Always and Forever


This is the longest non-academic story I’ve written. Bear with me.

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We used to laugh…

September 2008

The leaves have started their slow descent that will usher in the winter; cold and white. I’ve never liked winter, in fact, I thoroughly despise it. You know that. But you, you seem to carry summer everywhere with you; never letting anything chill your warm spirits. It’s why I was attracted to you in the first place. The way you laughed; long and hard and so carefree like no one was watching. I used to get so embarrassed. Everyone would stare at us, and you didn’t care. You’d be rolling all over the floor, tears in your eyes, just cause you heard a good joke. In a way, I was probably jealous, because I was too self-conscious to ever laugh like that. I mean, what would the people think? It’s taken me so long but I finally get it. Why you’d say to me with that solemn look in your grey eyes, “Carpe diem, amor mei.” I want to seize the day now, baby. And I need you here to seize it with me. Just try. You always told me I could do anything as long as I tried. Well, now I need you to try. You have to try, OK? Just try.

March 2005

“… glad that we caught it early. With extensive radiation and chemotherapy, I’m sure that we can get all of it.” The doctor pauses when he sees the look on both our faces. “Listen, try and be positive. There is some new pioneering research now. We’ll do everything we can.” His words mean nothing to me. I am rocked to my core. Last week, my biggest problem was how Brad was leaving Jennifer for that Jolie woman. And now, cancer? You take my hand and squeeze tight. “Hey, I’m gonna be fine. You heard what he said. They’ll treat it and I’ll get better.” You look so sure and so strong, and you have a smile on your face. But I know you. I can see the worry and the fear in your eyes and that’s what frightens me the most. You, who is fazed by nothing. Oh God. I just lost a child. I can’t lose him too!

May 2006

It’s your birthday. We’ve decided to throw a really big party. All our friends, the neighbors, family that we haven’t seen for ages: they’re all here. Your mum doesn’t even look like she’s aged a day since we last saw her at Christmas. That’s where you get your great genes from, I always tell you. I hear you laughing in the kitchen and look up to see you playing a game of darts with some of the men and losing spectacularly. Your aim is still as crappy as the first day I met you and you spilled coffee on my crisp white shirt. What a cliché way to meet your future husband. I can’t remember how many times I’ve made you pay for that particular incident. You were so flustered, so apologetic, it was hard to stay mad at you. Before I knew it, my frown had morphed into a big, goofy smile, and I was handing you my number. Quite the charmer you were. Still are, I correct myself. We were married in 6 months and you’d tell me, “Always and forever, baby.” Gosh, you’re so cliché. I roll my eyes as I think of it. So strong and yet so meek, so confident and yet so humble. Big Ben, they called you. And it had everything to do with your heart. I smile as I carry the big birthday cake out to the yard. You’ve lost too much weight after aggressive chemo and radiation, but it’s all worth it, because the cancer’s all gone. Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, Big Beeeeeen!!! Happy birthday to you!!! The entire yard is ringing with applause and hoots of “You’re the man, my man!” You plant a huge kiss on my lips, and I can see all the love you have for me in your eyes.

August 2005

The vase is a beautiful green and gold one that I bought on my trip to Bali. It has sat on top of the fireplace, far away from any clumsy fingers. I watch you, my mouth open in stupefied silence as you pick it up and throw it hard against the wall. It smashes into a million tiny bits and I find my voice as a bit lodges itself in my upper arm. As soon as you see the blood, you rush towards me and hold me tight. “Oh my God, babe, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” But I do. It’s those stupid drugs that they’re giving you. You’re tired and weak and you can’t keep any food down. Last night, when I saw tiny clumps of your hair in the garbage bin, I sat on the toilet seat and cried for hours. We don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. You’ve become moody and broody and not the man I married at all. As you bandage my arm, apologizing over and over, I can only look at you, tears in my eyes. Tonight, I will hold you as you huddle over the toilet and the nausea racks your already weak body. Tomorrow, I will support you while you struggle to make it to the car. But now, as I look at you, tears in my eyes, I just want you back. God, please, I just want my husband back.

April 2008

“… spread to your lungs, liver and your throat… went into remission… these things happen… combat with surgery… chemotherapy…” The words float in and out of my head. I’m finding it difficult to follow the doctor’s sentences. “I don’t understand,” I interrupt. “Didn’t you say we got it all the first time?”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain,” he says patiently, the way you would explain to a child that the tooth fairy isn’t real.

“Don’t patronize me!” I yell, jumping off my seat. “You said it was gone! Gone! It can’t come back! It can’t be back!” I’m fighting tears. You pull me gently down. “Sit down, babe. We fought it the first time. We’ll do it again.” You smile that sad smile at me, and in my despondent state, I can only believe what you say. I have nothing else to hold on to.

November 2008

The snow came early this year. It’s so beautiful I wish you could have seen it. It’s cold, so cold and the roads are so slippery. Fred from next door offered to help me salt the driveway and shovel it from time to time. The house is big and empty without you in it. I will probably see a real estate agent when I have the strength. I don’t even know if I can handle today. Everyone will come and say wonderful things about you. The priest will ask me to shovel a bit of sand on a coffin. I don’t know if I can. Damn you, Ben! I sat by your bedside for 5 full weeks, willing you to open your eyes, to wake up, smile that smile of yours and tell me, “Beat it again, baby.” But you didn’t. Instead, you let it take you. Goddamn you, Ben! Did you even stop to think about me?! Did I cross your comatose mind one bit?! I’m so tired, Ben. So so tired. I can’t stand the sympathy from others today. I need your strength. Help me, babe.

