tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42396617138136789062024-03-08T00:04:24.750+01:00The waffarianWaffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.comBlogger876125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-80185540866444785502018-08-15T07:47:00.000+02:002018-08-15T07:55:02.715+02:00Thoughts @ 40<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Step away
from the ledge Sylvia" a friend said to me. And I did, I truly did.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yeah, “growing
up” is a shit phase.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It has not been fun
at all but hey, it had to be done. My brain has been analysed by me over the
years and every corner, thoroughly inspected. Sometimes, I was convinced I must
clearly, be mad. In fact, I have considered many times turning myself in and
saying “Look, I don’t get this world. These things happen and I don’t get it. I
give up, I am done”. I have considered joining a monastery, I mean, how hard
can it be to be a nun? All I have to do is pray and sleep and best of all, I
never have to pay any bills. I am telling you, it has been a serious option. I
have considered just disappearing, packing up and moving to a deserted Island,
I die when I die.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yeah, I
didn’t do any of that. I am here. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Before I
grew up, I fretted about goals not achieved, all the shit I thought I wanted to
do. </span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was constantly on the ledge.
Always about to dive into one anxiety or the other. Constantly worried about
myself. “What are you going to do Sylvia? How will you cope in this world? You
are clearly not equipped to handle this, you will fuck up, as usual”</span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Ah! But you
see, over the years I found out I was not as fragile as I thought I was. Turns
out I am quite a strong person. Looking back over my life, now lived half way,
I am impressed by my survival skills. “So this is you Sylvia? I ask myself. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And I
smile. Yes, this is me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I am still
stumbling through life and what can I tell you? Every day that begins surely
must end. And yes, as cliché as it sounds, one has to take each day as it comes.
Do what you have to do today and tomorrow is another day. It works for me.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So who am I
at 40? I am a strong woman. Made many mistakes, forgave myself and just kept on
going and will keep on until you all hear I am in an asylum or monastery </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "wingdings"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">J</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Hallelujah!</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-82612050862668188402018-05-14T09:48:00.002+02:002018-05-14T09:48:50.488+02:00That's just the way it is...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The trip back from London was uneventful, except at the customs in Sweden. The black custom officer looked at my passport, did a double take and asked me in Igbo. "Are you Igbo?" For some reason, the question in Igbo confused me as my brain had switched back to Swedish. I said in Igbo, "Odinma" which means "I am fine". Then my brain decided to switch to English "Yes, I am". He looks again at me, confused. Now he spoke to me in English "both your parents or just one?". "Just my father", I replied. "And you are born in Lagos?" he asked. "Yes", I said. He switched back to Igbo, "Welcome home", he said. This time, my brain was on track "Daalu" (thank you) I replied. This pleased him to no end, and he smiled happily back at me. The fact that an Igbo man had just told me "welcome home" in a country that we both had adopted was not strange or foriegn. He said it with the same ease as he would perhaps had said it if we had met in the customs in Lagos. C'est la vie.</div>
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<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-66039985366881577912018-05-08T13:43:00.001+02:002018-05-08T13:43:32.230+02:00Let me go ahead and exhale....<br />
A peaceful life, that is all I hope and wish for.<br />
<br />
I don't want no trouble...<br />
<br />
You just go ahead and move on...<br />
<br />
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And let me exhale.<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-4270631449857990712018-04-24T09:52:00.000+02:002018-04-24T10:22:47.051+02:00Vinegar...<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
The night was heavy. I dreamt of being attacked by a
dog and the strangers who I seemed to know, did not help me. “The dog has tasted
blood” I said…but those people, the strangers, were far away.</div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
It was 2:00 am, it was still, quiet, dark, the night.
