BLUNTS & THOUGHTS
Slowly I roll out of bed naked, taking nothing but my panda blanket with me; Feeling lazy and cold this rainy Saturday morning. I take five steps and stop in front of my window, staring blankly into the wet street:
Damn it’s really pouring down hard, the gods must be really mad at humans
…and I deserve hot coffee right now
But my lazy ass can’t walk all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Plus, I’m mastering the act of avoiding my parents without making it so obvious to them, can’t have them thinking I hate them, I don’t. Let’s just say they are part of the reason I hate life.
Instead, I fall into my wooden chair by the window, it’s so perfect I can see the entire street from here, I think?
I cover myself up with my blanket, rolled a blunt and as I take the first drag, I smile… exhaling. My day has begun, as usual I will sit by my window and stare into nothingness. Hiding away from the world, I wonder where my mind will wander to today.
A black Lexus pulls up in front of my house…
It’s a familiar car that I hate, mostly because of the person who owns it. There he is, stepping out like he’s Aladdin or some perfect Disney prince destined to marry the perfect Disney princess. With his perfect nose, and his perfect cheekbones, his perfect abs and his perfect ass!
Why does he even have a perfect ass! Maybe he’s secretly gay? He looks like money though, money that I don’t have! I hate him. He even glows under the rain.
Come on! For fuck’s sake… does he bathe with crystals?
Frustrated, I sink deeper into my wooden chair and hit the blunt harder this time, like I would get all my answers if I inhale deeper.
He’s always at my house once or twice a month, usually my mom comes knocking at my door to inform me of his royal ass-ness’ arrival. She would be here soon anyway, to sing his praises and tell me how lucky I am that a fine young man like him wants to marry me, even that make me laugh out loud.
I wonder when I started hating on him so much. I’ve known him all my 23years on earth, we’ve been friends.
I’ll still go downstairs and smile at his face, wishing I’d the perfect face like him. He got finer and I stayed the same, he went out and saw the world while I still stare blankly at this street. Sigh.
I hate this street!
I suppose humans are always in search of perfection, in everywhere aspects of our lives where we feel lacking. Probably, its human nature to be perfect like the God that made us; but can we really find that perfection in a life that is much broader than our very existence?
I laugh out loud.
Why am I thinking this deep? It must be this weed. I really should be quiet. My dearest Aladdin always says it’s simple:
A perfect look gives you a perfect life
His doctors have sure done an excellent work of perfection, I wonder if God would recognize His initial work of creation. These surgeons will all burn in hell! But will I burn with them because my favorite show on E! is Botch? I wonder if he got his dick touched too, maybe it’s bigger, I should ask him.
I burst out in laughter again, knowing my insecurities are getting the best of me this morning. I’m not as brave as he is.
The rain only falls harder and my body only freezes more. I know I should wear something to keep me warm but I’m trying not to make a sound so my parents don’t know I’m awake. So I’ll sit here on my wooden chair by my window covered in nothing but my panda blanket with a blunt in one hand, looking left and right the wet street.
There really is nothing here for me.
Most days, I wished my parents would ask me if I am happy with life here instead of their frequent assumption of how my future looks so bright; because I live my life based on their definition of happiness. It is sickening, these assumptions! They give me reasons to hate life.
I light up another fresh blunt as the front door of my opposite neighbor open. I try to peek through to get a view of the inside; I never succeed even when I sit opposite the house. I wonder why they are so secretive? Maybe they are serial killers? They act so shady, especially the second daughter.
She walks out the front door with a guy holding her waist and laughing, such a slut she is! Their father is never at home, I notice him only two three times a year; which is strange because I notice everything. They moved in a few years back, without a mom I guess, I don’t really care.
But see the way he’s caressing her body, and she is giggling like a catfish in the open with no shame.
She’s always on skimpy wears. I wonder how old she is, my age mate maybe? It shouldn’t be my concern anyway, what she does with her life. I don’t know her that well, but this is the fourth guy I have seen her with this week and its only Wednesday. Surely she must have female friends that can advise her on the subject – AIDS is real!
Then again, birds of the same feathers flock together. Such sluts they must all be!
He gets into a car, an Uber ride maybe, and she walks back to her front door. I’m watching in disgust with my blunt in one hand:
This is some good weed.
To my surprise, she stops and turns to stare straight at me, with a warm smile on her face. She is one of the prettiest beings I have seen in the neighborhood.
She’s waving ‘hi’ at me, but why is she waving at me?
