So long a thought

As I write this, I’m curled up at the end of this sofa, the one against the wall. It is farthest from humanity, my little nook.
I can only hope I’ll write everything without mother summoning me to do something, without dad asking to know why his phone was on vibration?

I washed clothes today. They are still outside. It was grey, gloomy and cold. I put off bathing during the day. Not because of the cold, but because I wasn’t ready to face my fears. That’s what the bathroom means to me. In those four walls, I meet with my conscience. I pity myself, wonder how to trim my waist, how to make my one smaller hip equal to the other.

I face my fears, my horrors, my childhood demons. I face that small bathroom window close to the roof and feel like a prisoner of my own thoughts and feelings.

So I stood there, feeling cold, the water cooling, goosebumps all over me. I let my tears stroke me as I sniffed away. I stood there and felt sorry for my bad decisions, my abandonment issues, my insecurities and my failure to write about pedophilia. I felt sorry I had never known the right decision to make, only knowing answers to textbook questions.

As I stood there, tears blurring my sight, my tummy jutting out, with one huger hip and a waist I’m not secure about, I experienced silence. Serenity. Like I could make the right decisions. But my mum’s footsteps in the hallway drew me back. I held back my sniffs and started washing. Maybe she heard me sniffing, maybe she wondered why it was silent in the bathroom and she was waiting to send me to buy her hair gel. Nonetheless, I wasn’t ready to let her see how broken I was. She didn’t want a normal teenager with issues, she wanted a teenager whose concerns are education based. Yet here I was, a whole mess. Education was the last thing on my mind.

And as I went to dress, I wanted to be me. The me who is fearful to be out. The me who will call papa and say I was in love, and thinking of marriage. To giggle as he says to read and graduate first. The me who would tell him education had been put in a box for too long.

I wanted to be the me who would receive calls in front of my mother. The me who would graduate and put my degree below all my other certificates. The me who would tell her I was too lazy to withstand a 8am-4pm job. I wanted to have a desk, a laptop, a sofa and drink coffee from a hippie mug in hippie pajamas. And write. Write as I laugh, as I cry, as I reminisce and as I hope. I wanted to tell mum that’s all I wanted.

And I wanted to kiss in the rain. Hell! I want to kiss in front of my mother, like I want to make love. In front of family, and friends, kiss like I’m sucking ambrosia off a flower. And I wanted to forget. Forget I was ever naïve and a hopeless romantic. Forget I ever loved without slaving my man. I wanted to not care, enough to sleep flawlessly a whole night without hugging the pillow or checking my phone.

But as I walked to run errands, I cried. Trying to lower my head so they wouldn’t see, I crumbled and cried for the young me. I cried as those men watched me walk past them, not realizing I was crying. And as I was walking back home, I cried because I had cried for something silly, but had only summoned few drops after learning of my uncle’s death. I cried because a woman walking ahead of me was strong, and she was rushing to the hospital to see her sick child. I cried because a wood jutting out had caught my attention, and I had noticed that it formed a heart with its shadow. And I was broken. I cried because despite certificates, I was a loser.

Last week while on an interview for a holiday job, the man looked at my certificates and said that I seemed to have been a bright student. I kept quiet. Partly because I wanted to be modest. Part because I wanted to say, “only in my studies, sir”. Today, today I would look at him, with my crying eyes, and say, “No. No sir. I am a loser. I win for a while, but lose for eternity”
As I conclude this, it has been more than an hour. Baba Baby has not noticed I’m secretly drawing away tears.

PS: I have been sent on numerous errands while writing this.

PPS: The brown kitten has been nibbling on my big misshapen toe, I cried harder.