My enemy. I should not have eaten that bowl of noodles, I thought. I was always
hungry at nights but I knew it was not hunger. It was anxiety, fear,
disappointment, loneliness, everything else but hunger. </div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
The lady on the TV said her son had been as sour as
vinegar until he married his "online someone". It was not really love but at least
he was not alone anymore. He
had her and she had him, the mother nodded wisely.</div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
Was that what it
all came down to then? Someone to dilute the vinegar?</div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
When the alarm
rang by 6:05, I knew I was done for. My eyes were red and puffy. The bathroom
seemed like a hundred miles away. I dragged myself with invisible iron chains
on my feet. </div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
I was late as
usual to the meeting. Someone else was late too, which made my conscience lighter.
</div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
I sat by my desk
and looked at the time.</div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
Just seven more hours. </div>
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-12511736241565992522018-04-19T14:40:00.001+02:002018-04-19T14:40:38.803+02:00And you laughed...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh how you laughed last night</i></span></span></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>“Why are you laughing?”</i></span></span></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>But you wouldn’t say</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Were you thinking of me?</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Were you thinking of us?</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Were we so funny?</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Two broken souls</i></span></span></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Finding the courage to be themselves</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Jumping over hurdles of fear</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Only to get to the finished line</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>And find that the hurdles were never there
anyway</i></span></span></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Oh how you laughed last night!</i></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-74498831806208238492017-09-15T09:28:00.001+02:002017-09-15T09:28:09.906+02:00Paprika and habanero...
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">It is weird the ways we are reminded of who we are.
You can lose yourself for hours, days and then in a moment you know exactly who
you are. That’s what a pot of stew can do to you. I cut the tomatoes, paprika,
onions, habanero peppers and put them in the oven. My home was soon filled with
the scent of the past and present. The meat boiled in curry and thyme, the
aroma filling my soul and heart. Mixed and blended, the stew bubbled away on
the stove. In the morning, there were containers to fill, containers to freeze,
red stains to be wiped away and windows to be opened. You can’t get too far
away from yourself if you can cook a pot of stew. The familiarity gives a
certain kind of security, security in an identity often questioned by others.
No, I don’t know if I am more black or white, more African or more European,
more religious or more spiritual, more this or more that. I only know how I
feel when I cook a pot of stew. That my ancestors, white and black, are nodding
their heads with contentment, smiling at me, paprika and habanero, yes, that’s
what I am. </span></i></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-87756775750813172672017-05-11T15:47:00.000+02:002017-05-11T15:47:49.432+02:002017....10 years blogging (Ok, on and off blogging...still!)<br />
Thank you all for sharing my life with me.<br />
<br />
Thank you for friendships formed.<br />
<br />
Love Always,<br />
<br />
Waffy.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLVbtnFYPcoGthuRHlK_um6cw3p4xVWSxfDc2Ao2UfaXDNdl_M8XNTcNQ-m8E5_QaasnRzfgmyh54irPippLEJ9odqYMqwTrkKYI_26fSdu2yxgUTv5zrH-IBwNMoB7rU_DMrAlCUVYRa/s1600/pic+sylvia.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLVbtnFYPcoGthuRHlK_um6cw3p4xVWSxfDc2Ao2UfaXDNdl_M8XNTcNQ-m8E5_QaasnRzfgmyh54irPippLEJ9odqYMqwTrkKYI_26fSdu2yxgUTv5zrH-IBwNMoB7rU_DMrAlCUVYRa/s320/pic+sylvia.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-68864087361742087212016-09-05T13:30:00.001+02:002016-09-05T13:30:30.340+02:00Reflection.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yesterday,
I saw you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You stared
back at me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">An enemy and a friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You have
been so cruel to me</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You let me
down so many times<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Bailing out
