The Ultimate Buzzkill

Every guy has their "holy shit" girl. The one so twisted, so deviant, so possessing of a mind that conjures sexual scenarios rivaling the ones that live in our own fevered minds, we drop to our knees and exclaim, “Dear God, by all that is holy, please let me get a piece of this and I swear I’ll go to church every day and twice on weekends.”

For me it was… well, let’s call her Omontinya, because that’s her name. She was about five foot four, all hips, lips and tits, with a rear end that launched from the small of her back with such otherwordly curvature that rumor held she couldn’t slide her jeans on without applying for a city building permit.

Omontinya was a co-worker of mine at my first job out of grad school a couple years back, a gift of eye-candy from the heavens who reduced the menfolk to Spoon-Size Shredded Wheat and had the HR people scrambling to rewrite the company dress code. She also talked about sex the way guys talk about sex and by “the way guys talk about sex” I mean all the time. I’d listen to her describe a titanic blow job she’d given her boyfriend the night before while the circuits that direct blood flow within my body essentially lifted the tollgates and said, “Omu, you can take the day off.” After work, crammed into a dark corner at Bannilux and dizzy with beer and cigarette smoke, my eyes would glaze as she grabbed her spectacular breasts to punctuate a story or tried to stick her tongue in the ears of Isioma from Accounting.

Needless to say, little or no work got done on my watch. Days I should have been focused on the Airtel  file were spent tracing the outline of Omontinya’s mouth, imagining her fingernails tearing up my back, and dreaming of her ample derriere slowly being lowered onto my face. I was obsessed; not in a creepy “I saw you in my ewa-agonyi this morning” way, but an awe-inspired “surely that girl could tear me apart” way.

Then, one evening, during an after-work drinkfest, the stars aligned and the moon embraced Capricorn and every other guy she knew apparently left the east coast because I became the target of Michele’s affections. Or her drunken groping. Or whatever you want to call it, I was it. And I wasn’t complaining. It began with a few grabs of my thigh under the table, then a talking-so-close-to-my-ear-I-swear-she’s-trying-to-lick-it thing, then a full-on pinned-to-the-walls-by-her-breasts assault when I returned from the men’s room.

She kissed my mouth in a way that you could have worked over my nuts with a rolling pin and I wouldn’t have felt a thing, then invited me to her apartment to watch "wedding party,” which I assumed to be code for “screw ourselves retarded.”

Back at her place, things started working just as I’d always fantasized they might, although without the singing moose and sideline cheerleaders. Her shirt came off, her jeans went flying, and she jumped at me with a fervor. After about fifteen minutes of floor rolling, as I finally retained control of my senses and began priming myself for the task ahead, she started licking my ear and talking up a filthy blue streak that essentially dipped my brain in the fry-o-later.

At least until she rolled on top of me and whispered, “What if I had a cock?”

I could almost hear my hard-on collapsing. “Huh?”

“What if I had a cock?” she repeated. “What would you do?”

“Er… besides recoil in terror and run screaming from your apartment?”

Apparently that wasn’t the answer she wanted. She rolled off me, and looked forlorn for a few minutes  before getting up and taking a cigarette from her purse. A few seconds later, the TV was on, and we were watching wedding party. And that, as they say, was that.

For the record, she didn’t have a cock… and I sometimes wonder what that whole business was all about. But in the vast pantheon of strange-ass shit said to me in the heat of passion, this stands tallest. And still the single greatest buzzkill of my life.

Even Turtles are Winners Too

And my dear friend, if you ever find yourself worrying that you’re growing slowly in life, I want you to be aware that it’s okay to feel this way and that you’re safe to keep on doing what you love. Remember, as long as you keep on going you don’t have to be afraid of anything. Progress is progress. A step forward is a step forward. It’s better to go on with your journey as calm as a turtle knowing that by moving little by little your destination is a place where you didn’t choose to settle

Learn to be with yourself.

Spend money. 
Change your hairstyle. 
Sell your old clothes and pursue your new style with the money you get from it. 
Be strong. 
Be patient. 
Get drunk if you want to, but not every weekend. 
Buy a chocolate bar every week when your favorite tv show is on. 
Take hot baths. 
Wake up early. 
Start jogging. 
Write. 
Find a friend who will listen to you and don’t stop until you find it. 
Study. 
Read. 
Make your Instagram cool. 
Write some more. 
Get that damn piercing. 
Buy bath bubbles and bath more. 
Adore your body. 
Shave, for yourself. 
Book flights for next spring. 
Write this day down, write it all down. 
Cry. 
Finally feel some homesickness. 
Learn to be in silence. 
Learn to stand being alone. 
Drink lots of coffee. 
Get ready for Christmas. 
Feel smart at school. 
Spend a weekend alone. 
Take lots of selfies. 
Eat chocolate while watching reality tv-shows. 
Meditate. 
Stretch. 
Learn ballet. 
Buy overprized coffee. 
Learn to be with yourself.

