You smell like all the things my mother said.
When I first arrived in Nsukka in 2019, I was so unprepared for it. I was in a terrible place emotionally and psychologically. I would often complain to you about the cold here since it was my first time.
I remember wanting to shave off all my hair. There's something about the human state of mind and hair, always wanting to express how we feel inwardly through our hairstyle. But that's beside the point.
I remember chatting with you (we were still talking then), and you asked me not to cut off all my hair. Somehow, you talked me through that phase. Days later, we fell apart as usual.
Today, as I'm having my haircut, watching my hair fall piece by piece like worn out leaves, I remember bits of our conversation back then.
You would think that as you get older, it becomes easier to let go. But that's a lie. It's also wishful thinking to assume that the length of days will give you an iron heart but even Iron Man died in Avengers (Endgame).
I was learning to let go when you knew me. In fact, the first day we met, you caught me digging a hole the size of my past.
You asked why I had so much dirt in my hands. I said I had gotten used to burying things, and my hands were always soiled. But that day, I offered you more than a handshake. I offered you an epitaph: "Here lies a boy who has just fallen beyond six feet for you."
You see, I have learned to find home in everything. I taste the sweetness of my mother's jollof in our conversations. I hum the tune to my father's favorite song on cold evenings. And I tell you my sister's jokes like they were mine.
It's working, cause some days I realize that you smell like all the things my mother said.
Yours,Barnabas Ekpima...✍🏼
Comments
Post a Comment