A Very Disjointed Piece

Caveat: Reading this will most likely be a waste of your time and mine.

I have spent the past couple of days arguing — about rape, homophobia, LGBTQ etc. I have argued so much that I feel I have lost the peace that holds my core together.

Today, I forced myself to take a pause for ten minutes and just stretch. I don’t know how to explain this to anyone, but when I don’t leave my room for days or when I don’t take time to reboot my psyche, my face looks bloated, fat and I look unattractive. This isn’t me trying to say condescending things about myself, it is just what it is.

I read three pieces today. Two from The Newyorker and one from medium. The first was about being black and upholding professionalism at a time like this; The second was about a monkey that steals people’s names; The third was about ghosts. I wish I could shuffle the way I read them, because I really need to spend less time staring at my ceiling as my mind races through the scenes from the last story and more time sleeping.

My internship starts tomorrow. It is everything I wanted and I am forcing myself to be at peace before tomorrow comes. I don’t regret the arguments I’ve had this week, but I regret losing my peace because of them. I regret that I forgot to love myself enough to remove myself from those conversations with parties energized by hate or desire to learn or see reason.

Between 2013 and 2014, I had my most peaceful years. I felt peace in the core of my being. I knew the boundaries of my mind. I spent an hour, almost every day in those years meditating. It helped me block out the world and spend time with just me. I remember this every time I struggle with 24hrs in a day. I remember that if I can just stop and explore the boundaries of my mind, I can have a more productive day and a more attractive face.

Something tells me 25 will be a peaceful year. I feel it in the person I have grown to become. This person who recognizes that she has screamed so loud about the things that matter to her, and that her strength is depleted. This person who knows when to stop for ten minutes and recuperate.

I know that I am different from the rest. No one else sat cross-legged 12-hrs before their internship to read stories or write a disjointed piece on medium. No one else took ten minutes to stretch, meditate and find inner peace.

Some days we are certain of what our journey in life entails. We take long strides, heads held high as we match towards this mission. Other days, we are like leaves hanging lazily on branches in the harmattan. We are barely waiting for the breeze that is strong enough to separate us from the life we are used to — our ability to move fast or experience more scenes depends on how strong the wind blows and what direction it blows in. But whatever side of fate we wake up on, we are sure that we will gather experiences. It doesn’t matter where our strength comes from or what propels us.



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ebelechukwu monye

ebelechukwu monye

Oliver De Coque’s Identity is a song about me | Visual storyteller and talker @mygradschoolbud | I write for younger Ebele and everyone like her.