The End Of A Thing

NB: I originally titled this post Bye Bye to Jati Jati but I changed my mind because, well, I can.

This year was tough. Unarguably the worst year of my life. Not that there were no high points, in fact, there were many but all I can seem to remember is the crippling anxiety, the stress, the tears, the fear, resentment and disappointment rolled into one package, stuck in my throat like a piece of boiled yam. I remember the heart burn, stomach aches, bouts of diarrhea, skin infections and visits to the hospital. I remember wondering what it would be like if I got into a "small" accident and I didn’t have to be at work for two weeks. I remember wondering if I could make it everyday without just combusting into nothing, no one.

But in November, I decided to let it all go. A bad year is not a bad life and couldn't continue to just hate this year forever. I started to actively do the things I needed to do to feel better and I was determined to have a good December, it is after all, the most wonderful time of the year.

I wanted to sleep better, wake up a little earlier, read my bible and pray a little more and so, I did. I wanted to finish reading this book I have been trying to finish for four years, so I came up with a plan and I started reading it. I wanted to drink more water so I filled and emptied my bottle as much as I could everyday. I wanted to have more active minutes in a day so I walked a little more.

Everything seemed to be going well until the 13th of December when I received a call that my father had passed away. I felt betrayed. Jesus, this is not the conversation we had.

It seemed highly unlikely that my father would die. This is my father we are talking about and he doesn’t just die. When we went to the morgue and they wheeled him out and peeled my mother’s wrapper from his face, I remember thinking "he doesn’t look like him", I checked the name tag, it was him. Sufjan Steven’s Fourth of July started playing in my head and the attendant patted his stomach and said, "ikun won si ma lole". I stepped out and dissolved into a puddle of tears. We are all going to die.

I don’t know if I’m processing this properly. I don’t know what memory will trigger me next. I don’t know if I will say "oh, fine, thanks" or "he passed away" when next someone asks me about my dad. I guess I’ll find out eventually.

They say that "the end of a year is not a destination, it is a journey" but what is the end of a life?

NB: I’m doing much better than when I first wrote this post.

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scrim scrim like plantain chips.

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Abiola Biya

Abiola Biya

scrim scrim like plantain chips.