Kicking

art by GDBee

Do you ever take a really deep breath, just to make sure you still can? It's one of the ways I remind myself I'm still alive. Still kicking. I always wondered why people said that, "Still kicking." It's always said so dryly, as if there's a better alternative to literally being alive. Funnily enough, the alternative is to kick the bucket. I did a bit of research and it refers to the notion of when you stand on a bucket to hang yourself, you kick it to finish the job. So in a way, "kicking it" is an odd way of saying you haven't finished the job yet. I guess that makes sense. But it doesn't really explain why people say it.

When I think of that phrase, I usually imagine an older person. Looking off into the distance, with bitterness on their face. "Still kicking." Usually a telltale of a someone mentally removed from their youth. A little too comfortable in their mortality. As older people tend to be. All of my grandparents have always been very casual with the idea of their impending deaths. They had all already passed 50 before I was born, and the ones who remain spend their days in a quiet routine. Praying and celebrating with the time they have left. I've never heard "still kicking" from their mouths exactly, but I doubt that's a common phrase in Nigeria. Instead, I've heard "still standing" or "still active" or some Igbo idiom teaching me to cherish my elders. There is no doubt gratefulness in them for the years they've been granted. But on some level, they acknowledge their time is done. They've shifted from hard working providers to cared for spectators in their families, waiting out the gift of time. 

Out of all the gifts I've ever received, time is most definitely the oddest one. It's miraculous how it even got into my hands in the first place. So many variants of my being have fought to get here, so how I won is a mystery for the universe. I wish this fact made me grateful for it, but as much as I say I am, I really don't act like it. I've spent so much of my life wishing for redos or reverses or backtracks. Which is so odd. I'm 20 years old. There's at least a good 50 years ahead of me yet I feel so deep into life already. It's so hard, reminding myself that there is so much left for me still. The love that feels like the end of the world today, won't even hold a candle to the love I'll feel tomorrow.

You know I started this blog when I was 14. I would've thrown a fit if I saw how my life would be in 6 years. I hated science in middle school and wanted to become a full time writer. Seeing as I just failed an exam for linear circuits and systems, that didn't happen. And In a really weird way, I hope that my life at 26 makes me throw a fit too. I hope my mindsets change. I hope my circle grows. I hope my body grows. My skills change. My interests shift. My focus narrows. Because well, that's all you can do.

Short Film Review: Bent Out Of Shape

I used to do these all the time. Let's get it. :3

Bent Out Of Shape

So the story starts off with a seemingly uniform neighborhood. A whole bunch of squares everywhere. A square woman and her kid are sitting on the porch when a circle girl moves in. She looks like a Sally to me so I'll call her Sally. Sally brings color to everything and rounds out everything. Right off the bat, I'm loving the visual metaphors. The Square Mom is very aversive to Sally, which is very understandable seeing as she basically infected the square girl. Also she tried to shake with her left hand. Back in my village, she basically just declared war. 

Anyways, Sally continues trying to get in with the square people. Square Mom is not having it. But the kid is curious, and also miserable. They have a bike with square wheels, of course she wants to meet the round girl. After one really close call where the kid starts literally transforming, Square Mom builds a fence. While I understand the metaphor at play, I'd do the same thing as a mom. Because what do you mean my child touched you and is now going through metamorphosis. 

So Square Girl doesn't listen. She climbs over the fence and now everyone is round. Hooray! 

This is actually a pretty tame start to use to continue these. I don't really see a deeper message except to just be open to new things. It was quite enjoyable and the colors are pretty. 6/10.

Whore

Yesterday, while on break--

from pitying myself--

I saw a note. For a date.

An address. "Don't be late."

So today, I called off

and dolled my best doll

and saw myself through the gates.

I walk in, lights dim. 

The rose bushes, trimmed. 

For a second, I almost felt safe.

I'm quick to undress.

Faster than the rest.

Honestly, I don't know why.

I bare my spirit for yours,

hoping that for sure,

your heart, on mine, you'd place.

I stand there, naked,

waiting, faded--

there's always a chance that you'll flake.

"Whore," your tongue whips.

Every inch of me--flinch.

And you tear your gaze away.

I scrunch at my rolls,

my trauma, my soils.

I dumped it all in hopes you'd erase.

Slowly I accept 

that you'll never undress

and I'll never see more than your face.

So I carry my soul

and I idle alone,

looking around just in case.

All I want is to be seen,

and to equally see,

so then a whore, a whore I must be.

Break

When I was a child, I once said shut up in front of my father. My brother did something, I can't remember what. Immediately, he corrected me. That was bad word, we don't use bad words, especially not on people we love. I didn't say shut up again until after my tenth birthday. I was so mad that day. A boy at school told me I was a thot. I didn't know what it meant at the time, but people around me started laughing. I was so embarrassed and so confused. I allowed myself to step out of character.

