I’ll miss walking around downtown at 2 in the morning and not feeling the least bit threatened.
I’ll miss going to concerts and hanging out with rockstars thereafter. (Okay, that only happened the one time, but damn was it fun!)
I’ll miss advanced movie screenings of small-budget movies that will likely never get a huge theatrical release.
I’ll miss New York
I’ll miss my winter coat, hats and scarves, even though I never thought those words would escape my lips. I’ll miss how snow makes everything beautiful.
Good God, how I’ll miss my friends.
I’ll miss hopping on the train and arriving where I need to be twenty minutes later.
I’ll miss steady, constant, fast Internet, not to mention steady and constant electricity.
I’ll miss Friday Night Lights, The Office and 30 Rock.
I’ll miss my siblings.
I’ll miss my independence.
I’ll miss Macy’s, and shopping in general.
I’ll miss not being able to wear that sexy-ass trench coat I bought two months ago in anticipation of the fall.
I will NOT miss not having a job, not having any money, being depressed all the time, not having a dog, being plan-less and purposeless., being a guest in what feels like home.
So I suppose there’s always trade-offs.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Homeward Bound -- Simon and Garfunkel
I made the decision to return to Nigeria last Tuesday. I was sitting on a couch with my brother-in-law in Brooklyn and he asked me a simple question I couldn’t answer. “What are you doing here?” Simple as that. “What are you doing here?” You’re allowed to be uncertain about a lot of things in life but I’m fairly confident that your reason for being shouldn’t be one of them.
I’ll give you some background. America, in its infinite wisdom, decided that the most sensible basis upon which to award work visas was a lottery. And as with every other lottery I’ve ever entered into, my name was conspicuously absent from the shortlist when all was said and done. I hung around the US for a year after that hoping for – I dunno – a visa to fall out the sky or something. I worked a couple of odd jobs here and there and got by on my swiftly diminishing savings and the kindness of strangers. Finally, that afternoon on the couch, I was forced to own up to the fact that I was killing myself to stay in a country that, by all appearances, no longer wanted me. It had given me no job. It had given me no money. It had given me no joy. I was in a relationship that was well past its sell-by date. In fact, I was no longer in a relationship; I was in a relation-shit and it was time to end it.
So, it was with this understanding that I made the decision to go back home. I use this term ‘home’ loosely because we are talking about a place that I haven’t been to, or really wanted to go to in seven years. I’ve done all my growing up in Washington DC; went on my first date, went to my first concert, got my first job, bought my first home. Sure, Lagos was where I was born, but how would I fit in there as a fully-formed, incredibly opinionated woman? How would I live in a city where you have to drive everywhere when I’ve spent the last seven years living in one with a subway stop on every corner? How would I live in a city where a good day means you got two hours of constant electricity instead of one?
They say you can never go home again? Well, for my sake, let’s hope that’s not true.
I’ll give you some background. America, in its infinite wisdom, decided that the most sensible basis upon which to award work visas was a lottery. And as with every other lottery I’ve ever entered into, my name was conspicuously absent from the shortlist when all was said and done. I hung around the US for a year after that hoping for – I dunno – a visa to fall out the sky or something. I worked a couple of odd jobs here and there and got by on my swiftly diminishing savings and the kindness of strangers. Finally, that afternoon on the couch, I was forced to own up to the fact that I was killing myself to stay in a country that, by all appearances, no longer wanted me. It had given me no job. It had given me no money. It had given me no joy. I was in a relationship that was well past its sell-by date. In fact, I was no longer in a relationship; I was in a relation-shit and it was time to end it.
So, it was with this understanding that I made the decision to go back home. I use this term ‘home’ loosely because we are talking about a place that I haven’t been to, or really wanted to go to in seven years. I’ve done all my growing up in Washington DC; went on my first date, went to my first concert, got my first job, bought my first home. Sure, Lagos was where I was born, but how would I fit in there as a fully-formed, incredibly opinionated woman? How would I live in a city where you have to drive everywhere when I’ve spent the last seven years living in one with a subway stop on every corner? How would I live in a city where a good day means you got two hours of constant electricity instead of one?
