that inexplicable pressure from within

I just want to scream and shout and tear my hair and eyes out. Okay that was a bit over dramatic. I am not in place at the moment. I want to just weep and weep and weep and sleep off and wake up the next day. Id have a banging headache of course but inside I’d feel so refreshed. Like I was a few days ago. I’m not in place I’m not in place I’m not in place. Everything is just a haze. Because I cannot talk about anything with anyone. It just hurts. I’m in this position where I cannot think or move. I’m in a cube of ice, in a foggy dessert. That’s what it is. Im frozen, in this blistering cold, and to make matters worse, there is this annoying fog that prevents me from seeing ahead. The stupid dessert is making things worse, I’m at this point of equilibrium where I can’t quite tell whether the weather is nice or not
Ive seen people go through worse. But fuck it I just need someone to talk to. Where the hell is my stalker and my other bunch of friends (you that’s reading this) when you need them.

Alert!!

You're bound to find weirdos in public places. Hospitals too, apparently. This man was wearing uber tight clothes. His pants were that of his brother. Brown office pants, that were about to tear into pieces any second. His buttocks were completely traced out. Each bum was clearly visible- you'd think he was a lady from their size. To make matters worse, he had a walk. Chest out, (but really his protruding stomach was in the lead) and bums flying out. Really, it was a horrific sight. His shirt was flowered and botched with all colors of the warm family. Red, orange, yellow, and even brown. His shirt looked like it was sewn from leaves from the trees of Fall. Too colorful for a man, I tell you. his beard was carved out like that of a typical Mexican druglord. Use your imagination. He was lightskinned, and bore small glassy eyes that looked around ever so often. One look and you would jugde him to be gay. Personally, I think he hung out in the wrong places during his salon. A hair parlour, perhaps. When he should have been busy helping out, I bet he was busy making up and trying dresses, and practicing walking an imaginary catwalk.

the two solutions

The world is not perfect. Ya di ya di ya dah. But it should not be this imperfect. Allah knows best. No buts. And so, amping up one's faith and prayer level could be - no scratch that- ARE the main solutions.
Other soltns include, high blood pressure, intolerance, backbiting and ignorance, hatred, loud voices, "utopian" ignorance and finally Babalawo. Ignore the other solutions. They do not have a positive aftermath. As for the first two solutions, even when you are gone; you hopefully have a space in janna (heaven). And 2. You have left a legacy(or an impact, an effect of somesort).

What a Loser okay fine not a loser just a dysfunctional person who can't love or maybe even feel right now.

and my stalker and i sat there. and streams of tears fell down my face. this was probably the last time i would see him in a while. no, not my stalker: that awesome douche would be seen in fall, and would be heard and thought of every single day hopefully during the summer (sean law yes i called you a douche on the internet, what are you going to do about it? call stan marsh and make a fb ban on my blog? hehehe). him. it was so weird. as dysfunctional as love left me over the past couple years, my heart still throbbed faster for him. of course. he is my first love, after all. it was too late. he was leaving, or in this case, i was leaving.  i would miss the hugs, the cuddling and the kisses. i would miss the movie/cuddling more actually. things won't ever, ever be the same. not here, at least.

Tory Tory

It didn’t make sense. This was the second time I was missing the last prayer of the night. What had gotten into me? This was weird. It was so unlike me. Sometimes I even prayed before time just to feel good about myself. I know it’s bad, but that’s not the point. I was beginning to get really worried. I sat down on the office chair, and revolved around it every few seconds. This was embarrassing. I thrust my upper body forward, which made the chair roll towards my studying desk. A bunch of papers were scattered across the mahogany desk. Most of them were test scripts that been returned to me over the week. Math, Biology, Chemistry, Literature and History. The results were marked at the top right corner of the now crumpled papers. 68, 70, 55, 80, and a whopping forty. My grades had fallen. From straight A’s, my grades had pummeled down to C’s and D’s. How pathetic. But that also was not important. Maybe I was failing cause I was always skipping prayers? I mean, if I didn’t pray, who would help me pass school? Or… maybe it was cause I wasn’t studying. It was all due to these meaningless yet useful distractions. Speaking of distractions… I leaned over and picked up a pink frame that I had recently added to my collection of framed photos at the very edge of my desk. The framed photo was a picture of me and Ahmed, on the party that happened during the weekend. i was wearing my viridian green dress, which was obviously and shamelessly revealing. Aisha said it was ‘sexy.’ And it brought out my curves, and Ahmed liked girls who showed their shape and skin.

But I was too embarrassed, so I donned a pair of black tights underneath the dress and wore my Giuseppe Zannoti lace ankle boots. They cost 500 pounds. Damn. That wasn’t much, really. But as a humans right aspiring activist, now no more, I know what five hundred pounds could do to a bunch of hungry little village children. My cousins, aunts, and uncles back in my hometown that I had not visited in forever could benefit. Was that not 100,000 naira or more in fact ? but I had used that money to buy boots. Oh well, the sad people are only into voodoo and my father’s money. The boots were definitely worth it. Anyway, Ahmed was the problem, I was sure of it.

