Toast to bleeding hearts.

As I sit here reminiscing,
hoping that time would steal this feelings,
asking questions with only silence responding,
And the winds conveying my distant calls to nothing.

I say to myself, “I shouldn’t have said that”
But my tongue has its own mind, it acted before I blinked.
Now I’m left trying to quench the flame of guilt,
Which seems to be burning down my innocence.

Funny how we were once best friends, then best lovers.
Moving steadily without blames for each other,
Erasing mistakes, leaving no room for blunders,
Till we spoke words we now wish to clutch back.

I wish our paths will cross again, Kitty. Turty misses you so much even till tomorrow. 😦

Love:Ugly beauty

Hmmm….
How do I begin? I know I’ve been away for too long on here, but trust me, I have a reason. I just hope I’m not crucified before I get my excuse into your craniums.
Forgive me, I’ve not been in hiding, I’ve been through a lot lately and believe when I say I’m sad. Yes, I mean it.

Okay. With my charisma, charm and dedication to anything I do, you would expect everything about me to be trouble-free, am I right? Yes, in a way, but it’s not always the case.
I’m writing this with a heavy heart. Reason? I broke off a two year relationship! Some of you might snicker and ask, “two years is a small thing, why cry?” But I tell you, two years is not a little thing in my own case not when you put all your time, effort and heart to it. Two years is not a little thing when you share your secret and all you had with your partner. Two years is not little when you’ve built a good rapport with your partner, she understands you and you understand her.

I’ve seen people tell me not to cry over it, but as always, it is easier said than done. You should walk in my shoes to understand what I feel.
They tell me, “you were never meant to be” but that’s a lie! We had everything going for us, but what made us crumble apart? I don’t know. I guess we had something troubling our hearts. And we should’ve settled it amicably. I mean talk about what was troubling us but we didn’t. I must admit, she was willing to tell me hers, but I was unwilling to tell her mine. Why? Because I felt she might begin to worry about me and I didn’t want that…smh

Love is a beautiful thing. Yes. No one can convince me to have a different opinion about it. It’s a beautiful thing, but like all good things, Love also has its ugliness. Call it a rose with thorns, a diamond with its hardness, a sea with its occasional storms…the list is endless.

If I tell you I don’t miss her(I won’t mention her names), believe it to be a lie. I do miss her. Isn’t it painful that when I try to think, images of her come flashing in my mind. I miss everything about her. The sound of her laugh when we talk on phone, the childish look in her eyes, her caress,…I miss everything.

I sit here all by myself reminiscing how I let all we shared, our ambitions and dreams slip away. It hurts. I’m not going to give up on her, though. I just hope she leaves her heart open to me when I come back. Don’t think I’m being selfish.
I know life has many different chapters for us, and one bad chapter doesn’t mean the end of the book. I know things will be better.
Right now, rather than think of the academic tests which I’m going to take begining from next week, I think of what was and will always remain dear to me.

*sighs*

All for the six pacs. #2

If you’ve been following my posts; you will recall that I wrote about how as a result of the heightened state of insecurity all over the world, I went to register at a fitness centre(gym). Need I remind you? I’m pretty sure I needn’t, and I’m glad to know that your memory isn’t as ‘fogged’ as mine has been lately. (That is if you did realise it..lol)

Well, we should continue with the gist, shouldn’t we? Fine.

After Harry and I had gone our separate ways; I walked briskly and rounded a corner towards a street which led to the gym.
Finally, I arrived at the gym, and waited outside. From its outlook, the building was new.  Its blue coloured paint shone brightly, reflecting the rays of the morning sun.
On an advert board beside the gate was the image of a muscular man, his bulging muscles seem to have a mind of their own as they were bent on ripping the singlet he had on. A caption beside the image read: “MR MUSCLES GYM AND FITNESS CENTRE.
GET THOSE STUBBORN MUSCLES RIPPED IN TWO WEEKS.NO STEROIDS REQUIRED”

Whoever suggested this design did a very good job because in truth, the design coupled with the caption even lured me more.