at the last minute and leaving me to deal with the shit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But you are also the queen </span>of second chances,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">That’s what you called yourself<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You picked me up so many times</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Even though I
wished many times you would let me drown<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sometimes I
was sure you would<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">But at the
last minute, in a non chalant way, you would drag me out again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Yet when I
saw you stare back at me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It occurred
to me that only you have been there<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">To think
that you are me and I am you,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You
mutherfucker.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-55429290989232636902016-05-23T09:38:00.001+02:002016-05-23T09:38:41.812+02:00Beyond all the things...I woke up at three at night. Checked my door. It was locked.<br />
<br />
I re arranged the pillows on my bed. Drank a glass of water.<br />
<br />
I thought of listening to the radio, my good old trustworthy companion but I knew I would regret it in the morning when I have to go to work.<br />
<br />
I smiled to myself. Is this old age? I am older.<br />
<br />
I look at the note I have written in big letters, on the wall, starring at me.<br />
<br />
"You are beautiful"<br />
<br />
"Thank you" I say out loud, to myself.<br />
<br />
I think of all the women across the world, in different states of misery.<br />
<br />
I am okay.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow is another day. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-64441949547037854242016-05-20T13:33:00.001+02:002016-05-20T13:33:04.640+02:00Ordinary man...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was ordinary just to you.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(Yeah, I am back to MIKA. How I have missed him so!)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Inspired.</div>
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Inspired.</div>
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Inspired. </div>
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Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-44195300366878982882016-05-19T11:26:00.001+02:002016-05-23T09:22:36.230+02:00I'm hot on trains...Believe or not, nobody ever tries to pick me up in bars, clubs, concerts, parties, etc. Never. Nobody even notices me but trains? I am hot like fire!<br />
<br />
Guys stare at me, smile, the bolder ones try to chat me up, etc. And what is it I do on trains that make me so irresistible? Most times I am asleep because I am always very tired. If I am not asleep, I am reading a book or day dreaming.<br />
<br />
So yesterday another guy tried to chat me up. Background: I have seen him a couple of times staring at me and once this made me so uncomfortable that I changed my seats. Another time, he came off the train before me and he kept looking back from time to time to see where I was. In my own dramatic mind, I decided he was a drug dealer and maybe because he has seen me so many times on the train he now suspects I am an undercover police following him(yes, that's the kind of shit my mind can come up with. He couldn't just be waiting for someone or as it now seems, waiting for me). Anyway, he kept looking back and in the end I decided to duck into a shop to avoid him and his eyes.<br />
<br />
Then, yesterday.<br />
<br />
I am sitting quietly in my corner, staring out the window when I see him enter the train. He comes in and at first passes by but then all of a sudden does a double take when he sees me. In my mind I am like "shit!!!"<br />
<br />
"Hello" he says sitting opposite me.<br />
<br />
"Hi" I reply<br />
<br />
"I have seen you many times on this train. Do you live here?"<br />
<br />
"No"<br />
<br />
"My name is Charles, where are you from?"<br />
<br />
(Oh Gosh! he wants to chat...this is gonna be a long ride)<br />
<br />
"Nigeria. And you?"<br />
<br />
"Mauritius" he replies<br />
<br />
"Tu parles francais?"<br />
<br />
"Qui!" and here, he rattles off in French.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I don't speak French, I just wanted to know if you do"<br />
<br />
Now he is starring at me like I am crazy<br />
<br />
"Why?" he asks<br />
<br />
"Well, cos I heard you on the phone the other day and I thought you were Eritrean"<br />
<br />
Here, he goes into a very long monologue about his whole life. How he came here, he was once a refugee then he married, then he had a daughter, now he is divorced, hasn't been with a woman in four years, his ex and kid are now in France, bla bla bla bla.<br />
<br />
I did not tell him anything about myself.<br />
<br />
He kept on opening and closing his legs in rapid motions which was starting to make me nervous.<br />
