally came to the realisation that I was hurting myself but I could not feel it. How could I when I was first insulated from the hurt. The reason why any of my relationships didn't work out was that they were not supposed to. I never intended for them to because whether intentionally or subliminally, I consistently chose men who were emotionally unavailable or othe...

It's been over a year since I wrote anything. The struggle to capture my thoughts, a war...I refuse to be writ they said. And even when sometimes I won, I looked at them, a writhing mass of part confusion, part happiness. Some pain and heartbreak and disappointment. Some parts remembering mistakes made and some part still hopeful. And I can't. I just cannot. In recent time I have found discipline with regards to these. A projection of some sort. Not exactly protection. I feel it but not really. It's not really happening to me. And if I deny that they are mine how can I write them?  Sometimes I cry but I don't know why I'm crying. No particular pain, no hurt I can think of. But my sub-conscious feels what I do not. Like now. I am still not saying anything. but i am saying everything.   I am counting the days of this limbo. We are almost at 3 years. 

16th January: watching London's skyline disappear into the distance. And I can feel my heart ache. Partly I'm sure because I am listening to the most beautiful symphony I have ever hear on the in-flight stereo. Beethoven? Strauss? Can't quite place the composer. I was broken and now I am mended. I was adrift but now I found an anchor. But at what cost? The truth is I've realised that I feel nothing. Neither for the one I always feel I'm leaving behind nor for the one I'm returning to. Is it that I have trained myself not to feel and have finally become the person I was pretending to be for so long? Again, at what cost? 26th January: ok let me rephrase. I feel. But I have learnt to isolate those feelings. Like someone hiding from something happening right in front of them. Last night I realised that I have become selfish with my happiness. Very protective of my sanity. In ways I never was. I have learnt to replace people as soon as they leave. Or as soon as I lea...

I am sitting at the table in the darkness, listening to the darkness and the silence keeps screaming at me. Save for the ticking of the clock as it finds its way into 2012 there's little else but the sounds of fireworks filtering into the penthouse apartment. And I am at peace. It is so silly how I cry at the littlest things these days...perhaps a product of the wonder in my heart. Appreciating every little spurt of happiness because I fought for it. I fought to be here. Again, I am in London. This time not to search for clarity as I needed last year. But to bury an aunt who succumbed to cancer in December. I decided not to go for the cross-over service tonight because I wanted time to reflect upon the past year, and to allow my heart seek out the Lord. Its never been easy for me to connect to God in the midst of a multitude of people. And I just need to put my head in His laps and say thank You. 2011 was a good year. For the most of it I ambled along, lost and in pain. My hear...

If I asked you to describe yourself, what words would you use? Would you describe yourself in a one line sentence, stating the obvious? Would you be funny, smart, beautiful, tall and 25? Or would you be melancholic, choleric, sanguine and a libra. Would you be sexy and have oloju come and do? Would you be dedicated and courageous and driven and afraid? Lol...I just described myself as I would have, a long time ago. However in recent times, I have realized that I cannot describe myself in those words. Because doing that takes all the wonder out of it. If I said I was funny would you not wonder how I got to be funny? Or if I said I am by nature a lonely person, if you have met me you would immediately argue with that. But that would be because you do not know me. You do not know the experiences that have shaped me, my life. The little and big things that have combined themselves into forming me, as you see me. Which is why when I started reading Bobo Omotayo's "London Life L...

How would you define happiness? By whose definitions should we abide? Would you adjudge me to be less happy or not at all if my definition doesnt resemble yours? Last weekend I went to Makoko (or as my friend J likes to tease me for my pronunciation, "Ma-koko")with photographer friends, Teju Cole and Leke Alabi-Isama on a photo-walk/photo-canoeing and at Makoko, my heart broke and I cried. It was not their poverty that made me cry. It was ours. Or maybe it was theirs...but what right do I have to those tears? Even while I felt pity for them, seeing through eyes coloured by my supposed enlightenment and betterment for want of a more appropriate word, I wondered how they saw me. What did they think of me? Did they want to be me? Did they want my Gucci sunglasses or my Gucci rubber shoes or my pretty purse? Those stupid things that I hold dear. Or did they pity me for my inability to just be free from it all. And just be happy and content, as they appeared to be. As we c...