Well, the thing is I absolutely love to write! I was already making "to - dos" right from my mother's womb and I must say it helped ease the suddeness of being squeezed through a somewhat tight opening - head first, being blinded by sudden light, covered in slime and staring at big furrowed brows with (I think they were) smiling faces.... all staring right back at me! If that wasnt disturbing enough, some old (I could have sworn she looked motherly and friendly at first) matronly lady truned me upside dwon and smacked me right on my behind! What nerve! Well, talk about a grand entrance!
After that, I made a mental to - do not to speak to anyone for nine solid months and I made good my promise. All I did was cry, suckle, sleep, cry, look cute, pooh, cry, pee and whatever it was that caught my fancy.... well, until I couldnt take it anymore! I had so many things I had observed and I had so many questions I needed to ask..... So, at the tender age of nine months, I started running round the house AND, well, you guessed right, TALKING!
Anyway, for as long as I can remember, I have loved to talk, read and write, so much so, it earned me the name "Ata wewe" (Hot pepper, methinks it means... well, me no sure) as a child. I remember at age 13 months.... I was already attending a "jeleosimi" (let the house rest) and one day, my grandma came to pick me up from "school". On our way home, I happened to see a man with one leg walking with crutches on the other side of the road and I just screamed with a loud voice "see grandma...one leg!" When I was (wrongfully) ignored, I gathered as much air as I could in my little lungs and screamed once again..... and I didnt stop till I got attention... a lot of it. My grandma was so darn embarassed, he he!. Anyway, typical Lagos scene, a small crowd gathered, all with diffrent opinions.... my grandma apologised profusely.... bla bla bla and we all lived happily ever.... well, for the rest of the walk home.
Why, pray tell, would you bore us with all of this hogbladash, you might ask? Well, the thing is, I met a supposedly wonderful fellow... you know, "my first love" and the first thing he did was to ensure I stopped writing. He told me that I wrote more than I talked to him. So, to please my "true love" I ditched one of my passions and after the dude and I parted ways, I prayed.... cried..... tried and did everything humanly possible to begin writing again... all to no avail. This was really stressful and frustrating for me, so much so that I became really introverted. I had so much to say, yet I had lost the ability to express myself. A bondage of sorts......
Now, to really cut the long story short.... I got me a laptop and slowly, steadily, I tried to pick up writing again and voila! Today, I might not write as much as I have done in the past, yet, but I hope via this medium, I can relive my..... you know.... huh.... em... stuff... huh... whatever.
Now, the moral of the story is this - Never let anyone, no matter what he,she or it is to you, make you choose between them and what you absolutely love to do.... well, except that which you love to do does not add to anyone else but you.
All I wanted to say.
