Blogging about not blogging

I get so jealous when i read other blogs; Great blogs. Reading about things I have also thought about at one time or the other but was too lazy to put my thoughts on paper. My whole body wakes up and i can literally feel my heart thumping because i know i should have written this when i should have. Damn,You feel me? 
I guess that's how every body gets when they are passionate about something and are not doing it justice.
There is a lot going on. governments are screwing or unscrewing the people over, be it fuel crisis or  high utility bills. men and women are living, loving, hurting, dying, killing, birthing. LIVING.  I know I am part of this evolution and like you, I war  CONSTANTLY with the thin lines of change; the old and new, what is right and wrong; Always questioning the original factors that have shaped my perception about the world, Africa, Ghana, You and what I allow in to continue this task. 
I care about all these things and I should talk about it too. Not to be seen but to share. For THEREIN sharing lies SOME kind of strength and a certainty.. For me at least.

Where is all this coming from? reading this: How to be a great African Writer by Elsie Eyakuze bit.ly/1t2pee4.

"So how does one become a revered African Writer? By not becoming one. The point of this life-choice, I think, is to be a Writer. That is where the actual pinnacle of success lies, above the cloud of adjectives, in the pure clean air of indisputable mastery, in the hopes of living on beyond the frailness of the body in the minds and hearts of generations to come. Amen."

Well, Case Closed.

Hopefully it will be all the inspiration i require. 

So Hi! I am Ghanaian. My name is Kwakyewaa and it is Nice to meet you!

ADOMAH...

 Anima shook with laughter, and said "Ei Maame, as for you, everyday different story".
 I looked at her with a mock gasp and said "But it's true! He was scrolling down contacts on his phone. He  paused at SWEET WIFE 1 and SWEET WIFE 2. I thought to myself, "his wife has two numbers".
It was ridiculous how I was shamelessly  spying at this man's business on his phone while the bus was moving.( I didn't really feel that bad too. There was really nothing else to do, I was bored and my own cell phone battery was running low). 
After a couple of seconds,quickly, he kissed his teeth, like he had come to the conclusion that calling his wife was a very bad idea and the world could sue him for not calling. Then he went up to contact ADOMAH and called in a voice that was clearly his sexy I'm-about-to-turn-you-the-hell-on!".



At that point, it was everything I could do not to throw my head back and laugh. I mean Diana Asamoah worship tunes were blaring from the radio so it was not a great setting for him kraaa...
He proceeded then to tell ADOMAH how he had missed her and was heading home all by his sad sad self :(. There can't be a more obvious hint than that.(i sat there and rolled my eyes too many times) Anyway after a few mushy words, this man and ADOMAH ended their conversation. He wasn't getting down with ADOMAH tonight.

 NB: He did not call contact:SWEET WIFE 1 or 2.

I thought the whole experience was funny. I still do. it's sad though isn't it? So many couples aren't friends anymore. When life and realities of who we are start to set in. When love or the lack of it is misinterpreted, when pent-up pain turns passion cold. So there you are; the most important part of you, ever present in the MIND and HEART is unable to make you happy anymore. Soon all you have are some really great memories but no power to make them new all over again. You can't call because you are wary of what you will get back. things unsaid, words misinterpreted, escalated conversations, neglect, disrespect.. Yet you remember something familiar that got you here in the first place. The pure, core thing...

I hope he did go home to SWEET WIFE. I hope he would tell her he still loved her. I hope he would say he was sorry if he hurt her in more ways than he meant to. Not because he wasn't trying hard enough, not because he got things wrong every time but because they had something bigger that was worth fighting for. Something bigger than pride or anger. Something bigger than ADOMAH.

 I hope SWEET WIFE 1 and 2 would do same.

Something

If I had a pattern to how I function, life would probably BE easier. I mean, if i woke up everyday at 5 o'clock in the morning, had coffee, called a boyfriend, checked my mail, systematically and got to work (in good time of course, beating traffic), I would know what to expect, I guess. If I could see with a certainty where i would be in five or ten years from now, doing the same things.. Would I be any different?

No. so yes, i am not a person of patterns really. sometimes I will wake up at five, sometimes I won't, sometimes i will have coffee and other times i will have waakye. Sometimes i don't check my mail because I know there is nothing in there. I don't know where i will be in the next five years. But I change?

Maybe. But what i do know and what is certain is that my mind and heart is ready for something. something big. something small. something beautiful. something different. something new.

my heart is ready for SOMETHING

CANS

“Be still and welcome the truths for which you are ready and with each exhale, release the lies that no longer serve you. Feel the sense of lightness, surrender and trust that belong to you. Breathe”

I am laying down in my bed, listening to Gregorian music. It is normally my therapy music when there is a lot on my mind. It doesn’t really cheer me up but I lose myself and I forget for a while. Anyway, the first song playing is called WEAKENED SOUL. It talks about being able to give and not being able to receive. It makes sense I guess yet it has no real relation to what is going on in my mind.

