my life isn't just about men books and insecurity. it's a positive one too, you know.

sooooo, we all know this blog is mostly about a confused little child who doesn't know when to study for a test, be tactical or date. it's either i'm pibzing when i have to study or blogging too when i have a research paper due the next day, like now... awkward much? or its either i like this boy and he likes me back but we're not doing anything about it cause it took him ages to fess up or i like a dude and he likes me but he's just a hopeless douche who has no ambitions and direction, or i like this dude and he likes me but i'm too flipping scared to say yes cause i don't see my self getting hurt anytime soon or well you get the complicated point. so here is a post, about contentment. 
and yeah well spring break was BUSY of course, what with the career fair, polo, friends, e-lounge, famos, sleep, drama drama drama, so this is just 1/100 of what happened during the break :D 

Spring Break -Contentment

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping around the orange tree near my window. It was such a beautiful sound. The drapes were wide open, and although it was just around nine in the morning, the sun shone like it was past noon. I could not help but smile. I was in a happy state. As much as I wanted to fly to Abuja for the Career Fair, most of my intention was bent on getting to my family, even if it would be by hook or by crook.

A few days ago I was in the midst of midterms. I was flustered, baggy eyed and miserable. I lost track of how many hours of sleep I was getting and everything was just not in place. Normally, the birds outside annoyed every part of me. They were just noisy, their fluttering around and noise making gave me headaches. This time around, they soothed me. They were not just birds, they were birds from home. Each chirping sound was a reminder that I was safely at home.  

The term home has different meanings to various people. To me, it means everything. It is not just the place where I can get some shelter food and clothing. It is a shrine. It is a warm and cozy place where I can meditate. Home is where I can be myself, be very comfortable and be stress free. Home is where every imperfection is accepted. Most importantly, home is where the people that love me reside. That is why it was imperative of me to get home as soon as possible.

Now that I was finally home, I did not need to think about anything. I was able to stay in bed all morning, just listening to the birds go about their ways. There were no instructors to give out more work than necessary, I did not have to be bothered by my roommates’ friends barging in and out, I did not have a schedule, I certainly did not have an alarm and most importantly there was no need to wake up to such a ridiculous time of the day. Lazing in bed all day was all I could ask for the first few days of spring break because I needed it. I needed to feel human; I needed to recall what procrastination and laziness felt like again. And my room was doing just the trick. The more the birds chirped the more I snuggled back under my covers. I could not care less how loud the birds got. I was content.

The Emotionless George Bush Likes Connecting, Lighting up Incense and Listening to Nostalgic Music

The incense was just a tiny piece of wood, basically about a third of my index finger. However once it had been ignited its wonderful scent filled the room up. It seemed as if one had walked into the home of a newlywed, particularly that of a Maiduguri home. The shisha pot sat on the blue and gray carpet, now untouched. The carpet had not been intended to be a shisha carpet. But a couple of barely seeable burnt marks had been made. The ashes on the now dying coal continued to increase and shuffle down like a mellow avalanche on a mountain. The pot was small, ruby in color and beautiful...

Soooo, after a miniature writer’s block, i could only come up with this.

I’ve got so much to write about. Like a certain nightmare. But i can’t seem to mix up my words. I still don’t know why.

“but you broke me, now i can’t feel anything”

I was watching the Vampire Diaries, and Jeremy and Bonnie were having a moment, and the background music hit me. It was broken strings by james morrison. But of course i could not remember who had sang (sung? Hehe) the song. So i obviously googled it up (god bless the web) and the funny thing is although i couldnt remember who had sung it, the lyrics ust flowed from the tip of my tongue. Back in high school i was so in love with the song, and the song didn’t even speak to me then. Not that it does now.

I mean everyone wants to believe the quoted line from the song is what is wrong with me. But it is not the case. I was not broken the way you’d think. I just invested my emotions on temporary matter. And now i refuse to feel, let alone allow anyone to feel me. I refuse to be felt. Get your dirty mind away from there. and this isn’t because i don’t want to be hurt. Not everyone has an agenda to hurt me. I’m not george w. Bush. The thing is, i don’t want to hurt whoever wants to make me feel happy.

Weird right? But that is it. I can’t reciprocate anything. Kiss me, i’ll just stand there and look at you. Hug me, and i might sense a teensy bitsy bit of care. Tell me you care about me and i’ll appreciate it. i won’t tell you any of those back, or express myself. As much as i’d want to. Thing is, i refuse to be felt.