They say you can never go home again? Well, for my sake, let’s hope that’s not true.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I'm About to Come Alive -- Train
I got asked to a party while I was on vacay in NY. It was a house-party at an artsy Williamsburg spot, with a plethora of funky artsy types -- buyers for Barneys, designers for DKNY, collectors of Calvin, actors, drummers -- the kind of people I wanna be when I grow up. Or at least, be friends with. It was the standard fare of house parties -- chips 'n' dip, 90's hip-hop, more bottles of alcohol than people and people getting verrry friendly all squiahed into a tiny NYC-sized apartment.
I bring this party up to discuss a funny thing that happened while I was there. I start talking to this one guy -- like, the one black guy there -- whose brother played ball at Hampton. He was cute, funny, a good dancer, a buyer for Calvin Klein and I was charming, flirty, and obviously a bit drunk. We danced and flirted and next thing I know, homeboy is all up on me trying to get some sugar! To his credit, he asked first if I wanted to kiss him, but even after declining his polite offer, he still swooped in for the steal. Okay so...
a) I was not THAT drunk
b) Despite my complexion, I am NOT a white girl (Sorry ladies, but this is your image. Don't like it? CHANGE IT!)
c) We're standing smack in the darkened middle of someone's living room
d) I do not know you from a patch of pee on a rug. I don't know you and I don't know what you're carrying around.
I thought all these reasons were reason enough to not exchange any manner of bodily fluid with this chap. But apparently not. When I recounted this story to a close friend of mine, I was greeted with disappointment and moreover, an admonishment that I, in fact, should have kissed him as I -- and i quote -- "do not want to risk becoming dull". Implication being, of course, that I was halfway there already.
Hmmm. So in order to avoid being considered 'dull', i need to engage in behavior that I think is stupid, irresponsible and gross. If this is the pressure I'm being put under as a fully-grown woman, I can only imagine what 16 year-olds go through. ("You haven't slept with him yet??? Ugh, you're so incredibly dull?") Moreover, I've heard how this particular friend has talked about a friend who habitually made out with random guys in clubs and it was not complimentary. MOREOVER, this person would never make out in a random club with a random guy. Why do I deserve less? I've been selective up until this point, but this doesn't make me wise, it makes me dull. I deserve to be the 25 year old, acting like a frisky high-school kid. I know this is an extremely chick thing to say, but I will anyway -- I was unbelievably hurt by it. Hurt and disappointed. Ugh -- goddamn feelings.
I'll get over it.
What I'm Listening to Now: "Down in the River" -- Allison Krauss. My favorite from the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack. Beautiful harmonies on the updated Negro Spiritual. Kinda haunting but gorgeous.
I bring this party up to discuss a funny thing that happened while I was there. I start talking to this one guy -- like, the one black guy there -- whose brother played ball at Hampton. He was cute, funny, a good dancer, a buyer for Calvin Klein and I was charming, flirty, and obviously a bit drunk. We danced and flirted and next thing I know, homeboy is all up on me trying to get some sugar! To his credit, he asked first if I wanted to kiss him, but even after declining his polite offer, he still swooped in for the steal. Okay so...
a) I was not THAT drunk
b) Despite my complexion, I am NOT a white girl (Sorry ladies, but this is your image. Don't like it? CHANGE IT!)
c) We're standing smack in the darkened middle of someone's living room
d) I do not know you from a patch of pee on a rug. I don't know you and I don't know what you're carrying around.
I thought all these reasons were reason enough to not exchange any manner of bodily fluid with this chap. But apparently not. When I recounted this story to a close friend of mine, I was greeted with disappointment and moreover, an admonishment that I, in fact, should have kissed him as I -- and i quote -- "do not want to risk becoming dull". Implication being, of course, that I was halfway there already.
Hmmm. So in order to avoid being considered 'dull', i need to engage in behavior that I think is stupid, irresponsible and gross. If this is the pressure I'm being put under as a fully-grown woman, I can only imagine what 16 year-olds go through. ("You haven't slept with him yet??? Ugh, you're so incredibly dull?") Moreover, I've heard how this particular friend has talked about a friend who habitually made out with random guys in clubs and it was not complimentary. MOREOVER, this person would never make out in a random club with a random guy. Why do I deserve less? I've been selective up until this point, but this doesn't make me wise, it makes me dull. I deserve to be the 25 year old, acting like a frisky high-school kid. I know this is an extremely chick thing to say, but I will anyway -- I was unbelievably hurt by it. Hurt and disappointed. Ugh -- goddamn feelings.