In eagerness to see what the inside of the gym was like, I rapped three sharp knocks on the steel gate and waited…no answer. I rapped another three knocks on the gate, this time harder than the first. Still, no answer. I was about to strike the gate the third time when a man with bulging biceps and big chest opened the gate. He frowned when he saw me.
From the way he was staring at me, I was sure he was thinking whether to let me in or shove me away.

“Good morning, Sir,” I greeted. You see, I didn’t greet him for nothing. I could see his growing irritation at seeing me, and it was only a matter of time before he would send me away, and I didn’t want that, hence the greeting.
“Good morning, boy,” he responded jovially.(It was apparent that my trick worked, didn’t it?) “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to register,” I replied.
“You’ve come to do what?” he asked mockingly. Then burst into a hysterical laughter. “Do you think we use baby-sized weights and equipment here? Pls leave.”

“No, please,” I pleaded. “I’m quite strong. See,”I said, and started rolling up my sleeves to show him my toned muscles.

“hahaha. Boy, close that thing. They are too tiny,” he mocked.

Immediately the man made that remark, I lost my cool, clenched my fist and gave him a heavy blow on his right eye.

“How dare you insult me?” I barked. “Do you know who I am? Don’t you know how beauty queens fall over their heads just to feel my abs? Nonsense!!!”

I wasn’t surprised when the man took off swiftly. To be honest, no one receives my punch and live to tell the tale. To say he was lucky not to have collapse is an understatement…

Long story short. I made my way into the gym, paid my fee and proceeded to try out some weights.
In the main hall of the gym, I see a couple of barbells,select the heaviest and flex my muscles in preparation for the great lift.

I had only lifted it three times when I felt a muscle pull.
What happened next; I don’t know because the next place I found myself was in my room, surrounded by my friends all looking gloomy.

“Una no go church today?(Didn’t you guys go to church today?)” I asked thinking that day was a sunday.
What my friends did next baffled me as the look on their faces changed from one of gloominess to ‘clownish’ grins. Then they opened their mouth in a spontaneous laughter.

“Why are you guys laughing now?” I queried.
“Look, Christian,” they chorused in unison. “You have been unconscious for three days. Today is tuesday!”

O_o…*sigh*

All for the six pacs

With the rate of insecurity in the world, you would call my decision a wise one when I decided to register at a gym.
Having taken this decision after much thought during the week, I decided to visit the gym on a weekend when I knew I’d be chanced, and since I knew most gyms do not open on sundays, and friday, when the weekend begins might not be comfortable for me since I would’ve been exhausted from the week’s work, I decided to fix my visit to the gym on a saturday.
On the saturday morning, I was awoken by the ‘noise’ of one of these ‘innumerable’ preacher’s call in the street.
“Jesus loves you,” he bellowed. “Repent of your sins, my brothers and sister. The end is near.”
“eeeewww!! Another money making venture,” I muttered under my breath, then lazily got of bed, brushed, then had a mug of coffee.
I packed a few things which I knew I would need, then picked up my mp3 and tucked the earphones in my ears. I searched through my music library apparently looking for my rap playlist. Within moment, I found what I was looking for: ‘Tupac’s thug mansion’.

As the music blasted through my ears, I felt like a tough guy. “if I am to be able to lift those weights, then being in the right frame of mind should be considered a top priority,” I thought.

As I sauntered out of the house, and dashed across the road to the next street, a voice which I knew so well shouted from a distance.”Prof! Prof!”
I turned round, and jogging up to catch up on me was my friend, ‘Harry’.
(Need I tell you that I removed the earphones from my ears before responding to Harry?)
“Don papa!” I hailed. “How you dey?(How are you?)”
“I dey mehn(I’m fine mehn)” He responded. “Where you come dey go this wan wey you carry bag this early mor-mor?”(Where are you going to with a bag this early morning?)