I doubt i need time to heal. I need to forget. That’s what i need to do. And its about time that occured because as much as i’m sure it’s in my awesome people’s best interest, it sure as hell is more in my best interest. Time isn’t going to wait for me. The more i linger in this blunt feeling im feeling the more the people the give a damn about me will leave me. Okay they care about me, they wouldn’t leave. But patience isn’t permanent. So Maryam Y, get your butt out of that saddening stage and feeeeeel!

Like today for example, i called papi. YES I DID. I suck at keeping in touch. My excuse is i need time for myself and by the way communication is a two way thing. BUT. Okay it is, whats your excuse?

But anyway yeah the thing is i suck at remembering stuff  (you’d think i’d use that and forget the last 14 months of my emotions. Yes i know it’s a long time. But yh. C’est l’amour. ) so remembering to call someone or get their number email and blah blah or home address was kind of hard. But i felt SO good about myself, this time I was the one who called him and he was so happy. It was so obvious from the other end of the line. Really miss him. I should do the same with family and friends you see. It’s not when you need things or when youre with your family n stuff that you remember to ask how other people are doing.

Just the way i got a phone call from my kilishi buddy. it had been forever since we really chilled and gisted and everything.

 A phone call does the same thing a smile does in Nigeria, heck the world over. En’du Saro mada, the fulani say. I think this is enough for today.

Yeah it didn’t make sense, i talked about three things in one blog, or even more than three. So this is a start for someone who was on an involuntary (or was it? ;) ) hiatus.

Ciao

Oh bali, seychelles and canary islands for me, iodised moi moi, and megaphile paedophile.  J

One love.

emotionless - okay i don't know what to say about that so. just read on.

My head is banging so hard I am sure my brains would split and leak out my ears.

Okay I wrote the above sentence simply because my life has been drama free for the past few weeks and I wanted a minor reminder of a dramatic life.

I don’t want the reminder. I feel so good. And bad. Life without drama has not been peaceful. It has just been… emotionless. I used to be hurt, angry, tearful, vengeful sometimes, happy, ecstatic, wild, and prayerful almost all at once. And the result led to chaos. A chaotic and complicated series of events.

Banging head thanks to shisha.

Raging mind thanks to Bio’s incomprehensible tests. Tests that I banged. Consecutively. Not that I don’t care. I just don’t understand.

A scarred plus scared heart. A heart scared to love again. For fear of being shut out and crushed in the blistering cold.

A broken heart. Okay I’m lying. I’m not heartbroken. My heart is just twisted. And confused. Baffled really. I expressed myself, got positive results and then got unfathomable results from the dude that I, the not so courageous Chiquita managed to blurt out occasional te quiero’s, or je t’adore’s. and my friend called me a “giver upper”. I give up easily, yes. But at least I tried for this. I gave it my all. But that’s that and nothing can change this. And no I’m not giving up on lost like. (daman it was never love from both sides) I am facing reality.

Let’s see what happened.

I lived, I laughed, I kinected with good friends, I snuggled in kilishi with someone whose name, presence and memory ‘s engraved in me in gold and blue. I know why it’s blue (favourite color) gold, I dnno why. I clubbed till like 6 a.m. heck I danced all night long I needed to get pulled out of the floor. I aced my tests without having to jack like crazy. (ok it’s cmd 100, ba laifi)

I watched inspirational movies, fantasized, windecked to windeck, wept at save me, made hoops with hookah, smiled at private entertainer, traveled, peed in the middle of nowhere (haha gombe en route adamawa) swam to the deep side of the pool (and made it back alive and), flirted, gazed into those eyes, prayed devotedly, guilt tripped myself, made new friends, walked to the AUn gate twice in one night – Camby, Mcube we should do that again!, woke up at six … to work out! Binged on five chocolate cakes in three months… and counting!  I lived, really.

I did more things, but honestly speaking I’m as emotionless as an ex bipolar girl could be. I can NOT feel. And when I do feel, I can’t even express myself.

All I know now is I am sick. I’ve got malaria. And I managed to get two injections. One in each butt cheek. Yes, my bottom is swollen up and I am in pain. (I dislike drugs, you would prescribe them to me but I wouldn’t swallow them to save my life.) my eyes hurt. Dunno why but it sucks. But on the upside I don’t have bags under my tiny eyes so yayyy, I’m happy about that.

I watch southpark. A lot. I love the cartoon. It has almost the same effect as a beats by dre headphone. My problems fly away and I just need to concentrate on fantasy, rather than reality.

