Every day, you will agree, we fight. The battles we fight are many, they are as well crucial to our existence. Whoever thinks war is bad must now have a rethink. Every day, we fight. However, how we individually go at it gives diversities to our wars. But most importantly, you must accept war is good: for life; for living; for balance; for communal existence.
There is an incomprehensible excitement in wars; in simple wars; in domestic brawls; in our daily emotional turmoil; they all make for who we are. I must now proceed on account of my own wars. In reading them, you would know who I am, who I am to be and who I have stopped being. But first of all, *bend down low*. Sorry, Olamide popped up in my head there. I meant, first of all, I am Joseph Omotayo and I am still stuck with my Acer Aspire-One netbook. Recent plans to change her fell through. You should also note, I am girlfriend-less. Maybe the first female-blogger to comment on this will be interested in this guy called me. I must now proceed.
On the un-Subsidized January
If you want to have a memorable year, shoot yourself in the foot, break an arm, a heart or whatsoever will give you the privilege of experiencing memorable pains; of unhappy lingering pasts. January came and it gave us exactly that. Let me say, it did to me. January was also personal. I was trapped in the middle of it. I didn’t travel to my hometown like some did, who were caught in the most gruesome middle of pleasurable misery as fuel price soared. How do you explain begging for alms from the same people you were a blessing to? To them, January made all that happen. They travelled home, gave out gifts but later begged for their fares.
January was a stillborn crying, scarring and enabling us in unified varied sufferings. For the source of our trouble then was the same, but our pains were creatively different, multiplied by our individual domestic economics. Nigerian Federal Government had removed our subsidy, not of oil. Really, what they did was an attempt to stop our subsistence. We revolted – I should talk about myself now – I revolted.
My pocket-money stopped. My Mum and Dad couldn’t carry out their businesses. Our monies were locked up in the bank. ATMs became the devil’s spots. People were angry, mounting road blocks and keeping an eye on the ATMs. Anybody who transacted with the ATMs became their prey. Who would blame them? They were hungry. The protest stretched their strengths. The protest was automatic. Thank gracious for piggy bank, my internet subscription was on. YouTube became more informative than CNN and Sky News, and Facebook, more believable than the prints. At least for once, I practiced some citizen journalism. With a lens, I froze the present-past for the now-and-tomorrow-future. One day, Instagram will have to pay me for my un-Subsidized January snapshots.
But in that same January, I was planning on honouring an invitation to start a degree. I wanted to become an OAU undergraduate. From then on, my life took turns.
Of failing Memories and Blurs
‘…things we encounter in life that leave the greatest impressions on us are usually not clear’ – C. Achebe
Permit me, my memory fails me now. I cannot get a full grip on what really happened after January. They have been major deciders of my life so far, though. Those blurry events are what I am now made up of. In the immediate future, I must speak to Larry Page and Sergey Brin, and see how I could sue them. Deftly, they replaced human brains with Google. Our memories now depend on it. Sometimes, if I wanted to know what my pasts were, I typed my name in Google. Try that too and you might know who your ex- was.
Oh… that reminds me of Sade. You must know her presently. Of the unclear images in my pasts, hers is perceptible. She broke my heart. I am getting my heart back in pieces but their edges still sear. Sade said she was just my crush. But I was more mature to have a crush. I was already past my teen and in my early-late 20’s. I needed an intimate love but her heart was in another. Bro only-hell-knows-who was already in love with her or maybe she liked him more…
Until the holiday of my first semester in school, I wouldn’t know what a purposeful planning was. I carried it out. I, as a matter of duty, read some books and reviewed them. I got a bit serious than a normal reader and some author would want my fingers burnt for that. I am only a reader, nothing more. And with being a reader, at times, I review…
Some months past the middle of the year, I won a writing prize and I got paid for an editing job. Those got me momentarily rich. Money is good. You sleep, snore and dare death. You are easily delusional. Everything just became what I must buy….
These Certain Ends
I must become a seer now, don’t envy me. When you give life close studying, you know every turn of it. Everything I do daily is me, I know the results already. As the year closes, I am falling in love again. Albeit, with a pretentious lady. She wouldn’t accept her feelings for me. I know she is in love with me. Or maybe, I really don’t know her mind as I think. But am I not supposed to be a seer after all? Well, some ladies could be that complex and seemingly placid. I am in love once more.
I turned the last page of Chinua Achebe’s There Was A Country a few days ago. In December too, I would write a guest blog-post, this, and you will read, as you are already doing.
How far more should I see into the future?
Okay, this Christmas, I didn’t have Christmas clothes. They always say I have outgrown that. Last Christmas, I never had one. That is one of the pains you suffer when you begin growing beards.