Singing the Blog Blues

I’m usually the one grabbing change by the horns and riding it at full throttle. I love change, and I’m an advocate for it. But one change that hit’s me hard every now on then, is the change in my beloved second home, Blogville.
I miss the excitement of hitting the refresh button hoping to find an update from one of my favorite bloggers. There was an amazing variety and depth as well as the challenge that came along with it-as not-so-long ago as last year.

I miss The Last King of Scotland: a fellow music lover who always got my weekend on to a good grove with his TGIF’s (Thank God it’s Friday’s) posts. I miss Naapali with the constant mythology lurking around in everything he wrote. His was always brilliant, and causing you to pause and think-if only for a minute. I miss the ever lively Bobby Taylor, who always cracked me up with her stories from back in the day or the hubby and pikin. I miss Naija Fine Boy and Babaalaye who could both make any not-so-great day end with a fit of laughter. I miss Omosewa who got me hooked on wedding websites and then left me high and dry (if I catch you eh!). I will forever miss LondonBuki, who reminded us of the importance of life and gratitude, as she made us privy to her mother’s fight for her life. And of course, I miss my blog bff, Zephi, both honest and funny…she reminds me of a day in blogville when we felt we knew each other, just through our words.

There are the people who are still here, but not really, and I miss them too. I miss Carl who seems to have been usurped by Angel Mourinho…his wit was evident even through his comments which I relished. And there is my soul twin, the Overwhelmed one who wrote Mummy Sunday’s and Life in a Song’s (bring her back babe). Yet, I cannot deny that maybe, I belong to this group in some ways…

Blogville has gotten much younger, and some times I can’t relate. I think the vice-versa is true in this scenario as well. My sister (who now blogs) said to me “Men your blog has too much grammar. It’s too serious and political for me. I feel like I have to open dictionary.com any time I read your posts.” LOL! That being said, I’m still here, and I won’t be going anywhere soon. It’s just a fit of the blues…

There are so many blogs (old and new)that keep me running back for more, and blogville is like family to me. I’m constantly inspired by people like The Headmistress and Bella Naija who have been here for ages, and continue to be relevant and to take blogging to new heights. The proverbial constant wind of change will always exist, and this one I will embrace, even if it sweeps me kicking and screaming.

Almost Famous

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*Photograph used is from Deola Sagoe's Ready-to-Wear collection*

Dear Daddy,

I wanted to whisper that first “I made it” in your ears. I made plans to write this last week when for the first time, my heart finally made sense of the light my eyes caught at that exit sign labelled ‘graduation’. But I got caught up in hysteria of family flying in from all over, final papers to turn in, and exams to study for and well...I choked on guilt.

Sometimes, I cannot help but feel that in some ways, I have betrayed you or at least your memory. I can’t fight the fact that you have become a forgotten memory... a half finished phrase remembered only amidst questions that I ask myself like “who will teach my brother to become a man?”, as I help him knot his tie and smack him for putting his feet in my high heels. And then there are the random moments when fluid memories of you flow through my mind...like when I’m driving home and hear a Kenny G song from that Breathless album you loved. Most of the times though, I regret the fact that I do not remember you . . . that I made peace with your parting way to quickly and freely . . . that the fragments left of you in my spirit are images of sickness and vomit, of frailness and hairlessness.

I wake up some mornings wondering if some parts of me will forever be lost with
the parts of you I buried...

But last week, I received a graduation gift that I will forever cherish. A college friend of yours gave me pictures of you in your judo uniform from your martial arts days. And for the first time in a long time, I remembered you. I remembered you strong. Remembered you proud and beaming at PTA meetings and prize giving days. It made me hope that God parted the clouds and allowed you to see me walk across the stage at your Alma mater and receive my B.A. - Summa Cum Laude. But most of all, I hope you saw all of your friends who came for my graduation-from Abuja to Atlanta and from Dallas to D.C. As much as I would like to pretend that they all came for me, I know that most of them came because they felt they owed it to you and because in one way or another, you had touched their lives. Someone told me last week, “your father always told me I would make it...even when I didn’t believe it.”

As the future curves before me like a question mark, forcing me to make important decisions (like deciding between going to law School in D.C. or N.Y.?!); I hope that at the end of the day, I can become half of the person you were. Just like you, I want to be known and remembered as kind, forgiving and focused. Maybe even revolutionary.

Until then, I wanted to send a ray of sunshine your way and let you know-I MADE IT.
Love,
Me.

He loves me, He loves me not.

He loves me.
He loves me not.
He hit me.
He begged me.
Black eye.
New Bracelet.
Swollen lip.
New ride.
Threats.
Promises.
Blood.
Kisses.
He loves me.
He loves me. Not...