UntitledDrabbles.

murky water, never quite crystalline. 

you think you’ve seen it all. that what you see- who you see is who i truly am but if you dive into these waters, I worry you’ll think twice. 

peer beyond the looking glass of my eyes and tell me what you see. 

One last time. 

We said this the first time we got together.

And the next.

And shortly after our third and fourth rendezvous.

“We can’t keep doing this,” I’d always remind you, trying ever so desperately to remain the voice of reason between us.

We can’t... can’t... can’t stop.

It isn’t fair, nor easy. How can I be the voice of reason when your lips chase away every sense of rationality. Every touch emits a spark of potent passion. The tension as tangible as soul sand- tough at first grasp, faint and nearly invisible with every release.

“You promised we’d stop”- stop what truly? Not making it to the room? Leaving a trail of clothes wherever ‘passion strikes?’

You’ve caught me in a fix, tied to something I tried so hard to flee from. Falling, wallowing, wading in murky and turbulent waters; emotion as powerful as waves crashing rocks of what we thought was our foundation.

This was never supposed to happen.

I wasn’t supposed to meet you. I wasn’t supposed to run into you at that restaurant last year. I wasn’t supposed to fall to an effortless conversation with you nor feel like you were an old friend I hadn’t seen for ages.

This was never supposed to happen.

A mutual fascination was what we agreed to call it. You intrigued me from the very first glance. Reminded me of the ocean, calm yet menacing all at once, turbulent, unruly yet majestic and alluring all at once.

I never thought I’d call a man beautiful, till I met you. Your mind entranced me, your thinking so meticulous, out-of-the-box, new, innovative, fresh... I can’t even begin to look into a thesaurus to find the right words to describe the absolute phenomenon you are.

Mutual fascination, we called it. Nothing more. Just that.

Who would’ve thought it would turn physical?

A fascination concerning intellect muddled with hot need and greed for one another threw us to this mess in the first place.

It started with that damned kiss that had me frozen in my tracks yet burning with desire and fear and joy and grief all at once.

We rarely exchanged words from that day onwards. We let our hands do the talking, our shared whispers and mutters and grunts of approval share our highs and lows of that day- possibly week.

You barely stuck around after. Nor did I.

Mutual fascination after all, that was that.

Wrong.

Lust turned to fear that turned to anger that turned to shame that turned to regret that turned to sorrow that turned to submission and finally a jumbled up mess formally recognized as acceptance.

Love.

I know, I should be ashamed. I broke our one common agreement. Our one and only spoken pact but please don’t lie to me and tell me that this means nothing to you.

Don’t break my heart and drive me to a point of ill intent by placing my fragile heart in the same box with your collection of several others you captured.

Don’t push me to consider you dead to me by telling me all the words and the lines, promises and tender times were all part of a grander scheme and you just played your part and followed your lines.

I’ve come to a realization that this- we- us- whatever this is will absolutely, most certainly get one of us hurt.

And before I end up shattering what’s left of my heart and sanity, I wish to leave before it’s too late.

Before my hopes rise and I infatuate myself with this disillusioned conception of you reciprocating my feelings.

I mean well, this is for the both of us.

It’s not you, it’s me- no scratch that, it’s both you and I. We’re not meant to be.

I’m just abiding to our contract remember, mutual fascination- nothing more, nothing less.

When you see me walk out that door after tonight that’ll be the end of it. An era, a lifetime (to one of us at least).

And if fate allows our paths to cross once more, if the stars align and you end up in my arms once more, maybe then, we’ll annul the contract- see where things go.

noun

1: the act, process, or result of changing such as: 

a: ALTERATION

a change in the weather

b: TRANSFORMATION

a time of vast social change

going through changes

c: SUBSTITUTION

a change of scenery

I don't know about you, but I absolutely dislike- no detest change. 

Don't get me wrong, new is good. A fresh start, a blank canvas is exciting to work with because it's entirely yours to design despite the past. But it's never easy letting go of what's familiar to one. 

I envy people that can quickly adapt to a significant change in their lives- whether it be a change of location, friends- heck even their diet or lifestyles. They make it look easy to just leave what's familiar and 'normal' for something completely unfamiliar and new. Different. 

What makes you wake up one morning and convince yourself, accept it wholly and enthusiastically, that you wanna try being a vegan? Wanna move to a new country? Ready to revamp your closet? That you're prepared for college? 

