maintaining my youthful looks. I age in traffic. The Lagos set-up is
perfect for people like me. Call me 'NAIJA ON DE RUN'. If the traffic
gets too crowded, I take off on an okada (ask a nigerian. He/she'll
explain. If he/she can't, then he/she is as nigerian as Mutallab.)
Anyway, the few terrors of being in traffic in Lagos are scary. Some
you can run away from (i.e. Armed robbers), some you can try to run
away from (e.g. LASTMA, the police) and some that stick to you closer
than a brother (i.e. Challenges of an impatient biological nature).
My evening was coloured by a hotline call from Mother Nature. Believe
me, she insisted that I take the call. I can't remember all the small
details as is expected of a writer, but I was in shock and morbid
terror. I was assaulted with images of yielding to the barbarian in
me, who was knocking at my gate. Hard!
Well, I remember changing buses twice. That was after not finding one
going my way and exercising my sphincter muscles to hold back the
hordes that were crying out for release. I hopped, with decorum, from
foot to foot. I was wearing a 2 piece suit after all. When I got into
the bus taking me to my 'general' direction (at a time like this, I
wished I was still dating someone who lived on the way. But on second
thoughts, it played out well. I wasn't in any condition to cross an
express way, walk for 20 minutes and then knock on her door. The rest
will explain later.)
The traffic wasn't flowing slowly. I know day old babies who crawl
faster than that. (Day old babies? They don't crawl? My point
exactly.) I summoned every mantra I learned for the past 27 years of
my life so far, using the power of thought to keep the horrible images
at bay. What horrible images you might ask. I can't tell you. I can
hint...just imagine you have given up, totally given up, on keeping a
civilized public image. Reverting to a beast, you simply succumb to
the basic urge of suddenly squating right where you stand/sit for the
sake of a more relaxed state of mind and body. I battled bravely
against these thoughts. Maximus Decimus Meridius would have been proud
of how I held the line.
When we were within sight of the first friendly landmark, I knew I
wasn't going to make it with the bus. Tears were coming to the corners
of my eyes and the gentleman sitting to my right kept glancing at me.
I was edgy, too still one moment, suddenly a flurry of movement the
next. Seriously, it happened in moments. So, after braving the
situation to near the breaking point, I quit.
The bus, I mean. I got down, called an okada, agreed to twice the fare
to a friend's house, called my friend as we sped there, he answered, I
asked if he was home, he said yes, I said no more. I was in Terminator
mode. I could feel no pain, no remorse. I got to his house, paid and
dismissed the okada summarily, found friend's door open, flung my
jacket on his sofa, walked into the toilet and...well, it was like
being given a chance to live again. I remember being too weak from
relief to sit up straight when I was done.
That was not bowel movement. It was...an Opus. A Magnus Opus.
How would I rate this experience? 13 out of 10. Why? I was really
going to simply squat in some gutter in broad daylight and scream as I
was to be defeated. God remembered my parents and chose to protect
their reputation rather than have it soiled by the rumours of having a
son struck by madness. And you never live that 'shit' down. Never!
On 4/21/10, AURIA <Remi.Olutimayin@gmail.com> wrote:
> True Beauty is Ugliness as we know it, is the truth as we don't. If
> pressed to the wall on the issue, one will find that the perception of
> beauty is not an independent impression, but rather a meeting point of
> the approval and disapproval of those we looked up to in our
> developing years.
> What? I mean, someone told you their opinion of beauty and you burned
> it into your mental template. You are a slave to the way of thinking
> of the past generation. They told you DD cup breasts were it, then
> they told you assimus maximus was it and as a young boy, you had a
> boner before you knew what to do with it. So, now you're dulling for a
> hot-'looking' chick with the comparative personality of a wet pirhana
> (all they think about is eating. If you see a picture of one, you'll
> better appreciate my mental image of them).
> Beauty of course is not limited to women. It also occurs in men as
> well. But before I go there, I need to indict our parents' generation
> for an evil that continues to perpetrate itself. They said beauty
> isn't skin-deep. They put it in a song and fed that shit to us. Why do
> I call it shit? Simple. BEAUTY IS NOT A THING OF THE BODY!
> The clues are all around us. Ambience is one of the vehicles of that
> abstract concept. Aura. Attitude.
> Before I ramble you guys into disinterest, I will get back on track
> here.
> Whatever strikes you on the inside, forces you to face things you'd
> rather have remained ignorant of, challenges your natural affinity
> towards settling for what is instead of who you could be, what makes
> your weaknesses stand out to be addressed...it is these things that
> are beautiful.
> I remember once I saw something very ugly. It was a shooting. A series
> of shootings. For the fact that I was still alive, life tasted more
> beautiful. The ugliness of the moment hit me, but I could mourn for
> the victims. Still I wouldn't want to take their place. I wouldn't
> want to die for them.
> I'm confronted with my cowardice and it is ugly. But it is there. And
> I recognise that the time I spend wondering about nothing could be
> better spent recognising where else my cowardice reveals itself. It is
> humbling to realise that every time you confront your ugliness, you
> have two options:condemn yourself for having it or dealing with it by
> dealing with where it comes from.
> Let me separate issues here. Some people are ugly to look at. I'm one
> of them. My uglification stems from my inability to separate myself
> from my shortcomings. If I fail to understand something immediately, I
> take it as an affront. If I fail at a task, I take it personally. And
> none of these reactions makes me attractive, pleasant or charming. If
> anything at all, I come of as an extra-disgruntled Wolverine without
> the claws and all the promise of violence.
> But recognising this gives me a reason to be beautiful by means of
> changing my nature for the better. The change comes over time. The
> change brings rewarding results for victories and punitive results for
> defeats. All in all, we are all ugly by our own hand and beautiful for
> our change in handling ourselves.
> I ramble. I should be kept in a zoo for wandering entities. But even
> now, I'm sleepy. Thinking about ways of how I can change myself
> doesn't appeal to me much right now. But it will be rewarding. Very
> rewarding.
> --
> Sent from my mobile device
>
> --
> Posted By AURIA to Writings from the leftist side of the brain. at
> 4/21/2010 10:31:00 AM
--
Sent from my mobile device
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