Tag Archives: love

Wading

I feel like I have to give a disclaimer before I get a call asking if I'm okay. I couldn't sleep and at precisely 0313, I did what I've been putting off for so long – I wrote. This is what came of it.

And I’m here. Reading our story and feeling so fucking overwhelmed by the utter dysfunction of it all, wondering how I managed to find love in you, in your absurdity. I can’t help but feel you’ve broken me forever and you won’t ever understand because it doesn’t matter half as much to you as it does to me. Nobody will understand. Nobody has been in love with you the way I was in love with you.

I'm floating in you, in what I want you to be. You can see me, clear as day and you know what I want yet you deny me heaven. And I deny myself by clinging on to the idea that is so evidently not you. Either I drown here and the death of me will open your eyes to the actuality of what you've done or I save myself, never to wade in you again but know you're still here, being what I don't need you to be – not mine.

I'm learning and desperately trying to unlearn the mechanisms I have used to keep myself together in this time of healing. I let myself cry, I let myself think, I let myself grieve and I realise I'm living a life that no longer exists to appease you.

Finality isn't what I thought it would be. It didn't bring about the coldness of the loneliness I know I need. I feel open. I am not new but I am.

I’d like to say thank you to everyone who encouraged me to start this again. From the people who asked me if I was still writing, to those who asked me to start writing again and to those who simply said they missed my blog. It makes me teary-eyed to think I’ve touched people enough for them to notice my absence and to care to ask me to try this all again. It means the world to me.

#ThisIsMyArt (…ish?)

Disclaimer: about halfway through this, it seems as if I’m talking to myself. I was working it out as I was typing it out, literally. I didn’t want to change it, workings of the mind and all that jazz. I was also hopped up on ice cream when I wrote this and you know how crazy I get when I have ice cream. And, no, I didn’t just realise the coolness of hashtags, there’s an entirely substantial reason for the title.

Existential crises seem to be my latest thing. If I don’t have one at least once a month, it’s an off month but I need them, keeps me on my toes.

I’m volunteering at my local library this summer to get the little baby geniuses of my community to put down the iPads, pick up a book and stare at it for a couple of hours. I do it because I like to think I’m enabling these kids to see the beauty of words, understand and appreciate the magical worlds in the lines they read. In the few moments it takes for me to quiz them on the books, the sincerity and eagerness to impress me with their knowledge burns through the most and I find it mesmerising. Children are mystical, honestly.

The children, however, didn’t bring about this crippling need for me to re-evaluate my life; it was the guy who was my volunteering partner for the day. He was a 17 year old white male with a Justin Bieber circa 2011 haircut. It was 9:30 on a Monday morning and I was ready to sit in stone cold silence for 3 hours just to avoid any means of communicating with him. We were asked to do some book cataloguing and as we were trying to decipher the library’s incredibly ancient shelving system, the ice broke and we started talking about all kinds of things. We talked about TV shows, comics, university, career prospects and all that stuff. He told me he had sussed out what his niche was: TV or voice acting, kitchen design or drama teaching. Despite how odd the selection of goals seemed to both him and me, these things made him happy and the prospect of being either one of the three was more than enough to keep him motivated. I couldn’t help but envy him. At 16, he had such a level head on his shoulders and his path would be way easier than mine but that’s another rant for another day.

On cue, I had a teeny weeny internal meltdown. He had found his art and he was running with it. I like too many things to say I have an art and it worries me. If someone asks me what I’m good at, I won’t have an answer. Does “oh yes, well, you see, I write stuff and organic chemistry gets me going” qualify as a decent answer? I’m always asking people what my backup plan should be if being this kick-ass scientist I have totally envisioned myself being backfires on me. Writing is a comfort, it is escapism and blogging helps me share my weirdness, helps sprinkle my fairy dust all over the place. But I am also incredibly inconsistent with it and even though I’ve been doing this for 10 months (wow, 10 whole months?), I still get terrified every time I press publish. I still fret that I’m talking to a void of white noise and broadband cables. I worry that everyone who tells me I’m good is entirely bullshitting me. But then again, I feel like I am pretty good at what I do, even though I’m not entirely sure what that is. I write about what’s on my mind, I write about how I feel, I write about what’s happening to me, what is around me. Writing is a release; it is the unbuckling of the metaphorical belt on the jeans of life. Is it cheating if I really love to write about whatever it is I write about and still love knowing I can create worlds inside a beaker that can make or break a person’s insides? Am I allowed to have two arts, so to speak?

Damn it, I can. I can love writing and I can love blowing things up in a lab. Art is expression, art is creativity, it is skill, it is work and it is love. It is what you love and it is what I love and I think I’ve found it. This is what I love to do; I could shed a tear.