Expressionless, I rest this post’s case as it is because I truly canNOT contribute to anything further. Plus I told my newest friend I’d blog so here it is, Camby :P 

small gallie

sometimes,
you just have to grow up and solve your own problems. you can vent all you want to your friends, and they will have their shoulders all opened up for you to weep on. but then manning up is left to you. or in this case, womaning up.
avoid anything that won't turn that frown upside down, and cheer up.
you know what, imma do it like a dooooooddde (dude) or once again, like a doooodette !!

 sonrie chica!

Put some beats in it.

i feel. overwhelmed. *inhale* *exhale* *inhale* *exhale* (kush song... hehe, love the video.)
but no on a serious note. i'm very very overwhelmed.

and the crowd went OOOOHHHHH .

Sex makes the crowd go wild.

Sex sells. We know. For the fact that someone from a conservative family knows that, everyone else knows it too. I think it is shameful and pathetic.

Last night, there was a Wizkid “concert” at the community hall. A bunch o people went. Maybe a bout fifty people were present a hundred?. Arriving fashionably late, and even later than that to an extent paid off after all. The show was a waste of time and effort. Aun students were running the show. Whizkid was nowhere to be found, only his musical yet premature voice reverberated round the more than loud booming speakers in the hall. Students with talent, that is. Performers performed, singers sang, dancers danced and fashion designers walked the runway with lit lighters above their artificial hair. Where’s the irony in that, you ask me?

The dancing part was the one that got to me. I enjoyed it, personally. I enjoy watching people flop their routine, go a bit off point, or coordinate their disco ordination so perfectly your jaws cannot help but fall off. Literally. Just kidding.

The horrible dancing is not why I am writing this. As a self conceited writer, writing this is important. So I shall diverge no more. There this Chiquita was, dancing around like some short Ciara. She even “whined” like the professional singer/ dancer. So the normal breaking started and people were all “yeah”, hands clapping. Then her waists started working. Twist twist, shake it to the left, shake it to the right and “if you wind for me, kas…” her body stopped functioning but her waist, hips and bum. And the crowd went “ROOOAARRRRR, YEAAAAAAA, AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”” my ears might have fallen off. But I suppose I would not have felt it because they were numb with all that noise and cold AC blowing at them poor softies.

Okay. Guys are fuckers. They go nuts for these things. But then the girls too? I think maybe the next survey making courses (cc CMD !!) should take an interest on the level of lisbianity. Lesbianism? on campus.

Then whizkid (FINALLY) came. Urgh.  Rephrase. Then whizkid “FINALLY” appeared. And the corwd went yeaaaa, then he stood up in front of this mami and also did his dude version of winding. YEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, maybe some girls died. For some ordinary Nigerian who made you pay 3 – 10 grand for a fifteen minute show. A show that started late. A show that was supposed to be hours long of whizkid but ended up to be fifteen minutes of his short scrawny self (I do not stereotype, I do not judge, but I dislike short celebs. Sorry it’s this thing in my head. if you’re successful, be tall mana. But then hey, it’s the genes.). Fifteen minutes of him stressing the obvious fact that he lacked a daily supplement of tom tom or lemon plus: his voice went off point quite a lot of times. I suppose we could excuse him for being fashionably late, or even more than that because that’s what he did. I suppose we could forgive him for making us wait for an end result of fifteen minutes of him running round the hall, and also for deafening us with a croaky yet childish voice (how did he do that shit?). but he is a nice singer. I do love his song tease me, and I occasionally shake my dead to don’t dull. I do praise him for not lip syncing, like all the other pathetic singers do during “concerts” I do appreciate his picture taking wiv fans at the clubhouse. Oh well. Twas another normal night. Fun funny, then boring, and tiring. 

OOH THE TERROR... "I"m... cringing like i'm about to get a seizure."

I have been scarred forever. My sense of sight, touch, sound and taste have been damaged. They didn’t deteriorate, they’ve just seized working, possibly for good. At the expense of what… Experience? Boredom? Why am I even in school? I should just drop out and die. For all anyone cares. Okay a lot of people would care. But why did I do that? I not only will get a seizure right now. I’ll just cut myself up just like in all those disturbing scenes from black swan. And this room is cold. Brr. Goosebumps. In all the wrong areas.  Oh yes, I NEED A DOCTOR.  February was a disastrous month.

Cc @iodised_moi_moi and @megaphile_pedophile