At that question, my mind went into a conflict. I was undecided whether to tell him about my mission or not. Harry has always admired my slim ‘v-shaped’ figure(I needn’t open my shirt to show my body just to prove that. On another note…no homo.lol), and it would puzzle him if I told him that I was going to the gym. He would simply discourage me.
“For wetin?(for what?)” I envisaged him asking, but since I had very little time to come up with a perfect lie, I decided to open up.

“I dey go gym, my guy(I’m going to the gym, dude),”I answered.
Just as I had predicted, Harry’s face wore a puzzled look.
“For wetin? You no like yourself as you be?(for what? Aren’t you satisfied with the way you look?)”He queried.
“Abeg, Don papa. I just wan stretch my bones, dem don weak die(Please, Don papa. I just want to exercise my joints a bit, they’ve become so weak),” I responded with a voice filled with unseriousness obviously to to ease pressure which Harry seemed to have caused.
My trick seemed to work as Harry’s facial expression changed from that of seriousness to a broad smile.
“I for say ooo(I could’ve said),” he sighed. “Me I wan jog reach that junction wey dey for there, and I fit branch come meet you for the gym if you never commot before I come back(I want to jog up to that junction over there, and I might come over to meet you if you haven’t gone before I come)”.
“No wahala, my guy. Later mehn(No problem, dude. Till then, mehn),” I responded, then we shook hands.

“Prof! Proff!” He hailed.
“Don papa!” I responded, then we went our separate ways and I tucked my earphones into their usual place of dwelling: my ears of course.

As If my mp3 knew I needed more encouragement, It embraced my ears like a long lost lover with ‘Tupac’s california love.
This mp3 understands me mehn.

To be continued…

Between Damoche and I (part 2)

You’re right if you say I shouldn’t pen anything in my foul state of mind. Yes, I’m angry, disgusted, baffled and irritated.
Right now, the proper way to begin eludes me because my mind is totally blank of a proper or decent language. Blame it on what I found lately. I should never have involved myself with story of that guy’s demise. Yes, I mean Damoche. Did I hear somebody snicker ‘so you’re familiar with the name now?’ Yes, I am. I’m not going to feign ignorance this time. (sincerely, I didn’t feign the last one either)Now, I’m feeling like someone in the know, and that ebony bros would be so proud of me now…hehehe.
Hmmm, It seems I’m starting to feel better about this whole thing with me flashing my teeth in a smile. Still, that shouldn’t make me forget what brought us here,should It? People say ‘shut up and proceed, Christian. Enough of this unseriousness’, but I say that’s ‘rude’.
I’ll take no offence, though just to prove myself a perfect gentleman which of course I am.
Hmmhmm*clears throat*Now, to what brought us here. How do I begin? Okay,
I went out for a walk this morning, hands buried in pocket, earphones in ears and mind set on one thing: to get a loaf of bread and a jar of mayonnaise for breakfast. I hadn’t walked a few metres when I noticed a small crowd gathered around something. At first, I thought it to be an accident scene(of course I don’t wish for one) but a closer look convinced me that it was the newspaper stand. Holychrist. I had even forgotten that a news stand was situated on that spot. Indeed, my two months indoors did more harm to me than good,and If I continue this way, then there’s a possibility that I wouldn’t reject the use of a map to help me find my way around my own neighbourhood! Smh
Well, I went over to the news stand and feasted my eyes on the different magazines. ‘Discover the secrets to a beautiful skin’ a caption read. ‘Nonsense!’ I uttered in disgust since they made no sense to me. I moved to the sports section and immediately removed my ear phones from my ears for just one reason: to enable me hear the rubbish the sport fanatics at the stand would say about my own Lebron James. Let them tell me he’s not the best basketball player in the world now,I swear, they will surely get an earful. I waited patiently for the first person who would take a swipe at my favourite football club, ‘Chelsea fc of England’. There was none. Suddenly, the murmurings of one thickset man caught my ears. I couldn’t make out his first sentence but the next one he said hit my ‘pinnae’ accurately, then went straight to my middle ear and ‘bang’ on my ear drum.
I shook my head in disgust in reaction to what the man had revealed, but on a second thought, I said, ‘this man could’ve exaggerated with what he saw just to spice it up. I’d better get a look myself, afterall, there’s no harm in it.’