Now, I have some good news and some bad news. Bad news first: this blog will be more or less dormant until September. I know, I know: how can I write a whole post screaming about how much I love to write only to drop this bombshell on you? This is where the good news comes in: someone likes my writing so much, they’ve asked me to be an in-house writer on their website. Mama, I’ve made it! Obviously, I’m not trying to get fired so I want to channel my all in to the website, meaning I don’t want to post things on here that are lacking juice, you know? I say September because I’ll be back in university, I’ll have things to complain about, people to throw literal shade at, opinions to air.

I’ll be writing on a weekly basis on this website so if you really love me, you’ll find me on fvdedcollective.com which is re-launching on the 29th of July, mark yo’ calendars. I’m beyond ecstatic and I’m super nervous but I think I can do it, I hope I can. So, guys, please, be nice and visit the website when it’s open. Come and read what I and a bunch of other mind-blowingly talented people have to say. We are the youth writing for the youth and about the youth. Don’t miss me too much, I’m not far.

Songs of the Week because yeah

Until September… don’t cry, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,

Georgina ❤

 

Writing Everything Down

Hello everyone, hope you all had a restful and meaningful Easter.

I always say writing is therapeutic because it’s never let me down. There is only so much you can vocalize to another human being and besides that, their emotions will get in the way of whatever is it you’re trying to convey. They will judge, they will give their two cents, they will have a response that 9 times out of 10 won’t be what you want to hear or what you even asked for. That’s why writing is so needed: it’s just me and a blank canvas that won’t betray me or rebut anything I say, it will retain my words, hold them for me, display them back to me, speaking louder and wiser than anything else.

I say this because I keep a diary. I’ve always dabbled for as long as I can remember but it wasn’t until I was carted off to boarding school around 8 years ago that I took journal-keeping seriously, almost religiously. Again, my diary wouldn’t betray me. I could write about anything, about anyone and that would be it. To today, I still write in a diary, a little less frequently as before but this blog serves as another diary for me nowadays.

I’m always typing little things whenever they hit me, for posterity’s sake. Memory fails but once it’s been stored somewhere, that is it, it’s final. I was going through my laptop aimlessly, nostalgically and I found this document titled “Time” and you know what it was? I had written down my entire experience with my ex. Everything, from our first date, to our arguments, to what the sex was like, to when he broke my heart, every little thing. Everything that I could remember, I had written it down. Call me crazy, call me overly-attached, call me whatever. I am an investor: I invest my time, my feelings, my entire being into things or people that I love. Being in love with him was brand new, we experienced a lot of firsts together. I had never felt how I felt with him with anyone before and I know that at the time I wrote all of it down, I felt I would never achieve that feeling with anyone else. I read it over and I could feel the hurt through the screen, it was that tangible. I just had to share some of it, simply because it was like a gift from past me to now me: a me who is forever wanting and will, one day, be rewarded and I felt like that little narration of my first love was something that would benefit future me, one day. It could serve as a reminder of what was and what will never be, to keep me going and keep me hoping and to remind me that the love I have (hopefully) is all the more worth fighting for just so I won’t have to write something like this ever again.

“Unhappiness is a gulf. It is that patch of thin ice that you inevitably walk over during winter. It is clenched teeth during dreams that end as nightmares, sleepless nights that can only be ended by crying yourself to sleep. It is being unable to look at yourself in a mirror for months. It is not having the self-love or even self-belief that your picture is worth being taken. It is looking sullenly out a window or at nothing in particular while in deep thought wondering where the hell you went so horribly wrong. I was consumed with sorrow because I believed I just wasn’t good enough. I don’t want to say I was depressed but I didn’t smile with my eyes for almost 2 months. I watched the video tape of Christmas that year and I didn’t smile wholeheartedly once. Love is unrelenting in every aspect: when you’re in it, you are in it. There’s no side-stepping it or half-hugging it. When it breaks you, it doesn’t just break you – it destroys you, it disintegrates you. It ruins you from the inside, crumbling down everything you’d been so careful to not become so dependent on I don’t appreciate people saying “he’s just a boy, get over it” because it’s not just the boy, it’s what he brings about. I won’t be able to understand why God made it so that one person has the capacity to complete us but we still meet those who are almost the exact match to our missing jigsaw piece, even let them test their compatibility, let them wedge themselves into that space even though it is not a perfect match, but it is decent so we settle. But decent isn’t perfect, it isn’t good enough, so we are left exposed. We go through a lot in the name of love because it provides feelings and sensations like no other has ever been able to recreate. I know why girls take so much shit from their lovers. It’s very easy to say “if I were her, I’d leave”, hey, I say it all the time but anyone who reads this will say the exact same thing and wonder why I didn’t just get out intact but how could I? Love is everything yet life would be so much easier without it.”

