Outgrowing the wild

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I was about cooking Jollof rice when I looked out the kitchen window to see the spectrum of bloom the weather left the sky. It reminded me of evenings in Aba (my home town in Nigeria). It reminded me of the way the weather back home tells us how much it would pour rain down. I felt dark for a minute. Six more weeks to finish university, six more weeks of trying to catch up with the reality of my second home, Brighton.

107, Brighton

I used to hate long conversations with my housemates, I used to pick times where I’d choose to hang out with them. I used to lock up in my attic room and disturb them with my late loud music and my loud laugh with uni friends but now we talk, laugh and live like it’s a ritual. We get curious with when next we get to hang out or just play random games. You can tell from our eyes that farewell day will be more like doomsday.

Journal

A lot has changed in the past three years. Things have become a little clearer, my journeying, the reality of what I need to achieve in life, most importantly what I have to give and offer. They’ve become more pragmatic than illusive. At this point in my life, I’ve learned that I’m allowed to grow especially with others who are willing to grow with me. I’ve learned courage can come from the least of things and people. I learnt that growth doesn’t need to be big to be successful. I’m also aware that I’m allowed mistakes in every step of it, I’m allowed to fall and fail because I’m human.

Pen

Writing has humbled me in ways that I can’t explain, it has changed my sense of purpose. It has redirected me to people and places that bring peace and mindfulness and it still is. The process has been bliss and I believe strongly that it’s fully been God. I’ve  had the opportunity to believe in the strength I carry with words, to pray sometimes with my pen because my mouth can be heavy to say the right words to God. If only I can write in other languages, the world will pray too.

There are many ways I’ve stripped off colours of habits that I don’t identify with, ones that won’t serve me. Many ways I’d love to do more for living and not trying so hard to live right. It’s a gradual process. It’s an investment on and for self. It’s my culture, my way of outgrowing the wild.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017.

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Blogging series 2: The broken man

by Tom junior

Image result for broken man in black and white

Picture gotten from-Brokenabstract

The broken man laid in his room
He starred at the ceiling and created his own stars
He engulfed himself in the warmth of his hand
He ignored the pains and survived, but never forgot what caused him pain.

The broken man wiped the unending tears from his eyes
He walked up to the wall and turned on the light
He walked to the mirror and smiled in delight
What a beautiful soul full of tears and so much pain?
What a beautiful soul that was all he could say.

The broken man picked up his pieces
Broke them further and put them in places
He allowed his tears mend them
He promised never to be called the broken man again.

The broken man was mended
Despite the dark room he found light
Despite his cloaked eyes he created with stars
Despite the battered life he found his peace
All these came true, he was determined, focused and willing to let go of the past and all he had believed in.

Part 1: contributed by Marvel Augustine

After all the pain the broken man had been through,

he searched for amendments,

even though he was ignorant that mending one’s self could be done by himself.

 After many years of searching, he created a world of his own.

Hell knew him but he didn’t give up,

determined not to be called the broken man ever again.

Disclaimer: This piece was originally written by Tom Junior and part contributed by Marvel Augustine. No parts were added by me . 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

Supreme imitation

The only authentic idea there is, is ‘nothing‘ as nothing sprouts from nothing. Every new idea is a replica of one that hasn’t been made to exist (still in thoughts and minds of roaming people)  and also that which has already been made.

Black & White. Anonymous. Layers. Hats. Ghosts. Fashion. Art. Message. Boots. Model. Three. Modern.:

Picture gotten from-Pinterest

We talk about change. Ideas, perceptions, goals, theories, beliefs and so on, are all made alive to bring about change. Change is a supreme imitation which can be forged.

There are many people out there whose ideas sprout from others, of course this is our existence. It is human evolution. There are authentic outcomes that are brought about from pre-existing notions and experiences. In fact there are people who are weak at creating something tangible that has never been done before and there are those of us who are the opposite. This blog post relates to the former.

Facebook. We can all talk about it’s originality, and yes it is truly original. One man came up with the idea of a convenient means of communication which was totally different from what it used to be back in time, but do you think he was the only one who thought of a way for humans to communicate better?  There are many instances of brilliant innovations that have been put to place today by geniuses and these geniuses, we sometimes forget are humans too. Whatsoever they’ve put out like I said is a replica of one that hasn’t been made to exist (still in thoughts and minds of roaming people)  and also that which has already been made.

Most of us have role models, people that inspire us in different ways, people we look up to, tutors, teachers and what have you, but we fail most times to realize that we can gain those attributes we see in them in better ways, not necessarily the exact same way they put it out, but in ways that are more authentic and supreme.

