My Writing Journey
Writing for me has been sort of emotional. I say this in response to the question of how I learned to write. Often time, I wonder if I communicated anything by saying that because it often leaves the audience perturbed, or do I say amused. And that scared me. But in all truth, that was it.
Writing wasn’t a conscious activity prior to having a brand vision. I simply used writing to help myself; I write when I’m perturbed, I write when I’m overwhelmed, I write to resolve ambiguities and I write to express myself. I was happy to say that “I write for myself” because as long as I would write, I could go through anything – more like a life hack.
Now going through life phases, I got webbed in the cram of school activities, I almost zoned out of writing completely. Then I began to reason with the intricacies of being an Optometry student; it required a good deal of concentration and writing was sort of distractive for me. It seemed like two different worlds; In Optometry, there’s the board and the teacher and the patients and it’s human life – I could almost my hear my lecturer scream “Focus!”… whereas, in the world of writing, there were no bounds or limits – it’s anywhere you want to go in one spot.
Considering the opportunity I was given to go to school, I didn’t want to fail out of Optometry. The expectations were high and my tuition fees were being catered for. So I was willing to make the compromise to let go for a while and truly I did. I stopped for a while and tried to give my full attention to my courses. As God would smile on me, I met and made friends with a guy who began to nudge me to write. He kept saying I could do more than I was settling for.
Well, I agreed with him mentally but was unwilling to take the risk. “I had come too far to start playing”, I thought. So I kept on with my routines until one faithful day;
I finished from the clinic late as my supervisor delayed in coming to clerk my work. Consequently, I was late for the afternoon lecture. Howbeit, the lecturer for that course is one who does not permit lateness on any account. Well, I hoped he would tender being that it was the fault of his colleague and besides, I wasn’t the only one – every one of my course mates assigned the same supervisor were late.
However, to our dismay, we were denied access to the lecture and all plea fell on deaf ears. Resigning to fate, some of my coursemates resorted to stand outside and receive the lecture from the window. But in one split second, it felt like my life flashed before my eyes; here I was staking my life for a course I wasn’t half interested in, yet, it was not enough – it was never going to be. I wasn’t about to stand by the window for the next four hours – I was just going to do something else that gave me joy; I was going to express myself the best way I knew to.
So I left for the library, got the most comfortable chair in the most serene space, and got lost in the art, gushing away every passing thought. In the end, I had written this piece, ” Ideals And Compromise”. It wasn’t for me what it meant or whether it made sense. It was just FREEDOM.
IDEALS AND COMPROMISE
Then I looked and I saw
Now I look and I see
But what I see is not what was seen
when I first looked and saw
I did see then straight lines so defined
with edges so sharp, it could pierce
but the lines appear faint now
and the edges no longer meet.
What’s happening to my eyes?
Why is my sight now vague?
But I am trained to look into the eyes,
And I’ve observed my oculars
they’re in good health as I’ve been taught to judge
So what could it be?
Do I need a neurologist?
Do I need a psychiatrist?
Can anyone put it to me
why I saw lines @ 20
that breaks @ 21
and clearly fades @ 22
My head feels tight and tired,
from the demons of confusion that run within.
Could I have been hallucinating to have seen lines?
Was I hypnotized into believing they were there?
But I did see lines after listening to my instructor say,
“Do not allow a boy touch you or you’d get pregnant and that’d be your end!”
And I also saw them after moral lessons were drawn at the end of each story read to me
But with each painful birth of my years
and the passing on of the former
I look to see what I have once seen
and I see those lines not clear anymore.
Perhaps there are no lines and structures to life,
perhaps there are no edges or definition of its course
perhaps moral lessons are as pertains to each man’s fate,
Then may we know to learn from them,
but not chart our lives after their course
for each man’s course is virgin, made as his life unfolds,
a compromise one may say, as he bargains with his maker
for his wishes against The Will…
To see more of these musings, visit Lifestyle