k...turned down by naijastories. Apparently, I didn't know that much about their guidelines...lol. Here you go then. Here's where u can't be turned down...lol
8: 38 AM; Thursday, 29th December, 2011
Have you ever lost something? Perhaps, something as irreplaceable as human life which is on the extreme or as abstract as a good friendship or relationship. More specifically as it relates to me, money! They say when it hits you; surreal is the word to better describe the after-feelings. That which spells a dreamlike situation painting contrasting pictures. Rather, only a dream. You know, just before you hit the sheets, praying that sleep brings you close to nirvana only to end up being haunted by the realism of your condition. Afterwards, you wake up in cold sweats with eyes still shut tight for fear of confronting the real world. Furthermore, legs wriggle under the blanket, wrapper or whatever represents a duvet to you. My reality: 28, broke and indebted to the tune of what I had in liquid cash about this time just 1 year ago. It seems to me, the impermanence of conditions seeks only to remind us of the mysteries of life. How careful can one be? Was it that I wasn’t financially disciplined? Noooo! Anyone close to me can vouch for my prudence. Rather, in a game dictated by taking risks (calculated or uncalculated), the result is one of a boolean variable; either true or false, pass or fail. You can’t have them both. In a nutshell, the boolean nature that characterizes the result of the game called entrepreneurship (much as I hate to use the word) translates to my present state. Even worse off, I only have few options to get me out of this mess.
The constant reminders around further deal a blow to whatever surrealism there is to my thoughts. And so, few days after my family welcomed back a prodigal son who’d rather chosen to rebel against the gracious extension of hands to take up paid employments from family and friends, I’m back to dealing with the flip-sides to my choice. In my dreams, I’d seen mom yelling at me to get up and clean the house. Now, wide awake, it turns out she truly was yelling at me and still is as she leaves the house. Her last words echo in my head, “clean the compound, water the flowers, feed the birds, warm the soups. There’s 200 naira on the dining table in case you want to buy bread…”. I let out a loud “yes ma’am”, the words of a humble soul in exchange for the countless lifeline I’ve resorted to seeking from my family when I hit this state. Mom’s departure marks the last of my household as my siblings have since gone back to their job posts with the holiday break now over. Yeah, back to engaging in that which guaranties them of regular paychecks even if it involves bootlicking, modern day slavery and anything but fun, passion or interest in what’s become the hallmark of paid employment. It’s understandable though why some do it at least from the perspective of an environment as peculiar as ours where the realities facing us are all too known. The foregoing is perhaps dismissive as the ramblings of a broke-ass hallucinating about the ills of a seemingly secure path (Even I am forced to laugh at those lines). Anyways, for the records, I have never rued my choice of career path. Never! If any, my experiences have further served to add juice to my stories (verdict’s over to you the reader). Who knows? The next venture may well be lurking in this very path or medium with which I relieve the heaviness of my heart (humble request to anyone with a writing opening for moi).
Alone to myself in the crib, I muster the strength to deliver on my chores. Next, I’m back to this workstation, cranking up codes and clicking on tools to develop my next line of product. As with everyone before it, the motivation is that this here may well be what the market needs. You know, that killer product that catapults me into fame and the limelight. It’s funny how in between my work, a wave of excitement sweeps over me sending me into a world of fantasy as I see myself struggling to cover my face against the overwhelming flash of lights that go with flicking camera lenses: celebrity status. I’m the limelight baby! It makes for a good feeling even if abstract and lasts only for a few minutes. Even then, it reinvigorates the spirit and has me going hours on my work. Hours after, the reality of my loneliness sets in again. Then, I make a dash for my electronic journal here (now over 300 pages in length; Microsoft Word standard document with Calibri font sized at 11; over 250, 000 words and 4 years since I swapped paper journals for this). Skim through as has been my tradition over the years reading my own story. Smiles and sometimes, frowns as I retrace my journey. Wow! I’ve sure been places in the space of a few years. Some write-ups make me reminisce as I recall the good times. The times when loneliness went only as far as I had the choice to make up for it in what cash could buy. After much effort, rewards followed then my youthfulness awoke to relax the soul. Night outs across different spots from Kaduna to the FCT, NAF club to Mogadishu, Blakes, spots in cities I knew long before the menace of Boko Haram placed a check on these escapades. Table to myself, chilled booze down my system and few minutes later, watch them crawling over without being invited. The rest is history. What I need now are not strangers. Rather, prospective birds like Siju: beauty within and without, listening ears to my regular tales and sympathy to my condition. Yet the difference between her realism and her abstractness best lies with me. Perhaps, she exists. Perhaps, she’s just a fickle of my imagination! Only time will tell. Again, a caveat: the story of my life is one where facts and fiction intersect and are hardly decipherable from the other.
Presently, it’s back to cranking up innovative ways to get back to financial independence. The only path I know of is this that dictates my being in charge, partnering with like minds as the scale of the project warrants and lifelines to get by. My boy’s around, the best, calmest graphic artist I know. Here to add touches to my works. Funny, we go back 5 years. Virgins in business then, clear memories of that cold night in Saga8 on V.I. where in under 4 hours, an event that took months, fortunes (relative), time, efforts came crashing before our very eyes. The ride home had been very quiet as each dealt with the thought of what he’d lost and how to make up for it. Surreal (yeah, this word again) best describes how we felt but indeed, we lived to try again and again, losing some, winning some individually. Today, we reunite yet again after my immediate personal loss and his gains in paid-employment. Last words, “Let’s do it”! Though, not before sharing this…naijastories, here you go
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