I'll get over it.
What I'm Listening to Now: "Down in the River" -- Allison Krauss. My favorite from the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack. Beautiful harmonies on the updated Negro Spiritual. Kinda haunting but gorgeous.
Blogger's Block
So I stole this litttle piece from a blog that I read regularly because it completely explains my attitude toward blogging of late. I think I read it once a while ago, before I started this blog, and it went right over my head. They say perspective is everything.
As Anne Lamott observed, the best cure for writer's block is a shitty first draft. Convince yourself you don't have to write something good - just that you have to write something - and it becomes far easier to get words flowing.
Which makes sense in the world of novels, where authors iterate months or years between first draft and final product. But not in blogs, where the first draft usually is the final product.
That puts the pressure back on a blogger with writer's block. And as the length of time from one post to the next mounts, the pressure worsens. Drop posting frequency from near-daily to at-best-monthly (as I have of late), and each entry need be Pulitzer-worthy to justify itself.
Yet experience dictates that I blog best as habit - post regularly, day in and day out, and, intermittently, excellence emerges.
So, for the balance of this year, it's consistency over quality. In other words, I'll be doing my best to accept shitty first drafts. And I hope you will, too.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
A Beautiful Mess (Jason Mraz)
My best friend is getting married. There's no way in the world I could be happier for her, but I am also a single girl of 24 with a currently bleak romantic landscape. There's no way this does not back up on me.
I could say that I haven't done the side-by-side comparison in my head, but I would be lying like a dog on crack. In one corner stands BFF: engaged to a great guy, happy, planning huge, fun, sure-to-be-gorgeous wedding. In the other corner lies moi: single (and NOT loving it), prospect-less and assisting in planning huge, fun, sure-to-be-gorgeous wedding. Yes, I am aware of the perils of this sort of comparison, but I do believe that it is useful for gaining a little perspective.
What have I been doing the last 24 years of my life? How is it that I have nothing in the romance department to show for them? No war wounds. No heartbreaks. No wildly inappropriate couplings. No great loves. Have I just been remarkably busy? Have I just not been paying attention? Have I been so incredibly closed off and scared that no one even stood a chance of getting close? Where did that come from? And, seriously, how in the hell do i get over it? Or (the option that i'm sure every single gal has contemplated and dismissed with a swiftness at least once) am I just not smart, attractive, interesting, funny enough to have attracted anyone worth 'settling down' with, if only for a while? Do I not deserve to be loved?
Questions are no fun when you have no answers.
Don't misunderstand. I don't want to be married tomorrow. I just don't want to wake up 40 and realize that not only am I not married and do I not have any children, I also squandered the prime years of my life by not living them to their fullest, in every capacity I could. I understand that the notion of being spouseless and childless at 40 hardly seems like a disaster scenario to some -- there's a lot more to life than that. There's career and travel and books and art. I am most certainly not one of those people.
If I ain't married at 40, I'm running away from life and joining the circus. That's where all the freaks belong anyway! The countdown begins!!!! Drastic changes are afoot.
What I'm Listening to Now: I'm listening to my "The Weepies" radio station on Pandora. They've been spoiling me rotten over there with great stuff from Josh Radin, Ben Harper, Iron & Wine, Indigo Girls, Sufjan Stevens, some Tracy Chapman and a whole lot more people i'd never heard of but who I positively adore. Napster Shmapster!!!
I could say that I haven't done the side-by-side comparison in my head, but I would be lying like a dog on crack. In one corner stands BFF: engaged to a great guy, happy, planning huge, fun, sure-to-be-gorgeous wedding. In the other corner lies moi: single (and NOT loving it), prospect-less and assisting in planning huge, fun, sure-to-be-gorgeous wedding. Yes, I am aware of the perils of this sort of comparison, but I do believe that it is useful for gaining a little perspective.