Poison

People do not knowingly join “cults” that will ultimately destroy and kill them. 

People join self-help groups, churches, political movements, college campus dinner socials, and the like, in an effort to be a part of something larger than themselves. 

It is mostly the innocent and naive who find themselves entrapped. 

In their openhearted endeavor to find meaning in their lives, they walk blindly into the promise of ultimate answers and a higher purpose. 

It is usually only gradually that a group turns into or reveals itself as a cult, becomes malignant, but by then it is often too late.

Our Silence...

Have you heard of the term “Bystander effect”. This came about after a 28 year old woman, Kitty, was raped, stabbed and murdered outside her apartment while 38 people looked on and did nothing.

This led to a research carried out in 1969, five years after Kitty’s murder, which was termed Bystander Apathy (effect). Basically, it proved that the more people there are available in an emergency situation, the less likelihood there is for someone to intervene.

Today’s poems remind me of this story and forgive me for starting this post with a downer. But, I thought to share it because I believe we all need a reminder that as heavy as our words, our silence is heavy too.

Town watches them take Alfonso by Ilya Kaminsky

Now each of us is
a witness stand:

Vasenka watches us watch four soldiers throw Alfonso Barabinski on the sidewalk.
We let them take him, all of us cowards.
What we don’t say
we carry in our suitcases, coat pockets, our nostrils.

Across the street they wash him with fire hoses. First he screams,
then he stops.
So much sunlight—

a t-shirt falls off a clothes line and an old man stops, picks it up, presses it to his face.
Neighbors line up to watch him thrown on a sidewalk like a vaudeville act: Ta Da.

In so much sunlight—
how each of us
is a witness stand:

They take Alfonso
And no one stands up. Our silence stands up for us.

https://biologydictionary.net/bystander-effect/

I'll Like To Believe

The sun spreads it golden rays,
Illuminating everything, 
In its path-
Except for me.
You see,
Mornings offer no solace,
Just as nighttime offers no rest.

But I rise, 
And I dress,
And I greet the neighbour,
And I down a cup of coffee:
With just enough vigour
To say to the world-
I am okay.
But I’m not.

The sun spreads it golden rays,
Illuminating all,
And I’ll like believe-
One day, 
I’d feel it’s light in my bones
Too..

The Love We Withhold...

I kept waiting for the world to hand over to me, that which I withheld from myself. I sought for it, chased it, demanded it. That fuzzy feeling which one gets from being appreciated or loved or cherished.

I stood on tiptoes awaiting that one person who would make my world all sunny again, that one person who would make me feel like my presence is needed and my absence dreaded, that one person who would make me feel good about myself.

And what I got, was a ball of spitfire. From afar, it looked like a beautiful powerful light, just the kind to elicit the feeling of stardom, but up close… It burned. And I learnt, the world is a reflection of the image I view myself in. (I saw charred skin in the mirror, and the world gave me one).

-We cannot expect love from the world until we are willing to give that love to ourselves. And when we get to know who we are, we accept who we are, we love who we are, the world as we see it would be different.

Then and now.

A modern love letter is when he posts a picture of you on his Instagram with the hashtag WCW. True romance these days is when he orders seamless to your apartment when you’re having a bad day and he can’t be there. Showing he cares in this day and age is when he keeps your snap streak going and responds to your texts right away. Honesty and loyalty today can be measured by whether or not he has read reciepts on for you or if he lets you see his location on the Snapchat map. And 20 years ago, no part of this paragraph would make any sense, yet people were still able to show love and affection and have healthy relationships without the distractions of technology. So maybe we don’t need any of that either.

A Lover’s Discourse.

Am I in love? – Yes, since I’m waiting. The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely: I am the one who waits.

it Knows

It’s interesting what random numbers I never forget- the amount of money on my metro card even though I use it once a week, my grandma’s phone number even though she’s long gone, the date I met you even though I’ve had more special days. And it’s interesting what important things I let myself forget- your birthday, my favorite teachers’ names, my previous address. But it just goes to show you that sometimes your brain chooses what’s worthy of its space and you just have to trust it knows what’s best for you.

I wrote this for you

Dear Stranger,

It’s been a while since we’ve talked.
I know the days keep coming
like the dam broke
and I’ve used all my fingers
to try to stop it. 
We’ve got time wading
around our ankles.

