Life is a canvas waiting for a unique brushstroke, a journey filled with twists, turns, and moments that define your resilience. Life is interesting. The person who was jumping in front of you and playing with you yesterday may not be around tomorrow. I didn't think about such things before, because I didn't want to, but life forces us to realize these concepts. On the ceaseless snowy day of December 18. 2023 our bustling preparation for my mother's birthday added an extra layer of anticipation to the atmosphere. We were all happy and having fun celebrating my mother's birthday with my family. Only my brother had not yet come and we were all eagerly waiting for my brother. Suddenly, the distressing news we received on that fateful day plunged us into a collective state of shock, transforming what was meant to be a joyous celebration into an unexpected period of mourning. I got a call from my brother's phone saying that my brother was brought to the hospital in a serious condition and there was a strong possibility of death. For me, that day was a massive blow and no comfort could ease it. Once a week before, this incident happened, my brother and I had a big fight. And even without knowing it, I looked at him and said:" It would be better if you were not in our lives, you were created only to harm us. I wish you would die sooner." Each utterance I directed towards him in a tone of reproach reverberated so loudly within the confines of my mind that I found myself grappling with the challenge of justifying and consoling my troubled conscience. Around 2 a.m. in the morning, my brother was taken to a major surgery. My parents and I begged God at night not to take my brother's life and return him to us. At that time, my mother's struggles weighed heavily on my heart. . All my mother's prayers to God were very touching, even my heart was broken. At that time, I truly came to believe in the profound difficulty of being a mother. Around 5a.m my brother left this world. Darkness enveloped my vision, leaving me uncertain about what steps to take or what the future holds. My mother's cry resounded so painfully throughout the hospital that no one didn't cry. My parents, even I couldn't say a word that day. I couldn't wish such intense pain, such profound loss, even upon my enemy. In the following days, I realized that simple tasks became arduous, and the weight of loss pressed heavily on my shoulders. Amid these dark times, I sought solace in memories of happy times spent with my brother. One day, I stumbled upon a box filled with mementos from our happiest days. Photographs are frozen in time, capturing smiles, silliness, and the essence of our unbreakable bond. Each picture told a story, a testament to the love and joy we shared. In solitude, I began to discover myself through these memories. I found strength in the love we had for each other and gradually the pain started to subside. While the ache of loss never completely faded, I learned to navigate the world without my brother physically by my side. I carried his spirit with me, finding comfort in the knowledge that the happy times we shared would forever be a part of me. After this incident, I made a conscious effort to treat everyone in my life with equal kindness, learning from my mistake with my brother. Recognizing the fragility of life, I began to invest more time in my family and express my love and appreciation more frequently. Discussing this matter and recalling the circumstances from that time is a challenging task for me. However, such is life. It presents us with numerous highs and lows and we should brace ourselves for each. In sharing this story, my sincere intention is for you to value your dear ones and express your love to them regularly, because, in the end, they might not be with you tomorrow.
What a bliss is this Quarantine! Where the days smoothly pass amidst the undecided culture of following a routine, where the bright and clear mornings no more invite a man's engine to hustle betwixt the race of transportation and time in order to reach his destined workplace; a quarantine, where there is a lessening worry for morrow and a diminished criteria to borrow what a man has been dwelling upon so far, an another man's company, assistance and bodily affection for now one has learned to welcome ‘social distancing' with open arms and dearly kissed his ‘self-isolation'. A tint of wonder reflects in those thirsty eyes when they instinctively gaze at the sky that has never been as pollution free as it seems during the current pandemic. Various planned and expensive attempts to procure the fresh water of river Ganges never succeeded inspite all possible human efforts, for all it silently asked the humans was to truly respect the aspect of their holy river; all it ever wanted was to replenish in its own natural way while humans were busy in decorating it with their religious and industrial activities. The undisturbed marine habitat has provided a perfect condition for olive ridley turtles to lay eggs in Odisha's beach. With the factories and industries being shut, with the large number of vehicles being parked outside the respective owner's home and with the minimal artificial interference in the nature, birds and animals are fortunately tasting the syrup of freedom. Sparrows have returned in the verandas, peacocks are again rejoicing with their wide feathers on a rainy day and a Malabar civet, which is a critically endangered animal, was spotted walking on the road in Kerala. Does it not feels like an unprescribed duration of undeserved holidays, where one can casually find their precious selves inclined towards the unread books, that they have always wanted to lay hands on, just to recite the favourite paragraphs to their parents before bed. Those awaited head-massage therapies in grandmother's lap, that never got fulfilled due to lack of time or the entire family playing the board games around the centre table now no more seem to be a mere dream. It is now, the time to unravel those folded sheets of paper in which the roughly crafted sketch of a ‘happy family' was swiftly drawn in order to someday be painted on the canvas. It is the hour to try the recipe of those favourite dishes that have always been tasted with friends in those hyped cafes of the city or treating the family with a handmade ‘blueberry cheesecake', until our dear siblings finally utter in disagreement complaining about its weird taste, suitable to but only your own self. It is that precious time in life when the family values are being rediscovered. Not only a sense of reconnection is overlapping the dead ideas confined to the separate rooms of family members but an essence of sharing the household tasks and a deeper