I’m too shocked right now to wave back at her, she must find that funny because now she’s laughing and typing something in her phone. My phone beeps; a message notification from ‘the slut opposite’ – as I had saved her name the other time we said hi and casually exchanged numbers.
With a confused look on my face, I read her message:
Would you like to hang sometime?
I see you always staring at me, its okay I like it, I have a crush on you too, and we could make this something if you down to…
This cannot be right, right? With that I fall to the floor, unable to look at her anymore. I could have sworn she’s straight, and a slut, a straight slut!
I quietly crawl back to my bed, pulling my blanket on the floor with me, with a strange smile on my face. For the first time in a long while, I feel genuinely happy and I can’t tell why.
Maybe there is something here for me after all.
I love my room when it’s nighttime, with the stars on the ceiling and the surrounding walls, they glow beautifully in the dark after spending their day absorbing the sunlight. My mother believes I’m the star among the stars, and my light shines the brightest because I don’t need the dark only to glow. My father stays supporting her every view of what my life should be.
It keeps raining heavy today, I wonder if my stars will light up bright tonight?
I hope they do, they remind me of what I can’t be – BRAVE.
Brave to live my life the way I want, finding my happiness in my perfections, because honestly, these imperfections are driving me insane. I want the perfect lips with a tiny waist, and eyes like an aquarium with tattoos around my waist like royal waist beads!
My mother might get panic attack from seeing that, she would tell her mother how rebellious I’ve become, her mother would inform the rest of my mother’s siblings how I’m turning into a bad child. Family meetings will hold in the name of intervention, and I’ll never hear the end of how I want to bring shame to the family by choosing the wrong path.
Maybe they should check on their own children, I’m sure they are already ahead of me in bringing the family shame. But no, I will be the one choosing the wrong life because tattoos, such big taboo.
And I might have a crush on my neighbor, who has a vagina like me. If I’m ever brave enough to tell my parents I want to be with her, brave enough to even reply her message, I’ll say:
Hey, you want to come over tonight? Sneak in and make out, maybe fuck me?
What do I even know about lesbian sex? I should see lesbian porn.
Goodness! My father would die of shame and blame my mother for giving birth to an abomination! My mother in turn, will roll on the floor crying like her child just died; the community that barely knows me will console her and tell her it’s the work of the devil. They would suggest churches with great prophets to her without trying to understand why, why would a young girl like me would pick a girl over a fine young man interested in marrying me.
Because it’s such a blessing, isn’t it? To be married as a young girl at 23. Other mothers will sing my praises to their daughters, making my mother proud that the community holds me on such pedestal of decency.
And if I dare not follow her for deliverance, she would threaten my existence with her nakedness, holding her breast and telling me how she would curse me with the very breast that fed me.
I take another drag of the only thing keeping me sane; wondering what would happen if they ever find out I smoke. Would they bother to find out why? Or would they run with their assumptions again?
I’m a shadow in the middle of the stars, I envy their bravery to glow even with the tiniest of sunlight. They shine their light for me to see so I don’t lose my way, I would never be that brave. Brave enough to see the disappointment in the eyes of my parents in fear that the devil has corrupted their starlight, I would constantly live my life according to their definition of life.
These already are laid down rules I should follow and respect, right?
A knock on my door jogs me back to reality.
I’ve been quiet so my parents don’t know I’m awake, who could possibly be knocking on my door this rainy Saturday morning. And my God I’m so cold! I really should wear something to keep warm. this blanket and weed ain’t enough.
Quickly but quietly, I try to put out the burning weed and hide every trace
Aisha open up; I know you’re awake
Fuck, that’s my cousin. His 20year ass should be in school, but his damn school always on strike.
I roll out of bed naked, to open the door because as much as I hate being bothered, he’s the best friend, maybe only friend I got in life and he loves me best naked.
I come bearing drinks
He says, happily raising the bottle of vodka to my face, staring me up and down. I like how weak he gets around me.
You really need to stop watching Shakespearian movies
I say with a smile. Knowing all I want right now is him, the vodka and weed. So glad he’s here, I shot the door behind him.
He sits on the wooden chair by my window and opens the bottle of vodka as I light up my weed again, we both laugh knowing our parents won’t be proud. We’re not trying to hurt them on purpose, we are both trying to be free; but our freedom spells disappointment to them.
I close my curtains and sit facing him on his thighs.
I might have a crush on the girl living opposite my house
Which of them?
The prettiest of them all
I reply, taking another drag and passing the blunt to him while he passes the bottle to me with a devilish smile on his face – he really is fine.