As I listen to song, I remember seeing this homeless man in my head. He used to sit somewhere on the tetteh quarshie- adenta road.  He would sit there, surrounded by empty cans bottles, patched dirty clothing, sacks full of more cans and bottles. He seemed oblivious to the fast cars as they speed by. Most of the time, he had just one can in hand, peering inside as if he was searching for something that is supposed to be there, or he would simply sleep on his sacks. He was always surrounded by his numerous belongings. The picture you see when you pass by him is pure filth, compiled at one place on an ordinarily clean highway. It was really hard to miss.

I keep wondering how much his possessions mean to him, this cluster.  Are they just junk? Does he remember where and why he picked up each can? Does he have a story for all of them? If I had the courage to talk to him would he tell me what all those things were?  Does he keep collecting the cans because he is looking for something he hasn’t found yet? Maybe not. Maybe he is simply an old hungry homeless man.  I don’t know where I am going with this.

I have been asking myself how different I am from this man. Phase to phase, experience to experience, achievements to achievements, hurt to hurt, mistake to mistake, failure to failure; do I pass through the times to collect one more empty can? When we are born, we try to walk, run, understand, love, to be loved, belong; and while we do this, our circumstances, man-made or not, shape us into what we become. Good or bad, it is to whose benefit? When is it enough? What are we looking for? What do we get back?

If acceptance, contentment, love and above all, happiness are what we seek, how can we when we do not understand what these things are? I already know it takes little to be any of these things, if we truly have a healthy perception of ourselves and what we believe we deserve, so why is it so costly? why does it take so long? 

This piece of writing answers nothing, it solves nothing, and it destroys nothing. It really is NOTHING.

Perhaps I will keep collecting cans, sucking out its fleeting gift of happiness, if it be happiness at all, until the next one; until it starts to make sense. i guess.

A-F-I-A

ME – What if they laugh?

HER – Of course they will laugh. Have you seen your legs in that dress? You look like you are about to fall off and leave your legs behind. Plus, you are too dark. Wear something darker, you will blend in that way. And no one will see you.

ME – What if I choke? I speak really fast you know. The words can get all clogged up in my throat, they won’t come out.

HER- Well, that’s what I have been telling you this whole time. Let’s just go home, TV’s for the pros. Let’s stop by that restaurant, get some food, eat and sleep. This isn't for you.

ME – This is all I have, if they don’t pick me I am screwed. It’s been three months already and they haven’t called. I knew it was a mistake.

HER – Well your second choice was good too. I mean hey… If I were you, I would call them to prepare a place for you. Oh wait... I… AM… you.  Call them!

ME – I can’t be here with him. It’s not real. He’ll lie, I’ll cry and it’ll be over.

HER - I couldn't have put it better myself. HAHAHAHHAAH!!

...........................................................................................................................

Sigh… It used to be a little thought… I could have easily dismissed it… No bigger than a cigarette smoke. But it was strong, oh so strong, I could smell it and when I did, it took all of me. It filled my body, it went down to my toes first and then it rose. It came up into my heart and then my throat. It stayed there for a bit. It was throbbing and heavy. It filled my eyes with tears. So I COUGHED it out and somehow I breathed LIFE into it. It took shape.  It took… ME. She was dark like me but scaly and dirty. She had my mouth but it was curled in a nasty, oh so nasty grin. She had my eyes, but they mocked me. She had my hands and legs. And it began to walk with me. It never stopped walking with me.

She would tell me things, you know. Things I couldn't do. EVERYDAY.  She was always telling me things I couldn't do. Why I couldn't do them. Why I would never ACTUALLY do them. She would hit me. She would laugh at me. She HAD me. And I trusted her. I believed her.  

She would say my name A-F-I-A in a hoarse whisper. Only it wasn't my name. It was more like A- FI-YA?  A FEAR?  My fear?

 She was always there, when I woke up; but never when I went to sleep… because there, I lived in DREAMS.  OOOH those dreams… She wasn't there. There was too much LIGHT there. Too much COLOR  And there… I was AWESOME. I could do anything, BE anyone. There she couldn't SPEAK and  I couldn't HEAR her. She wasn't loud enough. 

So this morning, I woke up with a little thought… it was a remnant of a dream I had… No bigger than a white feather. Soft but good, oh so good, I could feel it and when I did, it took all of me. It filled my body. It went down to my toes and then it rose;  First into my heart and into my mouth.  When I open my mouth, it was a song and it was BEAUTIFUL. It looked just like ME. So I sang and sang and sang and sang……

.............................................................................................................................

ME – I really can’t do this

HER – oh yes you can, baby, yes you CAN….

Reflections:Showing up

My mother came home one night from work, pretty happy.  She had been at a conference she had even given a speech at and she wanted to tell me all about it. I had been out of town with colleagues at work on one of those charity activities we do and I had gotten home not too long ago. I  was tired, I didn't feel like talking. My mood was pretty bad and her chirpy mood was irritating. All I wanted to do was eat, sleep and drag myself back to work the next day.