  1. I felt like I was there with you. Gosh, I feel like am going to cry even😥 I know this feeling all to well..this feeling that you’ve perfectly and painfully described with your words😞.
    You’re talented girl❤️❤️💛

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You know, you give me peace when you’re there.
      And I’m sorry I’m selfish enough to never notice you also go through tough times. I’m sorry I never hold you up or suggest we go for KFC and eat it out😂😂😂😂. I want to be there when you are suffering
      Thank you so much


  2. OMG 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 am crying as I read this
    It’s sad because I relate to this
    Baby you ain’t a failure am not gonna give you a pep talk but our demons , they scare me too ..

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I know sometimes we feel alone as we fight our demons, but even as I feel alone, I know someone else is going through the same.
      And I hope we can hold hands and lift each other up

      Liked by 1 person

    2. I know sometimes we feel alone as we fight our demons, but even as I feel alone, I know someone else is going through the same.
      And I hope we can hold hands and lift each other up


      1. 😥😥waaah, that means so much coming from you. Because you’re more than talented. I read your work and I’m blown away and inspired.
        Thank you 😘😘


    1. I guess we never realise we are not alone sweetie❤❤❤
      And I hope despite our dark moments that we do realise we are awesome later.
      Thank you hun


      1. If I’d ever have my way with words enough…I’d only wish that a smile forms beneath your tears. Because for me, that’s the most beautiful thing ever.

        💓love and light!💓

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Thank you ❤❤❤
        We cannot live with one without the other. I hate the pain as much as I embrace it, and live for the days I can’t keep a smile off my face, but such is life.



  3. Baby girl,sister,how comes we stopped talking?I miss you,I want to be the first person who reads your work,girl you have a way with words,this is deep,this is me,I am that person,you are describing my life with your words,Thank you for that.It is touching,am crying😥😥😪😪I want my kids to live without fear.I want them to know that it is okay to want something g different outside school.Am sorry,I face this too and I have to live with it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. School ends and people forget the bonds they had 😭😭. My first friend in high school, remember? Lemme ask Christine to send me your no. I know many of us do face moments like the one I wrote about. And some of us prefer keeping it to ourselves because we think others won’t understand, not even our parents. And some really don’t. But as these moments get frequent for me, I’m learning to have that right person I talk to, as they see me, hear me. And sometimes the pain does go away.
      I also want my children to be able to talk me about their feelings, etc.


  4. I thought so long…indeed, so long a thought…inarguably in this work of art I have noticed you have collectively analyzed stylistic devices and submerged them into two distinctive major styles, that you successfully executed artistically. Foregrounding which is indisputably the distinctive characteristic that separates language from literature… you have made it clear to your readers that it is an artistic work of art that deviates from the norms which the society has learnt expectedly in the medium and that the readers who wish to investigate the significance of the value of the art should concentrate on deautomization and surprisingly not on the automatic pattern. Someone once called it artistically motivated deviation.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. You have proved that in a number of paragraphs .
    Regular to unusual meaning …Artist, I can say your art is heavily encoded. But you have given out channels to interpret.
    Images and indirect suggestion to express your mystical ideas, emotions and the state of your mind by the moment of your writing… has become part of the art. Symbollism is well used through out the text.
    You manipulate words to fit into your own interests…
    Among other features..
    .the two styles were predominant in your text

    Vocabularies level was escalated …by this I see the average reader would have a hard time deconstructing your premises …
    Adult content …that’s okay provided the reader is of legal age…what if Johnly a standard three my neighbour had to read…Ooooh

    Terry you are an artist…
    Liked your work…

    And by the way what do you think I thought so long …

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You explain it soooi well like a Newyork Post book critic😅😅…..

      Finally! Someone who notices the codes in there.
      And the symbolism😅😅….. I don’t really say the reason for those emotions in my work, especially if they are negative emotions… .

      Adult content I’ve heard is in drawn 😂😂😂
      We’ll wait for Johnny to be eighteen before he discovers this blog then😅😅.

      I think you thought so long on my so long a thought. It is no wonder you are topping in literature🤗🤗🤗


  6. Wueh, got this emotional 🥺🥺.The courage to put it into words,what young people undergo and are afraid to talk,

    You can do this girl ☺️😉


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