<br />
"Are you nervous?" I ask<br />
<br />
"No I am not, its just a bad habit" he said.<br />
<br />
Now his cheap perfume was beginning to suffocate me. Where do people buy this shit from? Lord Almighty!<br />
<br />
Finally his stop arrived.<br />
<br />
By this time I was getting irritated by the big pimple on his nose.<br />
<br />
Thank you Jesus.<br />
<br />
I slept off immediately. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-82606560714732280802016-03-03T17:35:00.002+01:002016-03-03T17:38:18.983+01:002016 and this person I have become is super woman!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Yep, it finally happened.<br />
<br />
I woke up one day and I was not depressed anymore.<br />
<br />
I'd like to think that going to the gym almost everyday had a big part in this new me.Whoever thought I 'd be one of those people?<br />
<br />
Yes, I sweat and lift shit and I feel totally alright.<br />
<br />
I have been thinking of my blog, my writing...<br />
<br />
Yeah, I don't mind writing here again. In fact, dear readers, I will give you regular updates of my life from now on. Not that anything exciting is happening at the moment, single gal, living in the big city, oh yeah, I got a new job! I now teach adults in the night, so I meet all kinds of people. Mostly rich housewives that need a bit of excitment in their lives so they have decided to learn a new language.<br />
<br />
Most of my classes are all women. I have just one guy in one of my advanced classes. I also made friends with the Italian teacher who really has fucked up classes. She has a class made up of only family members! ha ha ha its fucking hilarious. Apparently, this family is going for holiday in Italy in the summer so they want to learn a bit of Italian. Yes, people do shit like that. They have money to go for holidays and extra money to even learn a bit of the language before they get there. Not like some of us that just arrive somewhere and trust google.<br />
<br />
Which reminds me of my time in Berlin recently. Somebody told me there was a Nigerian restaurant in the city so I got my google map and found my way there. I will write about that nonsense on my next blog.<br />
<br />
I am back!!!<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
waffy<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-58253873677283659472015-09-07T13:58:00.000+02:002015-09-07T13:58:34.913+02:00Fantasy and Reality.<br />
<br />
We sit on the table, the three of us, laughing and making up stories of our future...<br />
<br />
"When we have our baby then we will have a common tattoo" he says..."right here"<br />
<br />
She joins her arm to his, to show where the imaginary tattoo will be.<br />
<br />
I can not look at them...the fantasy is too much...<br />
<br />
Later, we are alone, just the two of us...<br />
<br />
"Do you want to have more children?" I ask<br />
<br />
"No" she says<br />
<br />
"But yesterday, you know all that talk with the tattoo and so on..." I say<br />
<br />
"Yeah but all that is just fantasy" she replies<br />
<br />
"But how do you know when its serious if its always all fun and...games? I mean enjoy the games, the mind games, going on the fantasy and so on but sometimes I feel I have to make sure it is just fantasy"<br />
<br />
"Well, that is very easy" She takes a piece of paper and draws a line dividing into two. Everything I can see...is in reality...everything that exists at the moment..." she writes reality on that half of the paper. "And everything that does not exist...including the imaginary baby...all that is on this side...its all fantasy"<br />
<br />
"Ah, I understand...well I get scared sometimes...I hate empty promises, you know, all those unfulfilled shit...in the end it was just fantasy"<br />
<br />
We look at each other and between us the air is heavy with the years of unfulfilled shit...the beach in New York, the swimming pool, the children, the villa, the country house...<br />
<br />
"Well, I better get back to work then" she says, grabbing her keys.<br />
<br />
I sit where I am.<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-26796410063767106152015-08-18T14:34:00.001+02:002015-08-18T14:34:33.706+02:00I am here.I am here.<br />
<br />
I did not abandon my blog.<br />
<br />
I was in Nigeria all summer. Lagos was the usual. Alcohol and music. Friends, grilled fish and suya spice. .<br />
<br />
Warri was love and happiness.<br />
<br />
Love, love, love.<br />
<br />
There were births, deaths, life.<br />
<br />
Now I sit here in my favourite cafe, listening to Colombian music and feeling really good. I have been writing but just not here. <br />
<br />
I thought I would be able to write about many of my experiences this summer in Nigeria but right now, my mind just wants to rest. I'll be back. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-52343485372210959592014-08-25T07:18:00.000+02:002014-08-25T07:18:06.867+02:00On a saturday...On Saturday, I was sitting at home, thinking of a night in with a bottle of wine and some work when a friend of mine called. He is 27 and is recognised as an adult and a full grown man in many societies :) but how do I see him? Like a kid...I think its because my youngest brother is also about the same age...and you know, he will always be my baby brother...<br />
