The ambience of the high-ceilinged, beige and orange coloured walls of Levi’s pulls you in, and wraps you in a kind of comfort and warmth you cannot explain. The opening piano notes of Journey’s Open Arms plays softly from the speaker, while you look around the large space in search of your date. Everyone talks at the same time in hush tones, and you imagine you are standing close to a beehive. Earlier in the day, she called to tell you she made a reservation for two. Within few seconds, your gaze falls on her. She is sitting at a table in the middle of the hall. Reflexively, you clench your fist, thereby digging your nails into the middle of your palm. Your breath catches, as you exhale in little puffs. Until recently, wearing your skin was a chore you loathed with intensity. This made you averse to attention or anything that would draw attention to you. It had taken being ensconced in a sorority of several women like you, several months of hanging out with them, and many nights of self-therapy via introspection to embrace yourself and grow into you. One of the women, Luisa – a psychologist with a private practice, who was pivotal in your journey to self-acceptance, told you that hating yourself was a pointless sport. “You have been stuck with yourself, in your body, for how many years now? Thirty-three? You will be stuck in this body for many years to come. It only makes sense you forgive yourself for not being the ideal self you have in your head. It is about time you start loving yourself.” Continue reading
Once upon a time, a very close friend and I were at a live show Somewhere-On-Lagos-Island. A woman was performing with a band, singing her heart out, and mesmerising the audience with her voice. Minutes into the show, the band started another number. Lady Singer stepped down from the stage and walked towards the tables. “I want a guy to sing this song to me,” she said in a cutesy voice (the kind of voice a child would use in telling her older brother to buy her a cone of ice cream on his way back home from work), as a big grin materialised on her face.
“Please, I want us to keep it,” Olise had pleaded with his hands clasped on her knees, while kneeling before her like a peon. Derisively, her gaze slowly travelled from his clammy palms to rest on his sweaty face. The disgust he saw in her eyes caused his chest to constrict in anguish.
Betrayal tastes like vinegar mixed with coal. It sounds like fingertips scratching a chalkboard. Betrayal is when women do not espouse feminist ideals. How does one internalise misogyny to the point of supporting ideas that reinforce one’s subjugation? Continue reading
In a same-sex relationship, there is no guy, there is no girl. It is just two humans in love with each other. You love a person’s mind, not necessarily the sex organ.
(Plot twist: Hetero folks are not the only ones who vehemently hold on to gender roles.)
For starters, “sorry” is not restitution.
Forgiveness means to pardon, absolve, exonerate.
What does it really mean to forgive? Basically, it means to let go of your desire to seek revenge. Continue reading