level of discussions are taking place, that are playing a major role in enhancing the bond. Most of the time is being spent together by laying back comfortably on sofas, all the heads being turned in the same direction and keenly watching the most indulging series on Netflix or rediscovering the cultural values by watching Ramayana and Mahabharata episodes. It appears like all the so called ‘generation gap' imbibed within our minds, that has been pretended to exist since the day mobile phones took the place of a companion, never really subsisted in the real sense. A busy life it has been, has it not? All the chances that individuals have strived to grab on their professional sphere, the possibilities of aiming to reach infinite goals that have kept the souls awake during the endless nights and the unwanted stress that has always hung with pride on the exhausted shoulders, can humans dare to put it at halt, all at once? Maybe it would not cost a lifetime to once sit and appreciate the beauty of solitude and observe the clear skyline filled with stars instead of desperately aiming towards becoming one. Maybe it is recommendable to press that pause button imbibed on the body's functioning system and cease to treat life like a race and relationships, like they are losing the real trace. Therefore, so close lies this opportunity that one never imagined to be a part of but also the one you can make the most of, just by being who you have since a long time have ceased to be. Covid'19 has brought a serious thrill of insanity in human lives and nature in a form of role reversal, such that it has caged the rational beings, limiting them to their comfort zone, confined to the walls of their home. Nature has finally been granted a precious time to rejuvenate, which has brought animals back to their natural habitat and given them a chance to breathe.
“Chioma tested positive to Covid-19.” The words fell out of Ada's mouth as if they carried an immense weight that left her mouth agape. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, probably processing how possible it was for someone who would easily pass as the most enviable young woman in Nigeria to have been infected with this enemy of a virus. As I watched my elder sister wallow in her thoughts, I remembered Chioma, and how she had kept her Instagram followers abreast with her recent international shopping spree. She was engaged to Davido, the popular Nigerian vocalist. Chioma was an icon to many Nigerian girls, who thought her to be lucky to have captured the attention of Davido. A deep sigh from my sister interrupted my thoughts. Then in a slow, defeated voice she said “if the super-rich can get infected, what happens to the rest of us?” I smiled, partly because I was amused by her fears, and because I thought she looked really cute with all her peevish fretting. Then she looked up at me, perhaps warmed by my smile, and said, in a tone that reminded me of Nelson Mandela, “We need to fight Covid with all our strength!” In the days that followed, Ada morphed quickly into an Anti Covid special agent, reading up loads of information about the virus. Then overnight, she became a reporter, breaking to the family every news update on Covid-19. She was the manager at a spa in Lekki, and with her boss outside the country, she easily stopped going to work. One night, she plunged into her savings and asked me to follow her to the food market. We spent a hundred thousand naira buying food items, groceries and sanitizers at inflated prices. Over dinner that night, she expressly mentioned to us –our mom , the eldest brother, youngest sister and me– that as a family, we should all stay indoors till the Covid saga was over. Sadly, nobody seemed to take her seriously, and that quickly escalated into an exchange of angry words between her and Victor, our eldest brother. The next day, the President declared a compulsory nationwide total lockdown. That evening, Ada sang songs of thanksgiving to God. Two weeks into the lockdown, my mom couldn't take it anymore. She had gained weight. The wrinkles on her forehead had somehow reduced drastically. The sexagenarian wore skin that shone brighter and a smile that hid the struggles of a previously sleep deprived hard worker. She was happy with the well-deserved rest, but her social life was suffering. She couldn't wait to resume her trading business and have fun filled moments with the other traders in the complex where her store was. My siblings and I were always on our phones, and she would stare at us, disappointed that her children would allow their phones to take this amount of time away from them, and slightly envious that she didn't find such solace in her own device. Whether Victor lived in our world was questionable, because he acted like he didn't. Nothing in his lifestyle reflected a recognition of the global pandemic. He would always leave the house every morning only to come back at night to meet Ada torn between fury and trepidation. He seemed to have believed the booming rumour, that Covid-19 was a either a sham, or it was not present in the country. The climax of the family experience happened in one night, a day in whose morning the number of recorded cases saw its first outrageous boom. Victor came back from a three day stay over with rashes all over his body. He had a serious fever and breathing was difficult for him. He was coughing and sneezing badly too. Ada almost went mad. “I warned you! I did,” She said with tears in her eyes. I still wonder if those tears were shed out of compassion for Victor, or fear that she was finally exposed to her nightmare. In the end, her survival instincts took over and she warned everyone to ensure Victor's isolation. She suggested he should be locked up in the guest room. But my mom wouldn't hear of it. She rushed to examine him, and my sister pulled her back. “Mummy! Covid is a matter of life and death! Don't touch him" she begged. At this point, my brother could not take it anymore. He lashed out at Ada. “Are you crazy?" He yelled. "How dare you? You're a paranoid idiot. These rashes are reactions to a bathing soap I used. Don't ever connect me to Covid again, ever!”. And with that, he stormed over to the room I share with him. My mom still came around to apply a medicinal lotion to his body. Then we agreed that we would alert the NCDC authorities by the third day. But by the next day, his rashes had reduced, his fever left and with that he lost the strings that attached him to Covid-19. But to be on the safe side, he reduced the frequency of his outings afterward. The best part was, for the first time in more than ten years, my entire nuclear family came together and created memories that would last a lifetime.
