Letter to AS3

I write this not just in frustration but in a mix of thrill at the challenge thrown at me by you.

Surely, you can't deny my love for you.

Or how else would one explain the rationale behind the time I've devoted to you.

All this months and still counting.

Poring through tons of texts even if to grab a basic comprehension of your syntax, libraries etc.

Online, offline through hardcopies, softcopies to videos, I've stayed glued to you.

Even when my eyes strained under the effects of lengthy glares at the monitor, I've remained unmoved telling loved ones it’d be better to enter nirvana with less parts than whole body dwell in the abyss.

All this for fun?

Well, I've had and still do have fun but the reality of the present times, you know better.

Still in pursuit of the Holy Grail. You know; that which is supposed to keep body and soul together;

That which without I'm left with little strength to devote to you.

True, the times have been unfair.

I shoulda relaxed on you when after 6 months, I hit it with the last job.

I too thought I'd at least found something to show for our mutual commitments.

But in the end, it was neither my fault as it wasn't yours.

The reality of the environment we live in simply played out.

And I did what was honourable: moved on.

Thus, on I have moved and at this point, you bare your fangs throwing exceptions at every line of my codes.

I've just about had it with you. This has to end and it's tonight AS3!

You tell me you’re only trying to pass a message for me to hit the brakes.

That I should be quick to recall the times I’ve been in same situation only to go to bed and come back with the solutions.

True, I agree but again, time’s not on my side anymore. Besides, who are you to call the shots?

Hey, man wrote you and you’re nothing but ones and zeroes! Freaking bytes! Maths at its very basic!

You say I didn’t even pay for this software and that it’s illegal.

Yeah but the internet connection with which I tracked your sorry free unliving self was paid for by someone: hello!

And was it I who had you up for sharing on Isohunt?

Tonight’s the night. Either you or me.

I can’t believe you’re not seeing reasons to my argument.

How can you be oblivious to the demands on me with tons of stuffs to do?

Or have you forgotten the plans to deploy you to the third screen

with Android providing the stage we’ve always dreamt of.

Or would you rather I go back to your granny from Oracle whom the world respects over you?

Well, hear this! I'm definitely picking him up again. I even heard JSE7.0 is out!!!

Lol…Yeah, now, you’re going red!

See, tonight, we’re riding into the morning.

Yeah, I’m slugging it out with you. No sleep until you start compiling enough lines for me to get off this stage.

What’s the motivation besides time you ask?

See, I’m tired of the nightmares with bugs dominating my sleep.

I’m seeing you off tonight.

It’s on now!

Design break (*smh* at this title)

Okay, this is as much as a preparatory break as I can get before delving into the murky waters of software programming. Honest confession: as much as I love the subject and most especially, its results (it's like playing god watching a program automate a manual process or in my case, entertain its users), I have to admit to the dirty, irritating angles t it". Yeah, it doesn't come easy for me at least (I can't speak for others). The reasons for the conflicting angles for me stems from how much work I need to put in most times give it's not an in-born skill. If any's still having problems understanding where it is I'm coming from or what it is I'm driving at, the next line should explicitly spell out my message. I have to ponder through tons of multiple texts to get grounded in some core areas of these programming languages. While programming goes beyond cramming lines of codes, thanks to libraries, it's still a harrowing experience fleshing out the logic behind what connect the basics of every language which as I have since found out share a common ground in a number of subjects particularly for Object Oriented Programming where I dwell. OMG! I hope I made sense with the foregoing lengthy statement but anyways, I'll proofread later.

