Nne i cheta ro zi, you don’t remember again?
But with someone new
Nne i cheta ro zi, you don’t remember again?
But with someone new
Do we really accept the love we think we deserve or we just take what we can get
So here I am trying to multitask, mentally of course and my body wants to sleep. But does it? Mba . I’m thinking of the assignment at work and the deadline, somebody cannot sha kill them selves in this cooperate world. To while away time, I pick up my phone and decide to shuffle between Twitter to Instagram and Whatsapp. On Twitter it’s a thread about what men do that turn women off. Okay. On Instagram it’s a DIY Princess’s wedding. Beautiful ceremony. Check the dms and somebody’s trying to escape from dms to phone number levels. Just wait there first. Back on Whatsapp, I get a message from a friend
“My sister’s getting married next month. Are you home tomorrow so I can drop the iv?”
Okay Universe, I see you
And just last week , I saw the most beautiful traditional dance choreography by an interracial couple. They called their love ‘sacred’. I watched that video over and over and over. I ended up sending that video to my friend telling her that was how I would storm Anambra State with my Italian husband-that-looked-like-he-stepped-out-of-a-GQ-magazine.
So this is me taking the universe’s sub but still looking for something to eat when I see my girlfriend’s status on Whatsapp. It said
Love is just overrated
Fuck love , I’m done trying
It is at this point that my heart breaks, my feet can’t keep me standing, I don’t have the appetite anymore. Not you Folashade. Now I’ve watched my friend move from one relationship to another. From one idiot to another. Back in school, I remember waking up to a message that was sent by 1:00am that said “Adanna are you awake?” . Only to get to her room to see crumbled up tissue paper everywhere and her swollen red eyes. We had just had another break up.
Seeing this really shook me because over time I’ve come to admire her ‘if we don’t get it right this time we’ll get it right next time’ attitude. I never told her but I always thought whoever was wise enough to treat her right would never regret it. Now see , she was the ‘I’m willing to try with you’ while I was the over calculative type , with always a bit of doubt at the back of my mind.
I’m sitting here thinking if we accept the love we think we deserve or we just take whatever we can get. Do we make do with what we have currently only because we’re scared to start all over again . I don’t come with a manual obviously so everything has to be repeated. Jokes have to be retold with the same facial expression. Your favourite things have to be repeated. We start rebuilding trust in someone new hoping that it works this time. Half scared that we’re in too deep, half delighted to feel something deep again for someone.
The type of smile that comes from within soul
That lightens up your entire body
I pray that in between a happy twirl , you don’t question if it is real or not
I wish you eyes that see the best in you
Lips that will never lie
Hands that will hold you steady
And with all this, I pray your heart never doubts the authenticity of this love
Especially while you sleep at night or enveloped in a hug
I wish you love
In its truest and purest of forms
The prayer I pray for my loved ones but I cannot bring myself to pray the same for me
This one that I am… anyways it’s once in a while. It’s not like I do it all the time. In fact it has never been done but…
Now this was the conversation before the above thought
“Hey babe. How are you?
I feel like ColdStone.
You can’t what? I’m coming to your house, get ready. I’ll tell you when I’m there”
After I moved out of my parent’s house, my mother and I do this thing where we bring each other soup or stew on some days. Today I had decided to bring my mother ofe nsala because daughter of the year na. I was just about done when I heard my phone ring. If you see the race I ran with half of my heart hoping it was the one person I wanted to call only to get there and see a different caller id
It’s the ones that you don’t want that will now be calling you up and down. Mstchewww
Just as I had poured the soup into the bowl, my phone rang again. Reluctantly , I picked it up behold that one person
You should have seen my face after that conversation. I started praying that he would be an hour or two late. My parents live few streets away, I could drop it and come back just in time abi? Or should I wait and tell mummy to send her driver? After considering it for a while I decided I’ll drop the food off myself and be quick. Just as I was about to change I thought to myself, “bring out some soup for him now”. Aha! Me? Now my friends and past ‘brothers’ know one thing about me. I don’t cook for just anybody. I’m not the “do you want me to make you something?”
Asi. That’s a lie
Not me. Now if I kinda liked you maybe indomie and egg or jollof rice. Even fried plantain sef. But ofe nsala was sacred. Food for the one who had put a ring on it and about to wife it. But here I was scooping out of the soup specially prepared for my mother to give someone who forgets to return phone calls for days.
Anyways I drive into my parents house and Ijeoma, my mother’s help/PA/amebo partner/in house hair stylist came out to carry the bowl.
“Aha Aunty nno. Anyi no na-azu uno”
I make my way to the back of the house to see my mum with her half braided hair, cracking and eating walnuts. Typical Saturday evening.
“Mummy I brought you nsala “
“Daalu nne “
For the next 30 to 40 minutes I listen to my mother talk about different things , with Ijeoma who had continued braiding her hair adding a silent laughter now and then whenever mummy said something funny. These ones are relaxed and I’m checking my phone to see if it rang and I didn’t hear it. Let me come and be going biko. I get up to leave
“Mummy I’m going o”
“But you just got here now “
“Ehen tomorrow’s church. I’ll see you there ehn”
As I leave I can still hear my mother complaining but I’m expecting a phone call and I’ve a special presentation.
I get home and with my ofe nsala in one of my precious glass bowls, I’m waiting for him.
8:07 … he’ll call anytime from now… 8:55 . I get a message on my phone, it’s Jumoke. The message read “Babes *smiley face* . I go ahead to pour out my frustration to her. It takes her a while to understand it but when she does , SHE STARTS TO LAUGH HER HEART OUT
“Lol sorry, no vex abeg”
Is this not stupidity? If they’re calling women that have sense now, I’ll carry my ‘feminist’ self and be going. Because I wanted to do ‘surprise surprise’ that OGs can be sensitive too. I broke one rule that I never break.
9:30 … I’ll eat this soup with chilled Fanta o… 10:05. At this point I had started imagining the kind of speech I will give when I eventually talk to him. But come o, muwa bu Adanna , a whole me. I got stoop up when I had food to give! Which mouth will I use to tell people this one biko nu.
10:41… The food is not even doing me to eat again. Here I am. Sitting with bowl of nsala in front of me and I can’t bring myself to eat it. Mmmh. I slowly walk into the kitchen and place the bowl in the fridge gently. Some part of my mind knows after they beg and apologize I’ll bring it out and warm it up for him
11:05 … Kitchen lights are switched off. With a bottle of Fanta, I’m carrying myself to the room .
This single life sef.
P:S – I’m thinking of making this a series. What do you think 🤔 If you have any possible titles for the series too kindly drop them in the comments 😘
I want to loathe you
I want to bleed and paint you a picture of the misery you made me feel
Feel this pain ten times
But my weakness has become my strength
I look at you and silently pray for you
That it will be well with you
Nna m , believe me
What I feel for you is far from hate but it certainly isn’t love
📷 : Diego IG: @diqueku
It’s not just photography, it’s art
Everything you have been keeping inside that has been hurting you
You would let it all out
And you tell yourself your daughter will never feel this way
You won’t allow it
But the next day, you would wake up breathing a different air
An air of reassurance
You would put on a pretty dress, apply your make up carefully
That scent behind your ears, between your cleavage
Nne, they don’t want to know what’s underneath this dress
No longer do you feel hurt
No longer will you carry anger within you
Wearing a knowing smile and swaying those hips
Your process of letting go has just began …
Image : Wynter Gordon. Beautiful face, beautiful voice
IG : @wyntergordon