Song of the Week

She needs to bless me with another album, pretty please.

Until next week…

Georgina ❤

Starbucks Date with Myself.

Hello everyone 🙂

So I’m having one of those weeks where nothing has out-rightly struck me as blog-worthy or better yet, many wonderful things have happened but I’m not readily allowed to blog about them (I don’t want any trouble) so I turned to The Daily Post. They post these things called Daily Prompts which literally do what they claim: they prompt. This is the one I chose. Et voila.

Good Tidings

Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee. Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to. (For the sake of simplicity, I’m talking to 10-year old me. 8 year old me wouldn’t be up to this, I’m sure.)

*I couldn’t find a picture of myself at 10, no joke. So, here is 6/7/8 year old me. Not entirely sure.

Hey, don’t you look tragically cute. I look a lot different, right? Not nearly what you expected to look like at 18. You thought you’d be skinny by now and well, so did I.

Next year, you’re definitely going to boarding school. Mummy and Daddy may be making you do all these exams for all these other schools over here but trust me, you’re ending up in Nigeria. For that exam, just remember BODMAS. It may seem like the stupidest acronym ever but it is a life-saver. Boarding school is nothing like what you’re thinking it could be. Every night is not one sleepover. You will cry every night for the first week. You will bathe with freezing cold water at 6 o’clock in the morning. You will eat things you never thought existed. You will be the victim of puberty. You will be on the receiving end of a collapsing bunk-bed. You will meet people who find your diary, read it and chase you, threatening to club you with a metal T-square because they couldn’t handle the truth. You will make a public fool of yourself (I know you will but don’t send a lovenote to the cute guy in your class. He’s kind of an ass, he’s only 11, he doesn’t know any better). You will become very thin and it doesn’t look good on you but it happens. You will get what the school doctor claims to be malaria almost every month but you know it’s worse than that. You will convince the parents to let you out of that school after the first year.

Somehow, you end up in a proper Nigerian school. Yes, those schools. Where they have even more canes and the teachers aren’t afraid to slap you for not greeting them properly. Sticking out like a sore thumb is the least of your problems. You will get typhoid, it is very unpleasant. On the plus-ish side, you will actually meet someone who you fall in love with years later and he loves you right back. I’m not even making this up, I couldn’t. I won’t give away too much but it’s a disastrous mess to begin with. You will sometimes regret knowing him but despite all of that, both of you find a way to function dysfunctionally. Hang in there, okay? I mean it, really hang in there. Think about it like this: he’s like a stray cat that won’t leave you alone but you feel almost anxious when he’s not wondering around.

Finally, you make it to the Promised Land of schools. This is where all the magic happens. You make friends for life. You will meet your soul sister but she’s Indian, that’s the only difference. The number of amazing memories that you’ll make will astound you. There’s a particular teacher who does library with you. He turns out to be pretty awesome and makes you read stuff you wouldn’t normally touch with a pole. He’s very cool. You will love that place, that’s all I can say.

You will come back here when you’re 16 and you are going to be chucked right into the deep end. People will find your accent – yes, it happens – a little funny but you’ll learn to do you. You’ll meet some people who you’ll wonder how you managed without them and others who you’ll totally regret looking upon. You do a lot of adaptive maturing in those 2 years of college.

Only thing left is university. You get in, that’s for sure. I’m still figuring out the rest.

Your life really begins the second you’re left to fend for yourself in boarding school. You become who you’re looking at right now. I know how bittersweet you feel about it. You’re scared about not making friends and all the friends you’re leaving behind. All the important things and people will stay put, that’s not an issue. Don’t worry about a lot of things, it’s all pretty trivial. Just stay focused and stay happy. Keep smiling. Keep writing. 8 years may not seem like that much but it is and it goes by quick so just go with it. Put your heart into it all, that’s what you do and always will do.

Coffee tastes pretty grim at 10 but just wait until you come back to Starbucks to buy things besides their cookies. Coffee is life-enhancing.

Do you still love Beyoncé? Love is an understatement.

No rant this week, I’m in a happy place.

Songs of the Week: Beyoncé – 7/11 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4YRWT_Aldo) & Sebastian – Embody (https://soundcloud.com/edbangerrecords/sebastian-embody)

Quote of the Week: “One thing I’ve learnt in uni, you’ve got to go and get it yourself. Whatever you want, probably won’t come to you.” – Laveen M

Georgina x

My Take On Boys, Perhaps?

I know, I know, 3 weeks in and I’m already talking about boys. Sue me, it has to be done. I’m not here to preach about the bad side of dating, I’m not here to tell anyone to abstain, become a nun, close your eyes whenever an attractive being walks past, no. I’m just here to speak my mind and this week, I’ve got boys on my mind.

