My dear boy,
Days such as these will come. The days of rainbow emotions. This week has been a week of rainbow emotions. One emotion blends into another and sticks together. Each emotion begs to be felt. However, at the same time. There’s gratitude, and joy, and pain, and hurt, and… sometimes, you are numb.
Days such as I have had. Once, my master, Mr. Peter, was getting married, whereas my brother and friend, Nonso, in another part of the country, bade his father farewell into the beyond. Over the years, I felt the emotions of these men. Individually, I must add. That day, joy tangoed with pain and hurt.
There’s a sadness that comes from being happy for one and a sadness for being sober for the other. Maybe you don’t understand. Maybe I’ve not communicated properly. Just Maybe. Perchance, I’m overthinking. But this is a reality I have watched Father grapple with once. Burying a stillborn in the morning only to welcome another baby in the evening, yet he was expected to attend both events dressed in the appropriate emotion.
Such days as this one will come: when failure stares you in the face; days when disappointment looms…. On days like this, the myth of village people becomes real. You can swear that there’s a conspiracy against you.
On days like this one, you are unsure whose grief you bear. Yours or theirs. Theirs: the grief of those you watch over. Secondhand grief dropped at your feet. “Baba, bend down select,” duty demands.
Then, the grief for your lovers. Past lovers. You feel them. A consequence of casual genital meet-and-greets.
On days like this, when it is cloudy, you expect it. Heavy downpours. It’s a given. You know. It will rain regrets tonight. But you trust this bed you’ve made to keep you warm. This bed of dreams.
Hence, on days like this, you remind yourself that history is written by those with means. Therefore, you keep your eyes on the prize and choose gratitude above all else, for God has always got a plan. Him sabi road and Him get transport. The koko be say na Him be the transport. No whine am o. As such, you get up. Dust your backside and put in the work, having forgiven your younger self, else you’d be owing a lot of people too many favors, and that is never a good thing. Never. So, work, only delegating when necessary.
In the end, my dear boy, our stories, no matter how fantastical they may be, we shall tell them. And I believe that it is in the telling of these stories of ours, which share no semblance whatsoever to the common realities of this world, that lies bravery. The sheer courage to not necessarily stand out but to own our truth and proudly live it, no matter how alien we may appear.
It is therefore on this premise that I encourage you to find the courage to tell your story because, here’s my resolve: to take my chances no matter how slim because this dream is mine and until it fails, it can’t. Wherefore, go on and tell your story. Tell it through your work. That story, so unreal, sounds stupid to the rest of the world. You’re not crazy. You’re just different, and different is the new genius!
Love,
Dad.