But there she was, in the kitchen with me while i was getting some food, droning on and on about how great her speech was and how everyone loved it. She wasn't even out of her work clothes yet.  In  the back of my mind, I knew she wasn't just sharing her news with me because she wanted me to be proud of her achievements, I also knew she had missed me because I hadn't been home much. I was working long hours and I hardly saw her. So for her, it was bonding time. Still, it didn't stop me from acting distant, giving monotonous answers and simply being dismissive.

For the next seven to ten minutes, my mother talked and talked. But i kept moving about the kitchen, going about my business and not really acknowledging her. She might have been talking to a tree and you wouldn't know it. I didn't notice it but when I got my head out of the fridge, she was gone.

The next day, as usual, I left home before everyone woke up. When I got home, I was told she had left for Kumasi. And although, I did not mind that she did not tell me she was travelling, I was annoyed by it. Not Hurt, ANNOYED. Where did she get off not telling us me what she was up to? When she came back, I didn't see her much. This wasn't unusual.

Until the first time I gave my first broadcast on air. I might chip in here that i was working at a radio station at the time and this was kind of a big deal for me. I was excited and I wanted to tell the one person who understood what that meant to me. After all, she had been to all my childhood plays and EVERY other important event in my life. She was my biggest cheerleader... and it wasn't time for her to RETIRE. Well I didn't find her immediately,  I found the second best person instead. My sister. It was good talking to her.  It just wasn't the same.

"Where is your mother?" I asked eventually. My sister looked at me like I was the most clueless person breathing. "Mummy's upset with you", she told me.

The funny thing was, I didn't feel particularly guilty for upsetting my mother. The way I saw it, she was, is and always would be my mother. I EXPECTED her to be there for me, SHARE with me my good and bad times. She couldn't be so upset that she would fail at being happy for me?? That just didn't sound right. I went to look for her.

I found her. In my room; Picking up stuff  i'd left on the floor. She looked at me beaming and smiling with pride when I told her. But she said nothing.  I took this as my cue to apologize for what had happened; And this is what she said:

 "Have you ever thought of running away and leaving all your problems behind? Well, I do too. A lot more than I show. I get tired, too. I get stressed too. And sometimes I don't want to speak to you or anyone, as well.  But when there are people you care about, you don't have the LUXURY of choosing when to SHOW UP and when to leave. So when I come home and I need my daughter, I expect you to SHOW UP. I expect you to TALK to me. I expect you to LISTEN to my nonsense.Whether you find it relevant or not.  LAUGH with me. TELL me you're PROUD of me EVEN when you are not feeling up to it. Because that's what BEING THERE for those you LOVE is all about. It is our responsibility to each other. LOVE isn't bliss, its hard work."

I'm still LEARNING how to LOVE. But I think that's a head start and I couldn't be more grateful.

Ache

Ache.  What is it to ache? What is to feel pain from within? When the bones and muscles in your hands, face and chest constrict... throb... pound...hurt.... like a wound? The kind that makes you want to sit still, just so the pain can dull. You cannot stop the ache, and you wouldn't if you could because that would stop you from feeling. FEELING.

 Feeling becomes pain because you ache. ACHE IS FEELING. BEING ABLE TO ACHE IS TO FEEL.  Time doesn't change it. You're only aware that time IS passing. Its just a steady journey of the FUTURE in your PRESENT.

But you don’t have the luxury to sit all day, to dwell, to ponder, to panic, to worry and sometimes  to PRAY. You need to move, talk, smile, lie, laugh, get angry, shake hands, sleep, wake up, walk, run, breathe, cry, stop, do it all again. Not to forget, but to ease the ACHE. At least until the sun sets.

Yet it’s the worst in the STILL of the NIGHT. When ALL is still, too.  The trees have stopped moving and the old man who sells the doughnuts has packed up and left. The neighborhood jocks are not in playground, and the housewives are worn out from gossip. Not even Zeynep, the girl who shouts your name every morning from her window is there. The street lights aren't bright enough. A LOUD silence.

There is a nothing to fixate on, there is nothing to churn a reaction from you. No one REMEMBERS you, no one NEEDS you and no one can TAKE you in too, because they are, perhaps, ACHING too.  The warmth of your bed makes you HOT, not better. You turn; sit, lay back, turn, sit, and stand up… walk round within your own dead dark walls. Waiting. Maybe if you wait long enough, someone might speak from the darkness. But nothing happens, so you speak instead.

“I need to get new shoes,” is the first thing you say, because it’s tangible and true; Because what is intangible and true cannot be said. Its HEAVY, this ache. THIS ACHE. You look up but all you see is the dark stain on the plain square ceiling. “I need to clean that”, you think. But still nothing, no light, no beautiful music,  no happenings; neither ordinary nor surreal, no familiar voices, no reaching hands, no comprehending eyes, no knowing lips, no words, NOTHING. Just you and your ache.

So you sigh and smile because the sun rises soon. You smile because the sun will bring the ANYTHING. And the ANYTHING  will have to be alright. For now.