Navigating Solutions and Darkness

Photo by  Maid Milinkic  on  Unsplash Written August 24, 2014 I'm sure you've heard these words before  I'm sure these dreams have come a visiting Dropping in when you least expect them  Come to transport you  Back to a place you used to call home  A place where the roads were paved In the sounds of your footsteps  High heels running home  Feeling breathless and angry  Because they're all gone  They didn't care to wait for you  Didn't let you linger awhile  Sing a few more notes  Before the night takes its window signs down  A place where the air whispers of cinema  Of dreams you breathe in  Ballooning up within you  And you're rising up, up Up along with it  Because the cinema is just down the road All your paths take you  Back into the dreams you had  Of the boy in class who was/ Most definitely an actor's twin  A place where every night i...

Trying not to get starry eyed over this boy may have been the hardest thing I've ever done. Memories are tricky. You know how olfactory senses are supposed to be the greatest triggers for memory ever? Well, something that comes close is reopening an old, closed door... and then combining it with another old closed door opening up. Out of the blue. Man, I kind of feel like I got hit in the face by a whole bunch of doors, and yes, this is about the Backstreet Boys concert that just happened in Dubai. When I first heard about it, I remember thinking, whoa, my Instagram story feed is going to be insane when this is happening. And I was definitely right about that. I mean, damn Dubai, I thought you couldn't hurt me anymore, and now I feel like I'm fifteen all over again. I won't, I tell myself. I won't encourage these feelings, just because there's yet another lanky, chocolate boy involved. I won't long for what I can't have, won't start to imag...

Written December 23, 2008 Context: Thoughts resulting from anxiously stressing over whether I'd get to home to Dubai for the holidays or not. (Spoiler: Didn't happen). I don't even want to consider any other alternative, because this tiny little hope is ALL I have left. The only thing that keeps me sane and going. It's just this tiny presumption, a weak flimsy base to all the fancy castles being built on it, high up in the clouds. One word is enough to send the whole damn thing tumbling to the ground. And yet I keep thinking that if I go into battle believing my own invincibility... believing, blindly believing that nothing can stand in my own way, and that no one will say no to me... everything'll turn out alright.

Photo by  David Rodrigo  on  Unsplash I'm currently awaiting my Burger King order to be home delivered, and reading Americanah . I'd delayed reading the book, not wanting to delve into something heavy. I was also under the impression (because I'm a moron) that the word "Americanah" referred to a stylized version of Americana - the telling of American folk stories. Americanah is, instead, the Nigerian word for "American" - it's used in the book to mockingly refer to Nigerians who become Americanized.  There's a lot to relate to in this book - most astonishing, perhaps, is how men manage to be the same around the world - always failing to come up to mark. Always immature. Always playing games. But in terms of what I relate to the most, it is perhaps the life of someone who has lived across borders, across cultures, who struggles with their identity.  Nine years ago was the beginning of the end. Almost a decade of my life not spent in...

Written on October 1, 2008 Photo by  Nadia Jamnik  on  Unsplash Now, what exactly made me choose that title? Frankly, I'm not so sure, except for the fact that everything's pretty much broken heart material pour moi  right now. Where do I begin? Maybe from the last post. Remember what I said about being hung from the yardarm? Very nearly happened. I guess it was stupid to think I could get away with it. I was caught and screwed for every bit of the time I took off. So what with my grandmother's lectures about cutting classes, and the nuns' horror at what I'd dared to do... And that too, a girl. Quel horreur! One of these days, I will bomb Brilliant Study Centre. And then news analysts all over the world will zoom in on my blog and go, "OMG, we should've seen it coming. I mean, look, it was all over her page!" I can only hope I'll be unavailable for comment. The microphones of World News may never recover from the filthy diatribe I...