<br />
He invited himself over and after a cup of coffee, he invited me over to his brother's place for dinner and afterwards to a dancehall and reggae party at a club.<br />
<br />
This party was grimy, sexy, hot and nothing I had ever seen before...all kinds of women shaking their butts to some weird song that had the lyrics "tight pussy"....apparently, all the women who had tight pussys were in the middle of the floor shaking their ass.<br />
<br />
I was intrigued and disgusted at the same time. It was a weird combination. I knew I should not be encouraging women to advertise their "tight pussy" but at the same time I could not help admiring them all for their confidence in their bodies and sexuality.<br />
<br />
The dancehall scene was a bit too much for me so I chilled in the "roots" area where most people just drank and sat on dark sofas looking chill...<br />
<br />
I managed to stay until 3 when the club closed...really good, considering the fact that since my thirties, I always leave anywhere (bars, clubs, parties etc)by 1 am. Experience shows that that's the best time for me to leave. After 1, everything changes. People get more drunk and desperate as the night goes on...anything can happen after 1. Also, the after 1 crowd in public transport are usually a handful. I always end up worried for somebody. A young girl throwing up alone on a platform, teenagers who look too young to be drinking, homeless people and their dogs, etc. Its just too intense.<br />
<br />
I was going to put up the "tight pussy" song but apparently there are many dancehall tracks with the refrain "tight pussy". <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-34031831331720640542014-06-21T14:44:00.000+02:002014-08-12T14:00:41.433+02:00Getting away...I have found a perfect spot. The wifi is free and I can write and watch people passing by. There was a young kid playing the cello and I am thankful he is gone. Good luck to him and whatever he was preparing for. His piece was melancholic and I was beginning to consider leaving this cozy spot. I am impressed with Helsinki airport. Everything is super modern and open and friendly. As usual, I had not planned properly for my trip. I have a one way ticket. I did my laundry yesterday night and just put my clothes straight from the dryer into my luggage. I can not tell you, what is in it. The only important thing for me was my swimming suit. Everything else, can be winged. I feel bad about not telling my friends that I was gonna leave but ....I don't know, I just wanted to get away. <br />
<br />
I almost missed my flight. I was too optimistic as usual. I ended up having to get my lugguage in some special track and running with my boarding pass with everybody shaking their heads and saying "its late" and me saying "I know". I suppose my name had been announced enough times because as I ran to the gate, the women there called me by name. I was sweating and breathing hard...one of the women smiled at me and said,<br />
<br />
"Take it easy, just walk down now, no need to run, you can take a newspaper too"<br />
<br />
" Oh, I have time for that?" I asked incredulously<br />
<br />
With that new information, I can tell you that I took my time choosing a newspaper and walked at a snail's pace to the plane.<br />
<br />
The problem with cheap tickets is that you have long assed layovers in airports that you would never pass through otherwise.<br />
<br />
So here I am, in Helsinki. Across me, sits three generations of an Indian family. The grandmother is combing the granddaughter's hair. A man has pulled off his shoes and slumped in exhaustion on the chairs beside them. I am hungry and trying to decide if the restaurant opposite is worth my money. For soup and salad it seems like a rip off. However, I just loaded my bag with chocolates and booze for my hosts so I feel a bit hypocritical not wanting to spend money on food for myself.<br />
<br />
I have two hours more. I have bought a book, taken a nap, gone to the toilet, had coffee, and now I am online.<br />
<br />
I would like to eat just chips and mayonnaise. <br />
<br />
<br />
Well, back to observing people.<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-25195897578089691062014-03-17T10:08:00.000+01:002014-03-17T10:08:06.167+01:00Footsteps....I<i>ts been a while since I have written here. The days have gone on to be nights and...you know...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am back on the rat wheel. My days start by 6 every morning and end at 7 when I get home. Life as I have known it until now has been one struggle after another, dissatisfaction, never really where I want to be, always struggling so hard for the next phase, the next thing, never quite getting there...the years roll by.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I have been growing up all this while, lesson after lesson, going through the fire, taking it all in, never cowering away, walking through the mud, the shit.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Have others had it as hard as I have? Did others learn these lessons, pain free? Did everybody else grow up with minimum hurt and pain? Or have I always been the one taking life's knocks so hard?</i><br />