He was only free from 7-10, so we’d spend time hanging out and smoking shisha doing other fun stuff, and by the time I knew it, praying time would pass, and I would miss it. He never cared, he probably only prayed on Fridays and on Eid. But suspecting him was not the problem. He was the problem. He was so beautiful, and wild, and mysterious, and naive, he made me feel so good about myself and that was all that mattered. By 11, I would sneak back into the house, after having “study dates” with Sharifah and Maryam at their house. Fadil’s mom didn’t really notice, as long as the good grades were coming in nothing really mattered. Besides, she was too busy trying to take care of herself.

Aqila, what the hell is wrong with you? It was just wrong for a Muslim to miss prayers just like that. Of course I knew a lot of people who missed prayers and didn’t practice their religion well. But for that to come from me, it was so… unorthodox. What happened to geeky Aqila who did what she was told to and had pleasant thoughts and prayed? I stood up and decided. It was time to pray. Yes it was past one in the morning, but I was still going to pay the three prayers I had missed consecutively. Asr, maghrib, and Isha. I rushed to the bathroom to perform ablution. Hands, mouth, nose, face, arms, hair, ears, feet. I loved rinsing my ears. It only had to be cleaned once but I just loved tracing my fingers around my ears. I felt so good. Step one down. Step two, to pray.

I went back into the dimly lit room; only the studying lamp was lit and ahmed’s red bandanna was covered on it, the room had a red glow. I literally had to steal the bandanna, a dare from Aisha. Aisha was such a bully, I swear. She could make me do such wrong things. I didn’t even want to think of how I took off the bandanna from Ahmed’s neck. I looked at the blue hijab folded on top of the prayer mat at the end of my corner, right in front of my balcony which overlooked the pool.

I wore it. Unfolding the mat took seconds, I faced the Alqibla and started reciting the iqamatu’salat. I raised up my hands in proportion to my ears. Allahu Akbar (Allah is great) I had not gone past the first surah when Ahmed came into my head. not again! When I missed prayers, I worried. When I did pray, most of it wasn’t reciting the surahs from the holy book, I would stand there and daydream about McHottie. This time around, I was trying to take off the bandanna from Ahmed’s neck. He was on the couch and I was sitting right next to him.

“I like your bandanna,” I giggled. I did not like this. But Aisha was there by the microwave, making popcorn. Although Ahmed could not see her, she was ushering me to keep flirting with him. All I told her was I had a crush on him. I didn’t think things would get to truth or dare and ‘let’s get physicial.’ Seriously, my religion condemns all of that, unless you’re like married and stuff. So yes, we played truth or dare and instead of even doing the dare Ahmed wanted me to do (run around making monkey noises, yes he was a child and I loved it!) I whispered, in quite a husky yet girly tone, ‘let’s tone it down a little. We’re in a monkey jungle alright, but I’m not quite your average monkey.’

‘oh yeah?’ he grinned, he was obviously excited. How unmoving. Childish really. All I said were a few embarrassing words. Monkey? Where did I even get that? Oh, Ahmed brought it up, Aisha was the one making me look at every word in unholy ways. i climbed over him, well I was playing monkey, and reached for his neck and slowly unloosened the bandanna around his neck. With my teeth.

“Whoa,” he grunted, he was liking this. A lot. His hairs on the name of his neck were up, and after a while I was beginning to enjoy this. As I loosened it from his neck Aisha, from nowhere, appeared in front of me and tugged at her ear. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Lick it. I read the words she mouthed. Oh dear lord just cause I enjoyed this unholy game of monkey the bandanna from boys neck didn’t mean I wanted to taste him. Ew. Astagfirllah (God forgive me). I nodded no, Ahmed was busy grunting, for what I don’t know, I was only breathing on him, the bandanna was in my mouth. Aisha was impatient, she crossed her fingers, indicating the dare she had told me to complete. Fine.

Once she uncrossed her fingers she ran out the living room, leaving me alone with Ahmed. One, two three… this wouldn’t be that hard. It’s Ahmed, Aqila, he’s like your dream boy! Okay… once I was done arguing with my self, I took a lick. A very light one. Salty. his big hands were not on the leather couch anymore, he had pulled me closer to him with them. Horny little **** I sighed in my mind and continued. This dare better pay off. Why was I even friends with Aquila?

“Aqila!” I heard someone yell my name. wasn’t Ahmed, he was busy panting and grunting and groaning all at the same time, and possibly even hyperventilating at the time. Fadil. I got back into my senses and saw him standing a few feet from me, I had been stretched on one foot, leaning ahead. I straightened myself up but I couldn’t hide the surprise from my big eyes. Fadil had obviously caught me daydreaming, or in this case late night fantasizing when I was supposed to be praying. I’m sure the angels had cursed my future generations for this act.

“What are you doing?” he asked me with a very disturbed look on my face. That was the end of me. Fadil was going to make me never forget this till eternity. 

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.