What have I been doing the last 24 years of my life? How is it that I have nothing in the romance department to show for them? No war wounds. No heartbreaks. No wildly inappropriate couplings. No great loves. Have I just been remarkably busy? Have I just not been paying attention? Have I been so incredibly closed off and scared that no one even stood a chance of getting close? Where did that come from? And, seriously, how in the hell do i get over it? Or (the option that i'm sure every single gal has contemplated and dismissed with a swiftness at least once) am I just not smart, attractive, interesting, funny enough to have attracted anyone worth 'settling down' with, if only for a while? Do I not deserve to be loved?
Questions are no fun when you have no answers.
Don't misunderstand. I don't want to be married tomorrow. I just don't want to wake up 40 and realize that not only am I not married and do I not have any children, I also squandered the prime years of my life by not living them to their fullest, in every capacity I could. I understand that the notion of being spouseless and childless at 40 hardly seems like a disaster scenario to some -- there's a lot more to life than that. There's career and travel and books and art. I am most certainly not one of those people.
If I ain't married at 40, I'm running away from life and joining the circus. That's where all the freaks belong anyway! The countdown begins!!!! Drastic changes are afoot.
What I'm Listening to Now: I'm listening to my "The Weepies" radio station on Pandora. They've been spoiling me rotten over there with great stuff from Josh Radin, Ben Harper, Iron & Wine, Indigo Girls, Sufjan Stevens, some Tracy Chapman and a whole lot more people i'd never heard of but who I positively adore. Napster Shmapster!!!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Someone Else's Life (Joshua Radin)
So it's going to take entirely too long to catch you up on what's happened in between now and when i dropped off the surface of the earth, so you'll get highlights. Fair enough?
- I took the part of the dreaded CPA exam that i *did not pass* (read: that i FAILED!) over at the end of January. I await results. There's two parts hanging in the balance here, so I implore you to pray to whatever you believe in for a 75. It would literally make my life.
- Mummy came up for the inauguration of President Barack Obama. (Oh, by the way, how FREAKING AWESOME was that?!). Her trip was more fun than not, so we give glory for the small mercies.
- I'm still unemployed. It's been more months than I care to count. I've been able to keep myself busy and distracted with studying and taking trips to NY willy-nilly and whatnot. But now, that's pretty much all behind me so I am left to stare into the deep, dark, bleak expanse that lays in front of me. I need a hobby that pays me $70K immediately. This recession busy is not even slightly amusing. I'm amazed Stewart and Colbert are able to keep their jobs -- masters of their craft, clearly.
- To keep from killing myself, I caved and bought a ticket for a trip to New Orleans with 6 high school buddies. Money is an issue at the moment (see bullet point above) so let's hope this doesn't turn out to be a complete fiscal disaster.
- I'm totally twittering now!!!! I don't see it lasting that long, but i suppose we'll just see. It might just end up like that Facebook thing -- does anyone really use that??
Hasta luego.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Everyday -- Rogue Wave
And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming....
First of all, can I just say -- HOLY SHIT! YES WE FRIGGING CAN!!!! A beautiful reminder that democracy does and can work. The people spoke and their voice was loud and clear. Amen to hope and Amen to change. And Amen to having gravitas back in the Oval Office.
Second of all, HI! How are you? I do hope you've been great. It's been a long time, ey? All I can say is A LOT's happened since we last spoke -- some of it good, a lot of it very, very challenging. Between all of these ups and downs (which I'll be expanding on in the coming days), it's been a bit difficult to find energy or inspiration to blog, but I figure the only way to change that is to start blogging, so here I am.
I've updated the playlist too, and more additions'll be made to that in the next few days also. You know that even the roughest of life's vicissitudes could not deter my continual search for great music. Ooooh, and I went to see Amos Lee two days ago @ the 930 Club in DC. Can I have one of his babies, please?? Pretty please??! A brrrriillliant show -- wish you coulda been there. For the fans, he KILLED Black River, Night Train, Won't Let Me Go and What's Been Going On. I could have hooked you up with some nice audio but for the nazi stage manager keeping watch. Next time...
Right, I'm rambling cos it's almost 5 in the morning and this homegirl needs sleep. But I wanted you to know that I'm not dead and I'm not in Nigeria (what's the difference?) and I shall be bringing you more tales and not-even-remotely-profound insights from my misadventures in short order. Stay tuned...
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