<br />
I wake up knowing that there will be snow outside. My little home is cozy and warm...I kick the empty carton of pizza by my bedside and put on the radio. Its is 5 o'clock. No need to rush. I go back to bed, lie down and put on the TV. Something about a murder. As usual. This one was gruesome. A pregnant woman hacked to death. First, the husband was a suspect, then the neighbour...the neighbour was the husband's lover. Anyway, as I dozed off and on, I never really knew who had hacked the poor woman to death. With an axe!<br />
<br />
It is 6 now and I take a shower while brushing my teeth. I don't have any clothes set out for the day but the snow outside dictates that it will be "boots" day. I lazily put on my cloths and make my bed. I lock my door by 7 and cross the street to wait for the bus.<br />
<br />
My sense of well being and purpose in life has come as a surprise to me. One day I am writhing in anxiety and nervousness and the next, I am drinking a glass of wine with my meal, sorting through old stuff and sleeping early.<br />
<br />
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<i>Surely, all lessons have been learned by now?</i>Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-75136576848246095112014-02-02T19:35:00.002+01:002014-02-03T17:26:08.006+01:00Hope...in a box...<i>I had been indoors all day. The skies were grey. I made some tea and ate the left over noodles from the night before. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I looked at the time, my package. I got a note that said I had a package at the nearby post, waiting for me...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I dressed up hurriedly and left my apartment munching on a piece of dried meat that I had mistakenly dried up in the oven. It was supposed to be juicy and soft but I had slept off and now, it was more like a beef jerky. On my wait out, I almost fell over the boxes of a newly arrived resident. The taxi was parked right in front of the building, his bags and boxes all over the entrance.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I gave him a loud and cheery HI! as I passed and got a huge smile in return. Just to make him feel less lonely...if he was...I don't know...making someone feel welcome in a new place can be nice, I thought.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The skies were still grey and a curtain of fog hung over the heads of the people on the street. I walked purposefully, like I was on a mission. I thought of what others would think of me, they would think "there goes a woman that knows what she is doing in life", the thought that I was fooling innocent passersby made me smile. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The guy at the counter was nice. He wasted no time getting my package.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I walked out of the shop with a new spring in my step....my friend had sent me a package...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I got home and opened it...and...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It was hope...hope in a box.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>How do you say "thank you" to that?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She knew...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<br />
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(Sorry, my phone really takes terrible pictures)Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-88399378744874981972014-01-23T17:27:00.001+01:002014-01-23T17:27:40.278+01:002014, new shit men!Hello? Anybody still out there?<br />
<br />
How are you my dear readers? I hope life is treating you all well.<br />
<br />
I am not sure why I have avoided my blog for so long. Perhaps its the feeling that I have nothing new to report. Like a diamond on my finger or a picture of a big baby bump or you know, one of those life changing events.<br />
<br />
I am still alive!!!<br />
<br />
Yes. Alive and well.<br />
<br />
I am not going to recount all the shit from 2013, its already documented here so that would be a waste of time.<br />
<br />
2014. All I want to do this year is to get through it HAPPY ....no big goals, no lofty ideas, just simply living from day to day with a smile on my face. <br />
<br />
I will try to write as much as I can on my blog.<br />
<br />
Love and Peace,<br />
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Waffy.<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-29945056202728218312013-12-29T01:07:00.000+01:002013-12-29T01:07:12.841+01:00Time.<i>For times come and go.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And I am lost.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Drifting between times that are not yet past but still not in the future</i><br />