So, what's the inspiration for this piece? Simple! I just pored through hundreds of lines to get a background peek into the programming theme for the game (yeah, I'm developing a game) I hope to build. After enduring an hour long stare at the monitor and confident enough to say I have an above average grasp of the concept, I took a detour to one of my favourite pages, naijastories where my recent publication juts got published. So, I woke up to see my piece titled "Nature's burden" had been put up with one comment so far. Then I thought, this means I'll keep going back and forth to see the number of views and comments it receives over the course of a week. This has been the routine whenever I put a piece up for public consumption. I'm eager to get feedback on my work as it spurs my energy to keep up my interest in writing. Away from that, the relationship with my programming skills and related ideas is such that I hope and believe same gets replicated when I eventually have this gaming product out as a software or app. Yeah, that's where I'm headed by God's grace. I hope to have my product up in the market for people to buy then scale to port across multiple platforms or devices. That's where I'm going. I love what I do even though it's very challenging but the motivation itself derives from bracing up to conquer the very challenges.

Financial rewards? Well, it's a considerable factor that just will come. For now, I'll keep doing my thing.

Random Note

Arrgh…that’s the quiet sound that goes out of my mouth as I drag me to my system. A broadcast message I got lately goes thus, “there is stress that is caused by working too hard. However, there is also stress caused by not working hard enough”. The message ends with a prayer that the Good Lord helps us in finding the balance between the two kinds of work. A part of me wants to dissect the word stress before going further with this piece. My English Encarta dictionary defines it as a mental, emotional or physical strain felt by a person due to overwork or anxiety. Well, looks more like the former but for clarity, I dare say that the results of not working hard enough are enough to produce stress considering such effects as a nagging mate, empty pockets and bad diet. Need I say more?

Only recently, in a bid to reestablish my passion, I heard a message by Marcus Buckingham, the famed apostle of the strength revolution. One line that did catch my attention was the need to devote more time to things that speak of our areas of strength as opposed to working on our weaknesses. Thus, I've decided that no matter how cocky my writing skills are, I better drag me to write something.

What follows is the inspiration. While I may be accused of writing too much about Lagos, I honestly can’t deny how much of an inspiration I derive from the city of excellence.

It seems there just is something out here that catches my attention and has me penning down my thoughts. Add that to the fact that I love the subtle sound of my keyboard as I type on my system. So, I stepped into the city after weeks out in a neighbouring state. Not like I expected much of a change if any given the enormity of task required to put things in shape. From the express, I must have counted a dozen or so religious houses spread over tens of acres. Their use, specifically for worship at a time when what’s required are industries to engage our teeming youths, unemployed citizenries many of them able-bodied. I shook my head wondering aloud if this wasn’t a clear case of misplaced priority. No offence to any but religion to me remains a personal relationship between my humble self and God. Just like the individual I was to face in the bus, I imagined the self-acclaimed man of God dishing out sermons laced with quotations from the Holy Book. Only this time, carefully, interpreted to appeal to what many of the congregation long yearn for. In this age and time where insecurity is rife among many, it’s no wonder thousands throng to this places to seek succor. A situation where the ineptitude of the government translates to seeking divine help even for problems as physical as our epileptic power situation. Even more, it’s no wonder that the very roads leading up to this places lie in dilapidated state. Yet who cares in a world where the message of the day reads as a roadmap to heaven; the believer’s ultimate land of bliss. It doesn’t matter that the man of God journeys across the globe in private jets bought by the contributions of the congregation. Even the politicians call on God for help. Yet, my Holy Book reads in one of its passages that God cannot be fooled. I've since come to the conclusion that no matter how obscure the teachings of any religious following, there must at least be a number of followers whose insecurity the religion addresses.