As the years passed, I've found I have very different values from my parents and treat language very differently. If they saw what I said in my day-to-day, they'd have a heart attack. However, I've always remained careful in what I say to loved ones. I hold so much back, I become a glass wall ready to shatter with anger. I've noticed that people don't really care much for broken glass shards. Even when you piece it back together, it's still considered a hazard. 

So now I ask myself, how do I not break? How do I release my words while containing my composure? I haven't had much practice. Turns out that when you only talk to people who care about you, you don't have that many arguments. All I really have is time and space to reflect. And a bludgeoning urge to put indescribable feelings onto a paper. Or a screen. Digital media is slowly disappearing, after all. 

Over A Man

art by GDBee

I lost my mind over a man. I wouldn't recommend it. 

The last time I spoke to him, his words were so nasty, I lost all feelings. But you find that repairing the part of you that loved him is miles easier than repairing the part of you that loved yourself. This very blog basically died off the second he made a negative comment about it. I can't even remember what he said, but it was enough to kill my spirit at the time. I stopped reading reading fanfics and webtoons. I stopped finding new musicals to listen to. I stopped randomly picking new languages to learn. I can't remember the last time I read a new folklore legend. I don't even remember the last time I sat and read a book. Or watched short from an animation student on YouTube. I stopped randomly baking. My last jar of homemade apple jelly was almost two years ago. I stopped listening to ambient music like Khai Dreams or Forrest or love-sadKID. I stopped checking archives for love letters nobles from the 1700s wrote to each other. I stopped spending my weekends crying to romcoms that only I knew about.

Every thing that made me interesting before I met him, I stopped doing it the second he made a comment on it. I replaced these things with Instagram posts and fit checks. I watched the shows that he liked. I listened to the music he liked. I dressed the way that he liked. 

And the worst part was how long it went on for. I wonder how much of the change was natural progression and how much of it was me being ashamed of myself. Like for example, I definitely listen to a lot more Nigerian music than I did two years ago. And I've finally decided to focus on Odinani and properly practice. But with webtoons--everyone has kind of grown out of them, no? So how can I really blame it on him making fun of me? Except, I've been catching up on stories I haven't read in years and I honestly did miss them. 

And this is just what I did to myself. I'm too ashamed to write out what I did to other people. When it came down to it, I always wanted to trust that he had my best interests in mind. Even when we did split and stopped talking, it was always "for the best." I trusted that even if we weren't together, he accepted me for who I was and only pushed me to do things to improve my life. Which is what led me to lash out on those around me who were only trying to help. 

In hindsight, a couple of the people in my circle did deserve the lashing out. Too many people regularly chose to say what they wanted me to believe/do instead of just being straight. And I wasn't stupid enough to take it wholeheartedly. So I instead lived in limbo, debating the versions of the same story I'd heard and choosing who I wanted to call a liar. It was misery. 

Unfortunately, as I look back, all of this was inevitable. The best friend who "suddenly" switched up, the man who "suddenly" didn't want me, the people who were "suddenly" tired of me--it wasn't sudden. I just maintained hope in a space that had nothing to look at.

When I could've placed that hope in myself. My grades have slipped, my drive has slipped, my womanhood has slipped. I am making a promise to myself, from now on, I guard my womanhood with everything I have. This has been a massive lesson and I have to learn from it. Do not be afraid to cut off. Do not be afraid to let go. Yes, it hurts. Yes, you'll cry. Yes, you will break down and feel like the world is ending. But the real end of the world is when the brain fog finally clears and you realize that you were too busy giving your all, that there's nothing left for yourself. 

Suddenly

                                           

art by GDBee

Suddenly, I don't recognize my life anymore.

The very people who promised to protect me,

are the people I protect myself from.

My room is no longer where it used to be.

My siblings don't snore on the other side of the wall anymore.

I don't sneak out after school anymore.

I don't eat my mother's cooking for dinner every day,

ramen and sandwiches have bided me by.

I don't argue with my parents every day,

I barely see their faces some days.

I always knew this day would come,

ever since I turned 18 I've been in transformation.

Everything is folding over, coming and going, for the better or worse.

I just keep making the mistake

of expecting tomorrow to look like today.

I can feel how slippery this life is,

I can barely hold on.

Suddenly, I am responsible for myself.

What I wear, where I go, who I talk to, what I eat--it's all my decision.

I don't get unwanted opinions anymore.

No more "I'm not allowed to.

I find myself choosing my own principles

and defining my own moral compass.

And as I push myself to stress over fewer,

I find myself in less dismay. 

Suddenly, my eyes have dried.

My heart has settled.

Life is quiet.

There's so much to do, 

so much more than I've ever had to do,

but I'm free.

Imagine telling eighteen-year-old Uche

that the reason she always felt stuck

is because of who she was stuck on.

The very people I thought were uplifting me.

Were tearing down every ounce of progress I made. 

Suddenly, I'm thankful you're gone,

I'm free.

I'm twenty.