I learn more from me by hearing and reading about other peoples’ experiences. I put words together when I’m inspired by the way others write sometimes. I mimic what others do with a bit of my own spice whilst giving credit to them. This doesn’t make me unoriginal, it only makes my own imitation supreme.

Are you more of a supreme imitator or an original creator? where does your ideas sprout from? I’d like to know dear bloggers.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

 

The Lie I told

The lie we all told.

” I just can’t wait to be independent, do whatever I want, whenever I want and have no one telling me how to do my own thing!”- some teenager

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How many of us said this when we were still teenagers?

How many teenagers do you hear mutter this to themselves when scolded?

I once thought 20 was adulthood. In fact, I once regarded anyone who was 20 as “old”. I’m 20 now but sometimes I really need a voice to direct me and also tell me what to do. I feel as though people expect much of me when my own self hasn’t even developed fully. My perspective then as a teen was more like two worlds that fail every single time to understand each other. The world of adulthood and mine. Sometimes, one succumbs for the other and other times, it results to war.

I grew up with four other siblings, an elder sister and 3 younger boys, so my teenage life was less dramatic, I think, as I was neither the first nor the last child. As a second born you aren’t really noticed as much as others. You fend for yourself most times, but the good thing is that you get away with a lot of wrongs even when you’re at fault, as you are sort of invisible.

I had less privileges and more restrictions which  I saw then as torture and still regard them so. This was as a result of my parents being more of disciplinarians than parents at that tender age. It made me confide in strangers, friends and my siblings more than I did with them. As at that time, I found it convenient and comfortable as it gradually became part of me but difficult now as I tend to filter what I say and how I say it to my parents. Disclosing personal issues and joy to them still is difficult for me but, I always find a way to express how I feel to them.

The other lie I told was that, “I would never miss being a teenager, it’s a mess being one”. We all again have flawed in this one. Even at 30 or 40, having a decent conversation with someone about your teenage life and how you lived it makes you feel somewhat young. It makes you vibrant and bloomy and puts others in a position to picture where you’ve been. That is why many crave to be young again and again. Not that ageing is not what we desire but, the feeling that seven years of our lives left in our souls, makes us hold unto it like some kind of home.

I never want to lie again about not being and feeling young inside.

What did you take away from today’s episode of TTTT dear blogger?

#TeenTransitionToTwenty writing Series

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.

CHIDINMA

See translation below.
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Abu m ihe  mbu,

Abum ihe Chi’m si na mbu.

Ogologo uzo ka’m jiri bia eba,

ma anom, kwudosike na enye ekele.

M na-agozi nwanyi nyere m aha mu, nne m,

na-agozi kwa nwoke sochata obi’m, nna m.

Mbge ufodu, ndi mmadu agwunaghi m

ma ana m ahu nka na mgbu,

ana m ahu ebube n’uru.

Ije nke ma, O puru eche naani,

ma amutago m otu ihe,

Ekele.

E nwere m obi isi ike,

Nke na enye reminisces m nsogbu.

Ututu obula nketara ura, m na cho ebe obibi mu, k’amu efuola,

ma otutu ugboro efugo mu n’ezi,

Eziokwu.

Efugo mu na gburugburu m, na ohere m ya na uwa m

ma unu ma mu azoputaghi m,

naani nkeko m jide siri ike .

Abu m ihe mbu,

Nma n’ime echiche m

Abu m Chidinma, nwata nwanyi na ede na otutu abstract.

 

 
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I am what I am,

I am who my creator says I am.

It took a long way to get here,

but here, strong and thankful

I bless the woman that named me, my mother,

the only man after my own heart, my father.

Sometimes people fail me,

but I see art in pain,

I see glory in the gain.

This walk of mine, alone it could feel,

but I’ve learnt one thing,

Thanksgiving.

I do have a stubborn heart,

one that troubles my reminisces.

I wake up every morning wanting home, like I’m lost

But most times I’m truly lost,

Truth.

Lost in my circle, space and world,

Neither you or me saves me

Only the bond that I hold unto

 I am what I am,

 a beauty within my own reflection

I am Chidinma, the girl who writes in abstracts.

The first part of this write up is written in Igbo (general), one of the major languages in Nigeria, West Africa. It was inspired by my love for my culture, my people and my nation. Although appropriate punctuation wasn’t made, I hope a native and non- native reader find strength in those words.  Thank you for making it here. 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.