How are you?

another question?

It’s been a while since I wrote — the sky is still blue, Tinubu is still my president, and I wake up early and leave my bed late.

I found more highlights since the last time I wrote, little things that make my day: skipping ropes or waking up to the scent of my diffusers, the gratitude of not being deaf yet- after sleeping with airpods, texts from my — just kidding, real niggas wake up to zero gm texts.

I will have to agree that life has grown more into a one-man show lately, apparently, that’s adulthood. I’m unsure if it’s the routine of everyday life or the comfort you find within yourself that peaks the most.

I find myself in a daydream sometimes, thinking of all the lives I could have lived, all the things I could have loved, and all the things I could have learned, and to me, they sound limitless, to me, they are but a figment of my imagination. However, I like to think I have time. Listen, I have not even peaked yet!

So… ‘how are you?’

I said I was going to write more often this year **puts on clown makeup. I recently finished school, and obviously I’m supposed to have more time to do the things I love but alas! They lied to me and I also lied to myself **puts on more clown makeup. You see, I have been doing so much more thinking lately. Writing is thinking, and thinking is exhausting work. Arranging my words and correcting grammatical errors gets so tiresome, you know. It’s why I prefer to write stuff in my diary sometimes. The only thing more popular than errors in my diary is embarrassment. Wanna know a secret? I still don’t know where the goddamn semicolons are supposed to go; but, here I am, typing at my keyboard with fingers wrapped in dried cream from yesterday’s shawarma.

I am here again, and even though it drains me sometimes, I still show up because it is the only way I know how to make sense of things. I really need to make sense of things. Also, if you are a newbie writer, do understand that writing will not always be fun. More often than not, it's draining, especially when it's become a form of responsibility. It is not always exciting, but it is liberating. Write regardless. Write when you are happy, when you are sad, when you are deep in love, when you are heartbroken. Just write.

I find the “how are you?” question infuriating sometimes because most of the times I have to say “I’m fine” to get out of that situation, even when I’m not fine. I can't blame them though, I am constantly taken aback by the amount of weight words with punctuation marks behind them carry.

How are you? I don’t know. How should I be? I don’t know. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe more. I cover everything with humour. It works. People love to laugh. I love to laugh. Everybody wins.

I am very tired on some days. At the core of my being, soul, spirit, everything else. I just want rest. I want ease. I want —

How are you? Weary. I detest feeling down. It hurts that I can't make other people happy when I'm sad. I sometimes worry that my friends—and you, dear reader—might grow weary of my frequent mood swings. I can be a downer at times. To be honest, though, being non-nagging really means remaining silent. Nothing, mute. Complete decorum.

How are you? Bewildered. Why? I don’t know how to express myself. Aren’t you a writer? Well, yes, but- my vocabulary for interpersonal conversations sticks to a familiar list: fine, great, not bad, yeah, okay, alright. The real me is in the writings. I think it’s because my audience is not physically present. Sure, people I know will read it and take out parts of them. The real person I’m writing for isn’t here.

How are you? Terrified. This year of my life isn’t going to be easy. I have to be more self-reliant in a sinking economy. Food, bills, transportation, personal projects, skincare, and the occasional promiscuity. I may drift apart with some of my friends now.

You know how I said thinking was tiring but it’s also relentless, you can’t get a break from it.

While I dream of many things — the sky being grey and clouds full of rain, of walks under sakura blossoms in early May, of days spent around water bodies. I also dream of more laughter with my friends and family, the first sip of tea when the sun rises, and the emotions that radiate in me when the first rain comes. I dream of love. I dream of many things, what could have been and what will be, but it’s mostly the present, the many gifts, and the life that’s meant for me. In another life, I would most probably dream of what I have now. In another life, it’s me and the love I have for everything I’ll be.

Tell me, dear friend. How are you?

This morning, when I woke up, I walked out of my room and onto the verandah. I let the sun's warmth caress me while I closed my eyes. I felt anchored in the here and now by the earthy smell of the surrounding forest. I did get a wave of contentment after taking in the peace and quiet of nature. I immediately knew I was a part of something bigger than myself. I walked a short distance more to the lovely grass. It extended a reassuring hug. I was surrounded by the breathtaking grandeur of the natural world as I gazed about. The joy of family. The prospect of love. The boon of friendship. The consummation from companionship. I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.

How are you? I’ll be great!

This show, must simply go on.