People always say university is the place to make lifelong relationships in the friendly aspect and otherwise. I’m not even slightly ashamed to say I depended on university to help me meet people, men in particular. Yes, I said men. There is a difference between a man and a boy but it seems to me, university is just another breeding ground for boys. I still haven’t met any Nigerians, by the way. It’s making me spiral closer and closer to insanity as it’s making me lose bucket loads of hope.

I’m surrounded by blossoming relationships and there’s a pattern emerging: there seems to be quite large age gaps between the lovebirds. One of the newest friends I’ve made at university is engaged and she’s 19, her fiancé is 24. I think for my particular age group, boys just aren’t ready for the level of commitment a LOT of girls my age (or should I say women) are yearning for. As always, males and females at the age of 18 aren’t on the same psychological level yet and so us ladies are left, flailing our arms around, beckoning for our male counterparts to hurry the f*ck up and get to where we are. I think I’m targeting the wrong age group but I don’t want to date someone 5 years older than me: I just know they will be patronising and almost parent-like and that’s the biggest no-no in my rather short list of requirements in whom I date.

Am I too young to be wanting such serious relationships? I’m not even interested in getting engaged right now, I just want a serious boyfriend/manfriend, damn it. Is there something wrong with me for expecting the total embodiment of my dreams to magically cross paths with me on my university campus? I guess it’s okay to dream… but there’s only so much dreaming can fulfil. In all honesty, I miss being in a relationship and the fact that I’m enveloped by so many happy and healthy ones makes me jealous. There, I said it.

I’m the kind of person who devotes themselves to anything that I’m passionate about: be it a relationship, be it a project, be it Beyoncé. I guess I just love being in love or better yet, I love the idea of love. I’ve always been that person to crush really hard on people ever since I knew what a crush was. I’m a sucker for romance, I’m a sucker for love but as always, the harder you love, the more agonising the heartbreak.

I also think a lot of factors are at hand, hindering the average 18-year-old boy’s ability to want to “settle down”. I’m just going to mention 3. We don’t have all day:

  1. The media: I mean, “bad b*tches” seem to be in ample supply nowadays and some boys are dumb enough to actually want those kind of girls. But see, they’d rather chase a couple of girls like that for now than have one girl who’s probably not that outlandish but guaranteed to make them happy in the long-run. It’s so unfortunate.
  2. Immaturity: this doesn’t apply to just boys, oh no. There are girls out there who just serve as the exceptions to the rule and somehow, every bloody time, they seem to get their clutches on the good guys before us. They end up tainting the guys so much, they are either so bitter, they will do absolutely anything to hurt other good girls or so disinterested in girls, they won’t give anyone a second glance. Sigh.
  3. My idea of a serious relationship differs drastically from theirs. Enough said.

I feel like this post is full of contradictions and ramblings that make close to no sense whatsoever. I could blame this on the fact that I’m heavily intoxicated by Benylin cough medicine and concentrated doses of Obas oil but actually, I’ve just been in a “someone, love me” mood all week and this post was the only way to get it out of my system. Forgive me, readers.

Mini Rant of the Week – I don’t want to be one of those people who think every single action towards them involves some form of racial discrimination but I feel like I should document this as I might be on to something… Just in case.

So, one of my lecturers was introducing himself to the class and this line of talk began:

“University is about having your big boy trousers on.” *Looks at me* “Do you have your trousers on?”
“Um, yes.”
*Class laughs*
“Stand up and show me then.”
“Um, no.”
“Do you have a skirt on?”
“…”
“*KISSES TEETH*”

FYI, I was actually wearing trousers that day. Now, kissing one’s teeth showcases annoyance, impatience or even a display of attitude amongst Africans and Afro-Caribbeans mainly. He was very white. So, what I didn’t get is why he decided to do that to me in particular. He didn’t do it to anyone else. He did however, call an Asian boy “bruv” but I guess that was because the boy in mention kept saying “innit”. He’s also the boy who irritates my soul in all my classes (I’ll most likely rant about him next week). The more I think about it, the more it irritates me and I keep finding underlying meanings to what he could have meant. Either way, I didn’t find it funny at all or even necessary and I’m not looking forward to his lectures.

Song of the Week – Jhené Aiko – Spotless Mind (https://soundcloud.com/albsoon/jhene-aiko-spotless-mind)

Quote of the Week – Since I’m in a sentimental mood, why not quote from my favourite book in the whole wide world: “Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting.” – Audrey Niffenegger (excerpt from The Time Traveler’s Wife)

Georgina x

P.S. Random fact about me: I’d rather lose my page in a book than doggy-ear the page or use a bookmark. Odd, no?