Vani-Life: On Thoughts, Being, Living And Finding Rhythm

I'm growing up, a boy in the shadows of a man, constantly being haunted by decisions here and there. Sometimes simple, at other times harsh, but they all tend to palpate my being into very unappreciative sections and still I'm taunted by the vagueness that is life and how it might just fade away from my hands at anytime without it thinking twice, of probably how much I love it or what I'd do just to keep it. And you see, this is the exact picture I have of love. It sets you a temporary bed that soon crashes when you start to get all comfortable. Or maybe this is just what I think to compensate for the elusiveness that plagues me.

Life itself is a web of mysteries and I find myself caught inside, helpless, like a fly about to be fed on by a spider. I, however, want to bite through this web, I want to look at life's adversities, let out a coy laughter and keep walking like they mean nothing. And every time I feel like a shadow of myself, I'm inspired by the orphan down the street who constantly adorns smile like it's a moustache; by the paper kite that glides left to right, using the wind as guidance instead of an obstacle; by the ant that crosses the road despite an upcoming vehicle fast approaching, maybe because they say what you don't know can't kill you! If you die by it anyway, what is dead may never die?

Sometimes, I ask myself, can't we just live? Can't I just stay alive and be satisfied? Does one really have to follow the norm? I ask what life has to offer in the long run, if not death?

I think about different things. Things like if my mom ever has thoughts about me? How fragile or strong they might be? Does she ever go on to ask herself questions about her son that she so adores? Questions like, is he a womaniser like the new neighbour? Does he smoke like the lad in the next compound? Is he an alcoholic like one dark guy she condemned the other day? Or is she just quick to pass judgement on people whose secrets are in the light, while at the same time pampering the part of her brain that tries to intervene and throw a little light into my beehive?

Well, I can say I'm not exactly all that but that isn't the point now. I remember when I was younger, I used to not smoke because dad did, but growing up and seeing the world for myself, I think I understand him. Also, seeing all the pressures I've had fall on every side of my not so little self, I really don't blame him. So for now, I don't smoke because I don't smoke.

There's a lot to this body, and sometimes thoughts about it scares me. I prick my ego bubbles whenever it hits me that the very next minute isn't guaranteed. Then again, sometime I want to ask.. Since we all get the same number of lives; one, why do some people have to suffer more? Also, why are we so really afraid to lose it? Does life cherish you as much as you cherish it? Would it save you from a slit at death's claws if it had the chance?

It's okay to be prone to self centered gains, finger pointing and maybe ass licking. It's the human nature to do all that. The average human is plebeian, constantly plagued by questions like "what would people say? What would they think of me?". But come to think of it, atheist, lesbians, gays, Christians, Moslems, unbelievers, and the likes, We all die!
Do you die better because you hold in your heart a belief, one that you're probably never going to be sure of its authenticity asides the singular truth that you met it on earth? Do you live better, because you do not live like your neighbour or because you live for you?

To understand how people feel about certain things, I picture myself in it. It's like making replications, or rather, creating alternate realities of it. For example, I picture chaos, and every time, I try to see myself in it, like, how would I feel if a machete slashed through my shoulder? I picture failures of others with myself in it, like, how would I feel if I lost all my money in a shipwreck? I try to break on behalf of people, just to muster the amount of zeal needed to be there when shit hits the van, but even then, I feel so alone.

There's just so much about life, but very little time for you. Why don't you make the most of it in living one for another, in thoughts and in being, instead of following the seemingly normal human nature?
There's more to this life than the mere feeling that you're comfortable because tragedy eludes you. And it does only for the time being, you see.

I was talking the other day to a friend and a comment from him put me off. "all those bombs no dey reach this side, na themselves them dey kill"

Really? You're okay with others dying, because it's not you? You enjoy life this much, but you don't want others living it? You, my dear, are the biggest level of chaos and natural disaster ever created.

Our eyes need to see that there's nothing to hold on to in a life that fades through like smoke in the atmosphere. Like grains of sand slipping through fingers.

No one lives better. It's all a mirage. Dust to dust... I could go on and on, but really, what do I know?