Two days after I pitched my idea before a set of would-be investors only to have it torn to shreds with the words still echoing in my head, I found myself on the other side of the table. This time though, it was a setting far from the conventional court-like arrangement where the panelists sat arch-like baring down on me like sharks. It was in one of Lagos' infamous public buses. I’d barely sat boarded the bus from Oshodi enroute Mile Two after 6 weeks out of the city. Like a gentleman, he gave out his seat. Next, he’s appealing to passengers to move in to allow for spaces. At first, you may mistake him for a second or third conductor. But his looks gave him away. He’d tried as best as he could to wear a corporate look with a white shirt soaked in sweat that’d seen better days. With the bus barely in motion, he swings in with his nylon bag, brings out a product and starts pitching. He starts out with a welcome message to passengers then ushers a brief prayer for a safe trip to our destinations. That in itself is clichéd given how many of them I’ve since come across. In Lagos, even an intra-city commune could well be a journey equivalent in timing to an inter-city travel. Then, he goes on and on about the different types of dreams that’s common amongst us. In a carefully crafted manner, he takes us through the spiritual connotations of each dream, many of them laden with hellish omen. From eating in dreams to having sexual intercourse in dreams, he painted pictures of the hunting demons. Jokingly, a friend once remarked to me that the economic situation prevalent in our country has spread to the spiritual realm where even demons can’t get tasty bloods to suck. Lastly, he runs us through the finances starting with a lump sum which he says he’s had to cut down to a few hundreds so that the populace can afford the book. He calls out to all to grab a copy before stocks last which is just another way of saying, till the bus reaches its final destination. Me, I couldn’t be swayed by his pitch for whatever reasons. In fact, I’d trust that any enlightened Nigerian wouldn’t buy that. But then, this Nigeria, a nation with a high illiteracy level. Furthermore, this is Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial nerve center where anything goes. The first call came from the back for a copy then another from the front. Before I alighted, I must have counted close to 15 copies sold out to passenger, old and young amounting to 3,000 naira. Not bad for a day’s sale. He pays the conductor and moves on to the next bus.

Originally written 30 Sept. 2011

War stories: reality check

Home!

Never could get me to lie to paper as its contents come straight from the heart; an indulgence I crave over anything else. Coach says it’s my way of praying. I’m not sure I quite understand that but then, this medium is at best my preferred manner of communicating.

Mom’s in good shape. There’s a war out there! Stepping out of the confines of my four walls paints gory pictures from insecurity, gross misconduct to massive unemployment: epidemics! It becomes clear how much responsibility lies on my shoulder.

Few days ago, out of my four walled ecosystem, my mind was awash with the reality of the outside world. The bumpy ride ignited the harsh realities of the throes of corruption. A day earlier, the long foreseen nemesis of the society we’d sown caught up with us. Faceless individuals long abdicated by the state, long suppressed by its machines struck hitting both innocent and guilty right in the center of the Nation’s capital. In the end, we are responsible. Indeed, we are all responsible for the state in which we find ourselves and that responsibility piles on regardless of our state of denials. Yet, need anyone be surprised by the times of terror we face? It was noted that the day of reckoning would come. The day when the rich and mighty would find the streets hard to tread on with fire and brimstones burning from the ones it long tramped upon. Excuse the religious undertones to the terror attacks; unemployment, poverty and corruption are at the roots and its victims know no bounds.

Back to my journey, I counted close to a dozen religious places spread out across tens of acres of land. For what purpose? To empower my people with gospel news that translates to a life in heaven for them hereafter. Excuse my ignorance or blasphemy as may be interpreted by your beliefs but heaven’s here with me. Hedonism itself paints a picture of heaven here on earth. Or what else do the material prosperity which many seek translate to? Or even more, that which the self-acclaimed champions of these denominations live on.

For all the hellish state we’re in, the best many can offer are interpretations from the Holy books which hint at prosperity on earth buoyed by a need to sow materially towards a heaven that’s best imagined.

There’s war out here! Young ones on drugs, thugs line the streets all day collecting tolls, ladies at night selling flesh. Behold, the time is now when Messianic pursuits I take upon me pledging to do my utmost.  It’s time to put on an armour of responsibility for these scourge which plagues us. Sitting on the fence won’t help and neither will denying that which is obvious by choosing to abdicate our responsibilities to the most High.

Again, it feels good to be home. Nothing beats the country side. Well, I won’t be here for long given the war I have on my hands. Beyond bidding to put food on the table for my wife and kids, there’s even more for the citizenries. The countryside is utopia. Stay too long and I get eroded by the state of delusion. The reality is the world out there. It’s a reality check. There’s a need to regain the innocence that characterized my childhood. It’s easy to forget the ambience of the hood I once lived in downtown. 