I moved between two countries in my life. But I went to a school with such a dynamic international community where you lost two others with every friend you made. When it was my turn, it didn't hit me till my first year back home. Moving was always hard for me. I'm the kind of person to remain in a constant state of denial, completely ignoring the blaring signs of reality around me and creating a fantasy where nothing's changed. 

My friends are still the same; my house and room are still intact. Nothing's different; everything's familiar, safe. 

But at the same time, it's an odd paradox. I hate the past, clinging to chapters that should remain sealed shut. For instance, if there is one chapter of my life I'm glad I left behind, it's middle school. This is the only instance where I was utterly grateful for change and transformation only because, in the simplest of terms, it was utter shit. 

I mean, I'm glad I grew, changed the relationships I had, my mindset as well. I had to. You know how tragic it would be if I pulled up to class in that striped patched zebra shirt and checkered olive green and white khakis everywhere I went? ( side note: that was a fashion violation that deserves proper jail time 🤮)

We face changes everywhere we go.

I'm glad I've changed, transformed physically. Thank God I'm not my skinny, awkward, crusty-lipped, middle-school self today.

Mentally, I'm so happy that I've learned to prioritize my wellbeing; I'd be an absolute goner if I kept my easily-manipulated mentality throughout high school (I mean, in the wise words of Future: 

I'm glad I can go out these days, not having to worry about my parents interrogating the police if I'm 15 minutes past my curfew (technically, not much has changed there, but they panic less. They panic if it's past an hour but hey, it's an improvement. African parents, you gotta love them)

Regardless, maturity, growth- we have a bittersweet relationship. We're more like frenemies. I adore the idea, the romanticized concept of new freedoms and strengths. Still, I hate the new responsibilities that it comes with. 

With the newfound biological transformation infamously known as puberty came the phenomenon of feminine curves. Along came acne, my beloved yet hella inconsistent Aunty Flo, and a bout of unnecessary hormones and emotions I cannot cope with for shit. 

The mental maturity of viewing myself as a priority is still a work in progress. It's not a lesson learned nor applied frequently; it's rather hard to care for you when some days you're so unsure of yourself and who you've become. 

Going out? Oh, who am I kidding? I wasn't even a fan of going out before, so why am I acting as if I'll enjoy it now? It doesn't help when every day presents a fresh set of reasons to fear being a girl, fearing for your life every time you go for a walk or even a simple grocery run. 

With every passing day, I hate that growth equates to losing chunks of your child-like wonder, optimism, hope; such that adds sparks of color to this dull and uniform world of ours. 

I just want to remain held in my mother's hands again. Not having to worry about taxes, a declining economy, grades, college, relationships. Just what I'd have for dinner that day. 

But I can’t. I’m older now. I can’t physically fit in her arms anymore, I’m taller than her now 😑

See? Change is just an incomprehensible, inevitable aspect of life I cannot seem to get myself to even tolerate. 

Anyone have tips on how they deal with change? Especially accepting it? 

Hello :)

This is my attempt of expressing myself, while addressing various social issues that I, along with others have grappled with. 

For over three years now, I’ve kept a journal with me and promised myself I’d write my heart out on matters where speaking doesn’t do enough. 

My hopes are that you as a reader will be inspired to express yourself, to see the beauty and meaning behind letters of every word. I chose poetry- a very unconventional kind (like I said, I’m trying to really express myself so excuse me if I don’t turn out like various masters and experts). 

My hopes are that you will find a place of solace and freedom, where as you read and interact with these pieces that are close to my heart, that you’ll see that: 

1. You are never alone. 

2. All your insecurities and quirks are valid. No one is perfect. 

3. We all have our shortcomings. 

4. Your voice is needed in this world. And it matters. 

5. You matter. 

With this page, I hope to spark a conversation on matters that are rarely addressed. There’s no need to put a title on all that we discuss, sometimes things are best left untitled. There for you to ponder on. 

I wish to let you know that if you ever need a person to ramble to. A place to voice out all you’ve been hiding, this is a safe place. My DMs are open (if they are available here, I’m still navigating the site haha). 

Anyways, I’ve said enough. 

This is me. And I hope that we both find beauty in parts of us that we call flawed. And freedom amid sorrow.