I didn’t need to strain my neck to get a better view because on the front page of ‘The sun’ newspaper were the words boldly written: POLICE NABS THIEF WHO STOLE DAMOCHE’S WATCH.
Initially I thought this thief stole from Damoche when he was alive() but on reading the full story I discovered to my dismay that the thief took off Damoche’s wrist-watch few moments after he was killed.
Oh my goodness! Do people now loot the dead? This question begs answers.
Though I don’t possess the power of clairvoyance but with such a thing happening, I mean the dead being looted. It only convinced me of one thing: that people in desperation will begin to go as far as exhuming corpse and stealing the coffins to sell at retail price.
Yes, It might become that terrible if we forget to state in our individual ‘wills’ that our graves be fastened down with huge chains and irons.
Who can tell me what could’ve prompted such action? Did I hear someone say ‘Poverty?’ It’s quite pathetic, though.
Now I’m sad again…*crying*

Between Damoche and I

I’ve had to ‘suffer’ in silence as some ‘Damoche’s’ followers or let me put it in plainer terms, ‘hypocrites’ update countless statii to express their sympathy over someone who was never popular, familiar or if I would put it in a more technical term ‘influential’ to them.

Now, i put the word ‘suffer’ in quotes because ever since news of his (Damoche) death, I’ve been rendered partially deaf due to the sympathetic term most common to Nigerians as ‘eeyah’ and also made blind as a result of the numerous ‘R.I.P’ statii which flooded my facebook newsfeed.

My allegations might raise a few questions since the eeyahs were not directed at me for I’m in no way related to this Damoche, and you might begin to wonder how news of his death reached me and how the said eeyah which I claim rendered me partially handicapped affected me.

It goes thus:

It happened one cool evening and I had gone to the salon to have my hair cut. I sat beside this ebony wild looking bros(his appearance spoke volumes)when all of a sudden he screamed, ‘yeeh!!!’

Alarmed at what made him scream and also in response to the curious impulse which had also built up inside me. I peered into what could supposedly have cause his screaming and there on the screen of his blackberry phone was the battered image of a young who at a guess could’ve been between the ages of 23 and 25. Thinking the battered man to be someone who was close to the bros because of the way he screamed, I rendered the trademark ‘eeyah, sorry bros.’

My comment seems to baffle the bros who regarded me with a look like he was staring at an alien.

‘you no know Damoche?’ he asked in his heavily accented pidgin.

‘Holy Christ!’ I exclaimed apparently in shock as well since I also knew one Damoche. ‘Damoche? That guy wey dey live for that green house for the next street, wey sabi dance well well. so na him dem use bullet scatter him brain so? eeyah’

‘which kain yeye house you dey talk sef? he asked. This time his voice was filled with irritation at my ignorance. You no know the Damoche wey sing one song like that…’ Then he began reeling out lyrics of the song apparently to jerk up my already paralyzed memory.

Well, to prevent him from singing further (because honestly, his voice only deafened me more) I pretended like I had recollected ‘his Damoche.’

Now, the naked fact is that, just like myself, there are many others who aren’t even familiar with the musician ‘Damoche’ but who have generously rendered their pathetic eeyahs and so many other terms to express their sympathy like ‘R.I.P Bro, we will miss you’, ‘I can’t believe you’re gone’ blablabla….

Of course the demise of any soul hurts me, but the guy wasn’t that popular. Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t the one I’m against. It is his hypocritical sympathisers who are trying to claim familiarity with someone whose music they never had on their playlist,let alone dance to when he was alive.

The demise of that guy hurts, though and like others, I can’t help but also render my ‘eeyah, R.I.P, bro’ and may your killers face the same fate which befell you.