Originally written between August 29 and Sept 4, 2011

Nature’s burden

Maybe I'd simply become rusty. After all, I hadn't attended a conventional church service in a while. That's not the focus though. Rather, it's the raging contradiction that ironically chronicles nature's very own characteristic calls. I'd been seated for 2 hours when nature posed a tempting call: sleep. Yawning and twisting in my seat, I struggled to keep the call at bay while pricking my ears to make out the preachers words. A few times, I drifted off only to catch myself few minutes after with eyes staring at me. The pretty female usher that had caught my eyes as I stepped into the church early on stared at me with a look that suggested irritation. I barely smiled. Either she was ignorant of nature's unparalleled powers or she was above human. Even then, beauties like her are themselves nature's very own produce with unconscious calls for man to behold.

At one point, I looked around to observe my immediate environment. Alas! I was not alone; neither the worst nor the best as I was caught between both extremes. On the one, fully attentive members with eyes wide open and on the other, members enmeshed in deep slumber. I fell in between amongst the mediocre. What was I to do? This was nature calling. The feeling of guilt gave way as I pondered on this.

Excuses came to mind. Maybe it was the timing. The service was just too long: three hours and counting.

Perhaps, it was hunger? If so, wasn't it one of the reasons I was here? To cry unto God for today's equivalent of manna: government contracts, business deals, debtors’ change of heart etc. Besides, I’d gone to bed late but that’s because I was living by the paradigm of working hard even if it meant sacrificing hours of sleep. To my credit, I managed to wake up early enough to keep a date in the Lord's house. But now that the same external force calls in, it seemed similar to other calls like defecating. Who dictates the precedence? Who but the self?

Or was it simply the manner in which the preacher delivered his sermon? I'd seen better captivating displays of wit by men of God with evidence to show in human and material gains. If any, this one had a long way to go before attracting the audience that could fast-track his private jet. The risk of blasphemy flashed through my mind and I quickly retracted my words. Better the man of God be without blame than I risk the wrath of nature.

I stole a glance in Nneka’s direction and pictures of her figure eight played out on my mind only to be punctuated by the blaring speaker projecting the reading of Galatians 5 which talks about the lust of flesh. She’d coerced me to this church service and I couldn’t help the feeling of guilt as the passage was being read. Worse still, the preacher seemed to be staring directly at me as he spoke picking apart the words assertively. What a burden of contradiction with nature's very creation to deal with. In consolation, I surely could be excused for falling prey to these calls which seemed rather fair and harmless even though at the expense of paying attention to the ongoing service. Tales abound of people stealing and even fornicating in church. In this regard, my sin was debatably excusable. Then I recalled the words of Mathew 5:28 “...whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart” and quickly shook off the thoughts.

Again, my head lurched to the side as I danced to nature’s call. I was awaken by a call for offering. Wow! I wondered. What was it about offering times in modern day churches? Far from the dryness of the sermon, offering time was ushered in with a scintillating voice laced with carefully crafted Biblical readings that spoke of it as obligatory even against the backdrop of harsh economic realities. It’s simply called giving to God and where his name is invoked, the congregation dare not question. The preludes are carefully chosen and not a few have given out their last dimes after hearing such. I once gave out my transport fare only to realize the distance I had to cover to get home. In the end, I managed to hitch a ride with a stranger which had to be the Lord’s doing.

I glanced at my watch. Between my blurred sights, the hands seemed to have ground to a halt. I thought: this is a sign that nature's calling for a timeout. C'mon, another voice (presumably the good) said reminding me of how incomparable this was to the lengthy hours spent sitting through seminars and lectures, some at the expense of nature's very call. This couldn’t be any different. How about the hours spent waiting for big men in the name of securing favour or that spent waiting for Nneka during her rigorous time-consuming choir practices?

That being said, I could endure and endure I eventually did. As I staggered my way out of the auditorium with reddish watery eyes, I had a food for thought for others.  “Before u castigate that man or lady drifting off in the midst of the sermon, think about this: Nature does indeed call all mortals”.