How have you been these days?
I think of you when the moon
is round and full;
how so few things can escape
from being touched by it.
Whether you’d like to admit it or not,
you’re like that, too.
So far away and knowing.
So quiet and glowing.

I know, at some point, 
I will have to end these ramblings,
this self-talk to a stranger,
but it won’t be today.
I will keep writing until you know
that you’re never too much,
never unnoticed,
never not thought about. 

So, ‘til we meet or miss each other again,

Yours.

I wrote this for me

If you set yourself a goal and work toward it, you are using clock time. You are aware of where you want to go, but you honor and give your fullest attention to the step that you are taking at this moment. If you then become excessively focused on the goal, perhaps because you are seeking happiness, fulfillment, or a more complete sense of self in it, the Now is no longer honored. It becomes reduced to a mere stepping stone to the future, with no intrinsic value. Clock time then turns into psychological time. Your life’s journey is no longer an adventure, just an obsessive need to arrive, to attain, to “make it.” You no longer see or smell the flowers by the wayside either, nor are you aware of the beauty and the miracle of life that unfolds all around you when you are present in the Now.

Just Start

Start now. Start where you are. Start with fear. Start with pain. Start with doubt. Start with hands shaking. Start with voice trembling but start. Start and don’t stop. Start where you are, with what you have. Just… start.

Know that you can start late, look different, be uncertain, and still succeed.

Helping People

My mother taught me never to give unsolicited advice, nor try to help anyone unless they ask you for it. I always thought that maybe she was just cold. As I get older, I have started to realize that she was right. My mother is one of the kindest people in my life. Society always emphasizes on the need to help people. I do it too.

They tell you that you should help people unconditionally and when they least expect it. None of that is, of course, wrong. Random acts of kindness can change a person’s life in many instances. However, there is a flip side to every coin. And it is essential not to mask the other half of the impact of any such gesture.

Not everything is bad. Same as, not everything is good. There is the good in bad. And there is the bad in good. It’s not necessarily the worst idea to help people. But it’s also neither a great one.

Stop Helping People Who Don’t Deserve Your Help

It’s not always an easy thing to do. We were taught helping people is the right thing to do. You need to unlearn this popular belief.

“As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.” ~ Sam Levenson

If they don’t think my time is worth any value, then I don’t have time for them! If people don’t care about you, you shouldn’t help them. They don’t deserve your help.

Remember, the first person you need to help is YOURSELF.

If helping people makes you unhappy, don’t do it. Simple.

Sometimes you have to be selfish and put yourself before anyone else. Ignore what society is urging you to do.

Stop Helping People Who Don’t Appreciate Your Help

The easiest way to turn your friend into an enemy is offering them advice they don’t want to hear.

When I offer someone my help, I actually want to help. But a lot of the time, people are not ready to accept my help. It is normal. Everything takes time to change and most people don’t want it.

You shouldn’t offer advice when people are not prepared to entertain it, or they could one day come back and blame you when it doesn’t work out for them.

I stopped helping people who don’t want my help. Less drama, more time for myself.

Stop Helping People If You Can’t Put 100% Into It

This is the most critical one. Offering someone help when you are not ready to help is a big no-no. I have done this so many times, and until today I still regret doing it.

Helping people when you don’t have the skills or time will do more harm than good.

Offering help when you can’t do a good job will do more harm than good. It’s like being blind and teaching someone else how to paint. You make people miss the opportunities to find better help. Your kindness can hurt people too, in some instances. One of the easiest ways to destroy a relationship is by offering help that you can’t deliver.

At the end of the day, everything can be good or bad. We all need to strive to find the right balance between the two.

Always think it through carefully, before you offer to help someone else. If you don’t, it has the potential to cost you your time, your money and the relationships you hold dear to yourself (personal or professional).

A random act of kindness can change someone’s life, but it can also destroy one too.

If you help the wrong people, you can miss the opportunities to help the right people. Think before you help.

What can I say

What can I say that I have not said before?
So I’ll say it again.
The leaf has a song in it.
Stone is the face of patience.
Inside the river there is an unfinishable story
and you are somewhere in it
and it will never end until all ends.

Take your busy heart to the art museum and the
chamber of commerce
but take it also to the forest.
The song you heard singing in the leaf when you
were a child
is singing still.
I am of years lived, so far, seventy-four,
and the leaf is singing still.

Silver Linings

She wants to read about
romance, in an atmosphere
of scented roses. How to get the one
your eyes are set at; the heart’s
flutterings at the sound of a voice;
The thought of a face.

