GOODBYE TO 2015'S SCARS

I have always thought that the next time I will hear his voice that my insides will melt, my heart will skip a beat or I will probably die from a heart attack and maybe a kind angel will bring me back to earth to face this shocking reality. That was my ex AJ calling me.  I can’t believe that after all this while, he will call.

Our relationship only survived six months before it hit the rocks. No, let me rephrase that, it sublimed to an aching void. There was no fight, no argument, no cheating, absolutely nothing to cling to as a reason why the man I thought loved me would desert me in our oasis of promises.

I still remember that fateful day like yesterday. That very last time I heard his timbreless voice miles away from me, dropping the bombshell that left me in shreds. He had gone offshore, with the promise to give me a call once he settled down. The call never came through. But he did send a mail one late night with a barrage of excuses why he hadn’t reached me. I replied in that dreamy way, detailing every activity that have taken place since the last 72 hours he left me. I patiently waited for a reply like he usually does but none came. Hours turned to days and days to weeks. I didn’t panic at first because I understood his work could be demanding as well and he maybe out of reach. I consoled myself with the memories we had.

We had  met at the Goodies Supermarket in Ikeja where we had mixed up our shopping carts. My torrents of apologies and his silent chuckle at my clumsiness was all that was needed to send the sparks flying. We had laughed about it later after our first date.  We had so many things in common. We both loved music, food and adventure.  We spent the first weeks of our relationship exploring our music bank. I always have a music for the day for him with lyrics.

I will call him up at lunchtime and suggest a good restaurant to eat. Since our works were in separate destinations, we couldn’t have lunch together. Other times I will race to his office for a dinner date or home to prepare a sumptuous meal. We talked about everything when we are together. From the little tete-a-tete in the office to the meals we tried out in restaurants. It was heavenly with AJ. I felt complete. Although we argue at times, we resolved our differences amicably. I was in love with him. I needed no seer to assure me that my love was reciprocated. From the tender ways he cared for me, I was convinced that he loved me with the same intensity I loved him.

These were the moments I held close to my heart when he will be gone for days. But I was in for a surprise when out of boredom I tried his line and it rang. I was happy. That means he was back to land and we could communicate. I was so excited that I nearly crashed my new dressing mirror.

My joy was cut short when he never answered or returned my calls. At first, I feared something bad must have happened to him. I kept calling his three lines, both his office lines, yet no response. I couldn’t fathom what was going on. I visited his place, there was no sign of him. His friends could not give me a clue about his whereabouts. After a week of torture, he sent a text to me. My heart raced with excitement when I saw the sender ID but floundered when I read the contents. He was breaking up with me for no reason. No reason at all. He just wanted to be alone.

I couldn’t cry. I just stared at my wall, thinking, reminiscing, looking for a clue on what could have gone wrong. I blamed myself for any action that suggested a reason for his farewell. I wondered why a man who had professed love to me would wake up one morning and decide to walk away.

When I mustered the courage to cry, it was a river that flowed. It left me empty, insecure. I find myself looking over my shoulder in the mall, hoping to see that familiar face with the charming smile lurking somewhere but none.
Friends advised me to see a therapist or visit his home and demand for an explanation. But I was too ashamed to do so. Moreso, I was afraid of being rejected a second time. I had to depend on my inner strength to carry on. I vowed not to fall in love like any heartbroken lady is wont to do. But not for long. I healed and found love again.

Three years later, out of the blue, AJ  is calling me. I remembered the nights I had waited for this call and how I have envisaged I would feel. The words I have rehearsed to tell him. But that moment came and I felt absolutely nothing. Not even an unsteady beat of my heart or a tight knot in my stomach.  An air of indifference engulfed me. I contemplated for a while whether to pick the call or not.

When I finally picked the call, it was not a remorseful Adele telling me that he’s sorry for breaking my heart. Nor was it a heartbroken Tinashe begging me to pretend that we didn’t break up. No, it was a cocky guy who glows in being a despicable excuse of a man.

His first sentence smacked of a tongue-in-cheek familiarity which I dismissed. Rather it ignited a certain anger inside of me that I never knew existed. In three minutes, I unleashed all the unspoken words, all the chained feelings that I have harboured in the last three years. I didn’t give him a room to explain or mock my integrity again.  In that three minutes, I closed the AJ’s chapter and embraced my freedom.

Goodbye to African Time
There are certain things I do not want to experience next year. One of them is African time. I’m tired of it even if that sounds as a cliché. I think it’s high time this timeless norm took a vacation, or better still, be dumped in the dustbin of history.

African time is mostly experienced in the entertainment industry. Event organisers are the hardened perpetrators of this crime. It’s very cruel to schedule for an event by 8pm and won’t kick off till midnight. Like the recently held Music Meets Runway at Eko Hotels and Suites, Victoria Island, Lagos.

As at the scheduled time of the event, the organisers were still running up and down the venue, trying to set up the stage.  Why? Is that the right time to do that? Shouldn’t the hall be ready before the guests arrive? This only shows our disregard for time but why? Why can’t we keep to time? Why can’t we value time? Is this situation only peculiar to Nigeria?
I’m endeared to think so, because in South Africa where the inaugural BET Experience Africa held, there was no room for delay. Things were done promptly and the organisers kept judiciously to time. If the IV says the door opens at 8, it opens at 8.

Why can’t we do same in Nigeria? Why do we have to hide under the guise of African time all the time?
The argument that logistics and traffic contribute to the African time syndrome as far as I’m concerned does not hold water. If that were to be true then how did Darey Art Alade sail through his first Love Like A movie show without toeing the lateness line? Could it be that lateness is ingrained in our system? Or we don’t understand the value of time? Or is time too liberal with us that we have taken it for granted?

Due to this habitual lateness of events, I’m forced to stay at home instead than subject myself to the rigours of standing for hours to watch an event. For instance, I’m not looking forward to the Headies this year after last year’s experience. But I hope the organisers would not put their guests through such hell of waiting for hours for a show. They must have learnt their lessons now.
If the organisers keep to time, it makes things easy not only for the guests but them as well.

Seriously, things have to change. Maybe people should start protesting for a refund of their tickets when the show is delayed or leave the hall empty. Perhaps, it may teach the organisers to respect and value time.

Source; Thisdaylive.com