<br />
<i>The clock calls me back</i><br />
<br />
<i>Tomorrow is coming </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Stay, one more day</i><br />
<br />
<i>Perhaps tomorrow you will be here again. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-11055846436710839522013-12-19T02:41:00.002+01:002013-12-19T02:41:21.464+01:00Short hair.I decided at the last minute to go to the gym. I hastily packed my bags and as I put my ear phones on, I felt good, like I was doing something that deserved applause if I had an audience. Half way on the journey, I suddenly remember that I had not taken any underwear with me. The worst thing in life is wearing sweaty underwear or socks after you have had a relaxing time in the sauna and showers. God forbid bad thing. H&M is never too far away and I decide to stop and buy a pair.<br />
<br />
I buy the underwear and remember that there was actually a short way to get to the gym from that shopping mall. I could go out through another entrance instead of going back down and through the tunnel.<br />
<br />
As I walk towards the door, I see a familiar face, its a lady I used to know from a meditation center. Her mother was a regular at the meditation center as well and she would often come with her to meditate. Last time I saw her she was heavily pregnant but now here she was, looking extremely exhausted but pushing a stroller with a baby in it. At first I don't recognize the woman beside her, but as I hug the lady, I see that the woman beside her is her mother, except now with very short hair and looking very different. It looked like she had aged twenty years. I hug her too and I touch her hair and say,<br />
<br />
"Oh wow, you cut your hair" I said<br />
<br />
"Oh...you have not seen this? I have cancer, its just growing out again" she replied<br />
<br />
The last time I saw either of them was last winter. I had volunteered to help out with a meditation retreat because they were short of people. I was not a member and neither was I very active in the center, I was simply one of those people that appeared and disappeared at will. Depending on who you talk to at the center, some would say I have been there for years and some might have never met me. I had worked then with the lady and her mother, helping the participants, cleaning and making sure the retreat was working smoothly. I don't even remember how we said goodbye when the whole thing was over.<br />
<br />
All these thoughts flashed through my mind as she said those words.<br />
<br />
I must have looked totally shocked because then she said,<br />
<br />
"You don't need to look so devastated" she said with a bit of irritation or anger in her voice, I wasn't sure which but I understood that she did not want me to offer any kind of "oh I am so sorry"<br />
<br />
Her daughter saves the day by saying "we should have coffee sometime"<br />
<br />
"Yes of course" I say<br />
<br />
"Not next week because we are going to the country side but after that" the mother says, again, I sense anger or something...something that was never there before last winter.<br />
<br />
I hugged them both and attempted to behave normally which was what she wanted, I guess. I did not say "I am so sorry" but I tried to say it with my hug and I hope she understood.<br />
<br />
When I got to the gym, it was packed filled with people.<br />
<br />
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<br />
The music started and jumping up and down, I imagined her looking in and seeing me doing these ridiculous steps.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I did my steps, I jumped up and down and I even sang along to "la la love" <br />
<br />
Life. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-6713163259946025122013-12-17T13:13:00.001+01:002013-12-17T15:43:50.676+01:00I will see again.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I don't know why we are both giggling. There is nothing to giggle about. This is a serious situation. This might be the end of a journey of almost two years. But that is just one of those moments when all of a sudden, you are connecting with another human being.<br />
<br />
"Walk around here now, can you see?" she asked<br />
<br />
"I can, I can" I reply<br />
<br />
"Now, look at him, can you see him?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, I can, I can see everything"<br />
<br />
and now we are giggling again. There is some kind of laughter coming on, and we both recognise that its going to be one of those hysterical laughters that can't be stopped.<br />
<br />
"So is this the one then? Have we found it?" I ask, still in a state of giggles<br />
<br />
"I think we have" she replied.<br />
<br />
Everything else we do after that is done with smiles and giggles.<br />
<br />
"You are going to have a new grip on life from next year" she says<br />
<br />
"I know" I reply, laughing<br />
<br />
"Next year, a new grip" she says<br />
<br />