I cradled the ticket in my hand as I watched the dust motes dance to the silence of the fading sunshine. The tracks shifted gently somewhere far off down the line in the crumbling remnants of what once was a strict European station. Swallowing my heart, I saw the café nearby housed patrons that came as quickly as they went; but hidden in my memories, a family once sat united. Even if remembering meant knowing what I could not have, I still held to it like a petal on a flower. But with the rustle of wind as a train tore onto the platform, the ticket slipped from my fingers as the memory faded beyond reach. Once again, the hole in my chest etched its way out, and hazy eyes followed the dying scream as the train departed. I fixed my shoelace; tying my life together in a flimsy bow. Finally, I sighed and stood unsheathing my sword, ready to face a world full of people. Me? I walked alone. The café held smells that made my nose twitch and being jump in excitement. The dessert display contained a wild array of textures – the shattering, airy crunch of meringue, and the softer ones of glazed jams and gleaming chocolates. Pastries with rolling bubbles and cooling air pockets steamed, causing a tsunami of desire to churn within my mouth. My hand reached for the lightweight (but not brittle) treats before my brain could catch up and shout furious instructions that lead me to a table isolated far off in the back. Not even the sun dared to shine as I sat in personal punishment, waiting for another train to arrive. The pennies clumsily scattered on the table were barely enough for a new ticket. I couldn't afford to eat. It felt as if rough hands had grabbed me and forced me back into a casket. Without a word, the lid slammed silencing my last hope, and my rumbling stomach served as a dying protest. Every shaky breath bought me one more moment, and the longer I fought, the less appealing the chocolate drizzled delicacies appealed. Even then, I held my breath to stifle the temptations caging me in. My lungs strained against the thin air; however, the tight darkness choked me as it seeped into my chest. The only option was to gasp like a dying man. It burned and thumped through my veins in a complete reversal of how breathing is supposed to work. Glassy eyes searched for a lifeboat to cling to, but nobody was coming. The waitress bustled, preparing a coffee for a woman in clothes too smart to be riding a train. A man sat hunched over a paper and pen, resembling a tart engorged with custard. And a boy just like me with dreary features, and a worn-down attitude slouched at a table picking at the ghost of his meal. The minute hand of a clock ticked its way full circle, and even with the continuous reminder of the fluidity of time, the world no longer spun. Like tremors, it began as a twitch in my nose, and soon the horrible monstrosity of nature was upon us. A sneeze so grand the table's napkins swirled into a hurricane, but still, not a soul turned. I blessed myself, but the room swallowed the noise, and I realised then that I hadn't heard my voice since the last blue moon. Instead, the café's radio murmured like T.V static. A blaze of light animated the brick that connected me to an alternate reality, and as if it could tell that cotton clogged my throat, it alerted me of a notification. The phone was a false hope, for no wires trailed from the base that led to the outside world. Once again, my shoulders caved in like a sandcastle overrun by waves. I was an addict for human contact, needing the sweet morphine to quell the craze pinching my brain. It hurt as if nails were trying to claw me apart. Exiting the store in a flicker of a moment, I stood by the tracks and gazed down the line. My pennies were replaced by the purchase of a new ticket, but this one was strangled between fingers, trapping buried memories within the crinkles. In my ears, a million tiny whispers echoed like a heartbeat, but home was an ocean away and as old as stone. I was close –a few beats off– but like muscle memory, I still knew my way back. The incoming train creaked and cringed in a sweltering welcome, and with stilted steps, I clambered aboard. A crooked man resembling a screw stamped my ticket, and my head fell back like a weighted anchor. The damp scent of mildew and rotting fabric swamped the atmosphere in a thick blanket, but just knowing that I was returning to a place that blazed brightly with laughter diluted the stench. I surrendered to the massive hulk of horsepower; to the chains and rigs that ran on the energy of a single piece of coal. No matter how often the cables would break, or the gears ceased, the machine learned to function, just as people learned to move on; learned to get by with every chip and mark. It's not quite right. There are broken pieces, missing pieces, and sharp edges that still draw blood. It's strange, unique, and filled with tragedy; but, it's the belief that the machine still functions despite itself.
Terrorized. Why my father listening to classical and intellectual music blaring loud all fucking afternoon. I am trying break a stereotype of people with aspergers and autism and my father was sitting there ruining my street cred and pissing me the fuck off. I didn't want a nightmare so I finally but my motherfucking foot down and said enough or in tibetan “gakada.” I have a foot fetish... I will fine my father's toes and step on them if he does idiotic things like that. Jezz.