I want to grow up and focus on a career, because I’m scared.
I don’t want to grow up and focus on a career, because I’m scared.
I want to travel and explore the world, because I’m scared.
I don’t want to travel and explore the world, because I’m scared.
I want to fall in love and be with someone who loves me just as much, because I’m scared.
I don’t want to fall in love and be with anyone, because I’m scared.
I want to get married and settle down and have children, because I’m scared.
I don’t want to get married and have children, because I’m scared.
I want to go to bed and wake up tomorrow, because I’m scared.
I don’t want to go to bed and wake up tomorrow, because I’m scared.
I am the yin to my yang but I can’t complement my elements.
I need a morsel of inspiration for I am forever stuck in my capacious past.
With unparalleled bravery, I long for tomorrow, where I can try again.
But I am scared.
It took over 20 years for me to finally appreciate my body and once I did, it became difficult to not stare at myself in the mirror (and/or camera phone) for too long. I look at myself from all the angles that my two forward facing eyes can permit and I appreciate everything I see from my long torso to my short legs. My body is wonderful.
I have always been surrounded by older people, people in the same age bracket as me and babies, yet the distinctive characteristics of the skin and bone structure are resoundingly seductive and compelling. I look at an old person and I see that the skin is sagging and wrinkly compared to mine or to a baby’s and I am quickly reminded of my unavoidable fate, leaving me feeling limited and powerless. I then remember when I was a carefree child running around my compound naked under the rain and I would give anything to run around like that again.
Back to the heresy of taking nude selfies, for me, it all started with a boy. His interest in my physical appearance was bemusing yet endearing. At first I was shy, but shortly after some deep thinking, I felt empowered that my vessel, which I so despised for being limited, was at that very moment being admired (although in lust) by another seemingly confident human soul. I was lucky enough to be able to skilfully capture myself on my camera phone and to share them with him and the event left me feeling adorned. I began to enjoy the rather productive process of taking my nude selfies even more than he did receiving them. There was this small element of judgement from my moral compass that followed after I realised that the boy had other bigger interest than in me or in pictures of my body. But it generally didn’t stop me from admiring my naked body on a picture or a mirror.
After the boy took the exit out of my life, I couldn’t help but be thankful for the experience as it helped boost confidence in my body albeit wising me up to be conscious of who I share the said selfies with, so conscious as to decline my favourite musician a sneak peek of my wonderland.
Now the point of this short essay is to encourage you to take a nude selfie of yourself at least once a year. Not for anybody else. Just for yourself. When you get older, you would look back at them (Hopefully in private because not everyone will be happy to look at naked pictures of yourself as much as you would) and they will remind you of how good your skin looked, how much more flexible you were, and how much happier you appeared when you looked at yourself.
Now for those of you who are already practicing this “materialistically gratifying” habit. What grade would you consider your nude selfie? I think mine are grade A quality! Not trying sound my own trumpet, I am just that confident.
‘Tick’. ‘Tock’. ‘Tick’. ‘Tock’.
That’s the sound of the metronome that sets nature’s dance of chaotic motions and patterns in a rhythmic order. Every second counts. I hear the clock ticking right now as I write and I am frightened and humbled by its presence.
Everyday without fail, humans awake to resume various religious practices with time. Catch the 8:27 train to work, business meeting at 9am, Pick up the kids from school at 4:15pm, hand in a project or a paper by 6pm. Dinner by 7pm, the list is endless. Needless to mention, on days of inconsistency where we fail to meet certain predefined deadlines, we are forced to hewn and intercalate our calendar schedules for the next available time or day in an attempt to make amendments.
Time breeds change yet itself remains the same. Humans from before our time, found ways to measure this scalar, through the movement pattern of the resulting actions from the rotation of the earth on its axis, manifested in day and night, seasons, tidal behaviour, gravity, rock formation, animal behaviours to mention but a few. This elucidation of time weaved intricately in our ethics, the manner of our interactions with the environment which essentially boils down to the purpose of life by my definition. The purpose of life is for us as living beings to interact with other beings (living and non living) in the environment. Granted that change is a constant borne by time, culture evolves as the human nature is nurtured to interact with the environment.
The unseen energies from a blade of a grass penetrating the earth from within to the birth of a child, is manipulated through time which consequently dictates certain action that follows to materialise our intellectual behaviour to adapt. Should time seize to exist at any point in this delicate process, nothingness is born. Everything becomes void and existence is oblivion. My research has not led me to discover what happens after our individual clocks stops ticking. In echo of Montaigne -“All I say is by way of discourse and nothing by way of advice. I should not speak so boldly, were it my duty to be believed” Continue reading “Time Is A god”
01 May 2016
To kick-off this blogging stuff, naturally, my first medium of ‘Voicing’ will be to tell a short story where I am happy to give you the rights to a tittle. Just to point out, this is a fabricated and slightly exaggerated personal experience.
Your Tittle Here
As a kid, my mind was rarely unoccupied. I was fascinated by anything and everything. My interests spread like wild fire as I became more exposed albeit unknowledgeable to certain different aspects of life and I wanted nothing more than to explore them. First there was acting, where I always got to play lead roles, perhaps because I was a lot more confident than most kids my age. Then there was drumming with the school’s and church’s marching bands. I could recognise and memorise sound patterns and repeat them granted the musical instrument is immediately available. I also found football rather interesting and would play all day if I was allowed to. It also helped that I had the frame of a boy which supported me in fitting in with other boys. Singing and dancing came naturally but then there was something about pressing keys that tickled my fancy. Piano and computers sparked the most streaks of light from within. My talkative nature fundamentally structured my creative process. It remains my most genuine characteristic and comes almost too effortlessly. I could go on and on.
On this day, the sun rose to its highest point in the middle of the day and I sweated frantically, running for my dear life or what I at least thought was left of it. Fighting the urge to stop and lay down under a shade on my path to catch some fresh air and a quick break, or perhaps a quick faint, I looked behind swiftly and caught a glance of my chaser. I was running away from a school bully who wanted to tell me off some more for my cavalier style in mentioning the fact that the shirt I had worn that day was brought all the way from England just for me by my lovely grandmother. Now you see, I should have known better than to brag. Attending a public school in Nigeria implied to a certain degree that you are of a lowly background and thusly, you should act as such. I had been doing just that, but today was different. Continue reading “Voice-ing”