You know you got visitors downstairs, the dude that wants to marry you and his parents are breaking kola with your parents and… my mom
He takes a drag and pauses
You really going to marry him?
Sigh. I sigh a million times a day. That’s how tire of life I am.
Yea, I guess. Wouldn’t want to hurt no one
No one but yourself?
He says with a straight face.
I hate that he is right. But he is right, I always put everyone else first, and myself last.
I can never be that brave enough to see the disappointment in the eyes of my parents in fear that they didn’t raise me right, so I guess I’ll constantly live my life according to their definition of happiness
I say it out loud to him like a recital of the national pledge, the national pledge that I’ve said all my life but never took time out to understand what each word stands for. The magnitude of what I constantly pledge to, or deciding if I even wish to pledge to the nation. I just blindly pledge with the masses – we are all blind.
The mothers before our mothers, and now I follow, and someday my daughter will follow, pledging her happiness to me and sacrificing her life for the definition of my happiness.
We are all blind.
He takes the weed from my hand, pulling me closer as he kisses my lips, as if to ease my pain only he could see; only he ever took time out to understand my silence in this house, like my diary…
His lips, ever so soft and taste so right. I don’t want him to stop, I want him to touch me like only he knows how to.
Whoever said this is wrong? Definitely not the Bible; didn’t they all marry themselves in the old days, blood related and shit? Isn’t the Bible supposed to be the ultimate life guide? So how can this be wrong?’
The door flings open; it is my mom…
My name is Teni, a 23year graduate, engaged to be married, to the boy my parents consider the perfect match for me.
I’ve always been the star that lights up their lives, even on days I feel dead inside I still light up their eyes; and for that they love me so deeply – or loved me, because few minutes ago my mom walked in on my cousin and I about fucking.
I wonder if I’m still the starlight in her life or that part of her has gone dark… fuck!
I stand staring at my reflection in the mirror with tears of… I don’t know what I’m feeling. The rain outside that has refused to stop. I wonder if would she tell my father immediately? Would he still love me and look at me like perfection? I bet my aunty would disown my cousin
I put on a ‘decent’ gown covering every part of my body. I need to hurry down to greet the boy and his parents; they have been waiting for me.
This dress would make my parents happy
I look like a well-groomed girl raised by a decent family. I quickly wipe the tears away and wear my best accessory – a mastered smile, and walk into the parlor. My father’s eyes light up while my mother tries to smile. I guess she hasn’t told him yet that the devil has possessed his child and sister’s son
The conversations kick off with how we would make a great couple, give them beautiful grandchildren, live long and see our great grandchildren, wedding dates and all the blahs I’m not interested in.
Can these people even tell how unhappy all these makes me feel? They all seem so absorbed in it; this is the height of accomplishment for them – planning my funeral in the name of marriage.
My phone beeps, a message notification from ‘the slut opposite’ and it reads:
Yes, but maybe we should take it slow, I’m not sure how slow cause I want nothing more as I type this
In a moment of being brave or stupid, I’d earlier replied her message with a:
‘Do you want to fuck me?’
I must really be horny today, getting myself in all sorts of situations. I have ruined my perfect facade, years of playing the role of perfection to the ones who birthed me, ruined!
Weirdly, her reply makes me smile. It gives me life in this pit hole.
Occasionally I look to the side of the stairs, my cousin keeps looking at me – we both know war is coming. To be honest, I’d rather be in my room, sitting in my wooden chair, smoking a blunt and seeing the world through my hypocritical views. I’m okay with that.
This one you are looking at your phone and smiling to yourself, hope my son does not have a competitor?
Ah! Her annoying voice! Her, her son, her husband and everything about this situation is annoying! But how can I say that when this situation is the greatest happiness for my parents?
My mom grabs my phone from my hand in anger!
Fuck! I haven’t closed the chat with the girl I want to fuck. I’m so doomed
She screams! Something about one of us dying today, I’m not sure; I can’t hear her no more. I feel myself zoning out. I don’t remember standing up, but I feel me running to the house opposite.
Aisha! Aisha wait
That’s my cousin calling out my name. I can hear my mom crying. With tears in my eyes I stop, and turn for a moment to look at the disaster I have made. My dad looks so confused. What have I done? Why is my cousin running towards me when all I want to do is escape right now?
I hear her voice calling from behind me, but as I turn to look at her, my beautiful neighbor opposite. All I see is flash of light…
…and finally the rain stops.
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