We dont know how to say goodbye. Are we going to hug?<br />
<br />
I look at her and say "I know I am laughing but seriously, thank you"<br />
<br />
I put my hand on her arm and she holds it there for a moment.<br />
<br />
And then we both start laughing again.<br />
<br />
"Merry Christmas" I say and I walk out of the clinic before I start laughing again.<br />
<br />
From next year, I will see again. <br />
<br />
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<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-87147997162313822462013-12-12T20:09:00.000+01:002013-12-12T20:09:06.294+01:00My mind is wide open.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>I see you everywhere I go</i><br />
<i>You are standing</i><br />
<i>You are smiling at me</i><br />
<i>You are walking towards me</i><br />
<i>I am waiting patiently for you</i><br />
<i>But you are not here</i><br />
<i>I am only creating imaginary pictures in my head</i><br />
<i>The truth is I miss you so much</i><br />
<i>Someone loves you</i><br />
<i>I am always thinking about you.</i>Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-33240666521018695862013-12-02T11:55:00.000+01:002013-12-02T11:55:05.213+01:00A million reasons to leave...<br />
<br />
<i>Saboteur, Saboteur,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You did a good job,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Fucking up everything that came your way.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Pushed everybody away</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Did you ever face it?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Saboteur, Saboteur,</i><br />
<br />
<i>In your isolation,</i><br />
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<i>You saw it,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Saboteur,</i><br />
<br />
<i>That hole was not fun anymore was it?</i><br />
<br />
<i> "I don't want to be here anymore"</i><br />
<br />
<i>The cocoon, your only friend,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Now suffocating isn't it?</i><br />
<br />
<i>Ha! You saboteur.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Find your way</i><br />
<br />
<i>Out. </i><br />
<br />
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<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4239661713813678906.post-60091848181925160772013-11-09T15:05:00.000+01:002013-11-09T15:05:20.779+01:00"What will they say?"I always find it extremely hard to understand how so many people continue to suffer in situations mainly because of the social consequences that come with getting out of that particular situation. I understand people who for economical reasons choose to stay on in a job or relationship that they hate. I wouldn't do it but I understand it. Money for many people is extremely important and many people do get a sense of security from having wealth.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so people stay on in extremely hard situations because of all kinds of reasons. The one reason I will never understand though is the worrying about the social aspect. As in, leaving a relationship might mean losing out on some of the social shit people do as couples together. You know, the dinners and all that crap. In Nigeria, it would be all those functions one attends as a couple, weddings, burials, birthday parties and what not. Being a couple guarantees you an invite for many couple related activities. Many people get out of relationships and lose many friends. This happened to me a couple of years ago when I got out of mine. I suddenly found myself totally alone. Till today, many of the people I thought were my friends I have never met again. Its a very strange thing but my logic is, people who are only your friends because you are part of a "couple" were never your friends anyway, so losing them to me was not really a loss. How can you lose what you never had? I was not so worried either about peoples reactions to leaving a stable and secure situation. My biggest problem in life has always been what I think about me. I had lost my own respect my being a part of something that I did not believe in. It has taken me years to forgive myself.<br />
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"What will they say?" First of all, who the fuck are "they"? Is it the neighbor? is it that woman in your church? Is it your husband's best friend's wife? Is it the gate man and the house maid? Is it your colleagues at work? Who, out of all these people, is controlling your life? Be specific, who amongst these people are you willing to die for? Cos in essence you are not living your life for yourself, you are living for them so you might as well offer yourself to them. Cut an arm, give a liver.<br />
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If you are unwilling to die for any of those people who are "they" then I suggest you start living for yourself.<br />
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<br />Waffarianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039619178621668954noreply@blogger.com0