I want to write of sadness
and grief; the atmosphere of
grey clouds on a summer day. How
the mind works from the fateful day,
when the fruit of one’s womb,
Departs from earth.

I want to write about silver
linings after a stormy weather.
The ways of grief, and society’s
Alloted time stamp.
How a mind overwhelmed by
darkness, can survive another
sunrise and sunset.
I want to write about hope.

Rejection

The rejections pile up,
First The boy,
Then the emails
And now rejections, in the form
Of sealed papers,
Arrive at my doorstep.
Like I need,
A physical reminder to
“I don’t want- you, yours”.

“It’s not you, it’s me”
He said.
“Your work is great, just
Not for us”
They said.
Neither of them having
The courtesy,
The guts,
To speak the truth we both know:
“The problem is with me”.

But that’s fine.
Really, that’s okay.
I’ve done the calculation:
6 months of rejected writing,
Requires 1 week of grieving.
5 rejections,
ergo 5 weeks.
Then its back to pen and paper.

The world has told me
Too many Nos,
It has rejected me,
Too many times,
For me to reject myself.
Me myself and I,
We gon’ keep at it,
We gon’ be alright.

Here today. Gone tomorrow.

Death is both certain and uncertain. We know it will happen, but we don’t know when. EVERYONE DIES, and you are not an exception.

Great endings make us remember a movie forever. In our lives, we avoid writing that last episode. We celebrate life. But death feels dark and sad.

One powerful way to begin understanding death is to consciously reflect on it. Just sit quietly and think about death for a minute. It's not easy! Having denied it for so long, we can't help but find it difficult to imagine death at all. What does death look like?

One important and obvious realization that can come to light when thinking about death is that death is inevitable. The time death will come is uncertain, but that it will arrive is irrefutable. Everything and everyone now alive will one day be dead. This recognition -- that death cannot be overcome -- strikes a fatal blow to the myth of certainty. Contemplating the prospect of death brings immediacy to the present moment, and suddenly a very different reality can unfold.

Through the process of further reflection, a greater awareness of death occurs and eventually a calm presence in the face of death can be developed. Many dying people quite spontaneously and naturally turn their focus away from worldly problems and become concerned instead with questions about the meaning and purpose of life -- an investigation that can be inspirational as well as enlivening. 

Death is both painful to acknowledge and difficult to accept, but it is also the natural and normal outcome of life. Death is the universally shared destiny of everything that lives and is the most powerful teacher of the uncertainty of life and the omnipresence of impermanence.

If we can courageously open ourselves to these truths, we can eventually develop a lasting sense of peace -- and, most importantly, we can be of real assistance to others.

Interestingly enough, when someone dies, even the most religious folks feel sad. We hold onto life as a material property, thus blinding our spiritual beliefs.

Let go of living; it’s not a possession. You can’t control how long you live. But you manage how. Come to terms with death. Being afraid of dying won’t let you make the most of your life.

We take time for granted. But when the end is around the corner we regret our assumptions. Some folks feel guilty for what they haven’t done (e.g., not saying “I love you” or “sorry” more often). Some people get anxious about finishing (or starting) their most valuable project. Everyone agrees that they want to spend their last 10 minutes with their close family.

I look forward to death. I've always imagined it like another door that leads to a higher form of being and consciousness. I'm not completely sure. I've never existed in that realm before. But soon enough, and not a moment too soon, I will know (or possibly not know) what does or doesn't await me.

Love in the Dark Country

Tomorrow for twenty-four hours
I’ll be in the same country as you.

The sky will be constantly shifting,
the morning will be green, a single morning
for my single bed. And in the night

as the dark country goes to sleep
a church bell will measure
the jet-lag of my heart.

I’ll open my suitcase and unfold my life
like a blanket. In the dark country I will lie
all night and wonder how this came to be:

the one light left in the world
is your window, somewhere in the land

of thin rain and expensive trains.
And instead of maps, I have an onward ticket.

Fountain flower

Nothing is comparable to your hands and nothing is equal to the green-gold of your eyes. My body fills itself with you for days and days. You are the mirror of night. The violent light of lightning.
The perfect flame of you.
Smell of oak essence, memo-
ries of walnut, green breath
of ash tree. Horizon and land-
spaces I traced them with a kiss.
Oblivion of words will form
the exact language for
understanding the glances of
our closed eyes.
==You are intangible
and you are all the universe which
I shape into the space of my
room. Your absence springs
trembling in the ticking of the
clock, in the pulse of the light;
you breathe through the mirror. From
you to my hands, I caress
your entire body, and I am with
you for a minute and I am with
myself for a moment. And my
blood is the miracle which
runs in the vessels of the air
from my heart to yours.