Skip to main content

What Do You Want

What do you want?

I want to know Christ, glow his light and climb new heights, I want to have the kind of life Nigerians envy. I want to be rich and famous, be my own boss-Nigeria’s MVP. At the same time I want to remain humble, sure you know pride goes right before the tumble. That’s the life I seek, I want to be meek, in face of daunting trials, raging fires and sinful desires. This life, life is so unreal, we can’t live from the way we feel, situations are just illusory phases, even daisies eventually fade. Eternity is reality, where our eyes should be, heaven is where I know I would be.


Times are really hard, it’s hard to keep up with the latest fads, wanting to look cool, and hold my sanity on the other hand, and funny how all these just amount to vanity. I want to come out of my shell, let the world read me-be the book off the shelf. Engrossed in these thoughts, Lamah calls and tells me he’s lost his mama. My heart goes out to my good friend; I believe it will be all good in the end.


I want to love my friends and family, and make them always proud of me. I want God to smile when he thinks of me, and since he thinks of me constantly I want him to smile constantly. So being rich and famous can wait, I’ll be rich and famous eventually, here on earth or thereafter. Sometimes I wonder what’s the fuss is about. The world is rounding up eventually anyways.


Therefore I got to rise, rise to the occasion, with or without the ovation. I have to rise above the lust, the rust, rise above the earth crust and levitate and then celebrate –Celebrate life and celebrate love and elevate till am perched on cloud nine and like with this sentence with so many conjunctions despite life’s complicating junctions I hope you never get lost.


I have a feeling you may be lost trailing my train of unstable chaotic thoughts, still I have nothing saner to put down. So if I put this on Facebook does this make me vulnerable? No. does this make me venerable? I don’t know. What this means is; I have to be more, more of theme I was built for. If I add three more words does the story change? I guess not.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Tale of Roasted Maize and Sour Olives

The tale recounted is based on true events Some weeks back, on Nigeria’s Independence Day to be precise, I planned to spend the whole day indoors. That I did, I spent the day watching movies and lazying in bed. It turned out to be a quiet day all through, nothing spectacular until I received a call. An Uncle* of mine who lived in the same compound with us called me on phone and said I should meet him on his side of the house. It was about 4 pm so I trudged to his apartment, expecting to be sent on an errand. When I got there, he simply gave me a cob of roasted Maize and some Olives and that was that. It was very funny, almost awkward. I carried this funny look on my face that made his wife laugh at the situation. He just encouraged me to give it a try. I took huge bite off the cob, shaving off a large swathe of roasted Maize seeds from the cob, and then went for the Olives which turned out to be sour. Dang! The sensation is beyond description, especially when the Olive...

Nigerian banks: So much hype, so little groundwork.

This events chronicled herein truly occurred as the world spun past this morning. Today I took it upon myself to pay up all individuals and groups I was indebted to. This involved visiting three big time Nigerian banks. These transactions which could have simply been carried out with my PC, had to be done the old school way because online transactions are not common (no one I know has ever used the system), hence it could n''t be trusted. Aside the long queues and the ages it took to get served, these banks are are quite in contrast with what you'd see in the slick adverts on CNN or NTA (Nigerian Banks do ads on CNN). The staff are not that friendly, and you can waste a lot of productive time just waiting for your turn ( I kill time watching TV whenever I visit a bank) In one of the Banks I visited, (this bank boasts of ''Pan- African ess'' ) the bulk room where I went to pay in money was desecrated with graffiti on the side boards. Yes! Graffiti, scr...

Who did it?

Madam Shola had always been a very friendly woman ever since I knew her - which was like all my life. One of my funniest memories of her was when her humour made its finest appearance. It was a surprisingly rainy Sunday morning some Decembers ago, and we had just closed from church. My wife and I were dashing to the car hand in hand as it drizzled. "Mr and Mrs Lovebird", madam Shola called. I recognized her voice and stopped to say hello to her. "Good morning ma" "Sam, look at you! You're glowing" she exclaimed, turning to my wife she added "Mercy, you're doing a great job, I give you an A". She said using her right forefinger to make a swoosh in the air. We all laughed. First of all, my name is not Sam neither is it Samuel. Madam Shola had never called me by my name. Never. I'd gotten tired of correcting her and never bothered anymore. Sighting mercy's protruding belly she opened her mouth in mock surprise. "I see wh...