I can feel you as I walk out of the house. My brother will drive me to the funeral. They’ll put you in the ground, but you won’t be gone, baby. Not from me.

Always and forever, baby. Always and forever.

This, That, and Everything In Between…


*In Wendy Williams voice* How you doing???

OK, happy new year people. I know, I know. Ify has been MIA. I would love to say I’ve been busy with life and all that… so I’m going to say just that. Might not exactly be true, but who cares? So, I haven’t posted in so long because I’ve been busy with life. (So there! I said it. Sue me.) *Shrugs*

Anyway, it’s good to be back. It’s a new year, so I thought I’d let you guys know what to expect on here this year… Well, for starters, don’t expect more frequent posts or anything like that. I’m just putting this out there. Sorry. I can’t even promise to try. Do you know how much I hate typing? I think I need a secretary. Maybe y’all can send your resumes and applications. Soooo… that’s that for that. Yeah.

Oh, I also thought it would be nice to do video posts once in a while. Awesome, yeah? I know!!! I thought of that all by myself! (Feel free to dobale at my greatness.) So, let me know what you think yeah? Even if you say no, I’ll still do it, so you might as well say yes.

Now, let me gist you what happened to me just after I had mapped out my plans for financial greatness and increase this year. Crazy shit, I swear. So, I have what I call “Love Yourself days.” These are days I just take out to treat myself nice. You know, spa, or salon, or fancy restaurant. Seeing as I don’t have a boyfriend to do all that for me. (Oh, by the way, I am now on the market. Feel free to send naked torso pictures and a 200-word essay of why you think you’d make a good boyfriend. Entries over this word limit will be discarded.)

Ehen. So, I had this love yourself day. I decided to go to a salon and get a complete mani-pedi. Everything was going well, was enjoying the massage my feet and hands were getting. Then I had them done really nice and all. Felt good, you know? I was done and it was time to pay. It was even cheap too. Exactly $62.15.  I was going to pay with cash, but I realized I had only $50 in cash with me. I decided to give them the $50 I had with me and pay the remaining $12.15 with my debit card. I brought out my card from my wallet, inserted it, punched all the numbers, and waited with a smile on my face for the machine to say “Approved” and begin to print my receipt.

Yawa.

It read “Card Declined: Insufficient funds.” Hahahhahhahh! Mo gbe! I had a mini heart attack. First of all, why did I not have ordinary $12.15 in my account? I had paid money into this particular account a few days ago. I did not have my other bank card with me. The Chinese woman was beginning to look at me the way Jackie Chan looks at the bad guys in those his movies. Her English was limited, so I used sign language to tell her that her machine was faulty. I told her I would go to the ATM and withdraw the money and come back to pay. I left my jacket with her because the ATM was just upstairs (it was in the mall.) Anyway, after reading the ATM in English, French and Punjabi, it dawned on me that there really was no money for use in my account. Apparently, my money had been put on a 5-day hold. There was no branch of that bank in the mall, but there was one like 5 minutes away. I dashed outside in the cold wearing a flimsy sweater (It was like -15 degrees.) The stupid bank was closed. At 5 o’clock. What kind of shit bank closes by 5 pm?!?!?

I began to cry. As I cried and the tears fell from my eyes and froze on my cheeks and eyelashes, I began to wonder how many times I would sweep the floor before the Chinese people would let me go. Would they ask me to wash their toilet? Would I sweep up nail clippings? I suppressed my gag reflex. Perhaps they would ask me to file people’s nails and sweep the hair they had waxed of people’s eyebrows and bikini lines and God knows where else. I walked dejectedly back to the mall, oblivious of the cold (haha! Jokes. You cannot be oblivious of Canadian cold. You wan mud ni?)

Now, a fantastic end to this story would be that I met this mad fine brother, who would see me trying to explain to the nail people, and would come and bail a sister out. Then, we’d live happily ever after, and tell our kids the story during Thanksgiving dinner. No such luck. I got back to the store with a sad face and a stupid explanation. Well, there wasn’t much they could do. Except seize my driver’s license. I don’t have a car, so I didn’t care. I was so happy they weren’t calling the cops on me, I’d have given them my 2 front teeth if they’d asked me.

Anyway long story short, I came back the following day and paid them their stupid $12.15 and got my driver’s license back. Only $12.15. These Chinese people are gangster. They couldn’t give me amnesty or something. Seized a whole driver’s license. Awon oloshi. See as $12 wan put me for trouble. God dey.

Anyway, that’s all for now. Oh, I also thought to once in a while do some amebo posts. It’ll be hard cos I never gossip about people. But we’ll see how that goes.

OK. E go be. (I used to love saying this in high school. “E go be later.” You know. Cool shit.)

E go be.

*Joker laugh*

Expensive Gifts.


11:58 pm.

She was not in a good mood. The melancholic feeling that was her constant companion, now threatened to overwhelm her. The feeling just sat heavily in the pit of her stomach, and she suddenly wanted to vomit. She rushed into the bathroom and knelt against the toilet basin, heaving. After almost 10 minutes of dry retching, she leaned her head against the cool toilet seat. Tears tolled down her cheeks, as she stood shakily and moved to the sink, and examined her face in the mirror. Her once plump, beautiful face was now lean and gaunt, with dark, shallow circles were her eyes used to be. Her hair hung limp around her face, her skin almost as white as flour. She reached up to the medicine cabinet and opened it. There they were. The pills. He’d said they’d make her feel better. And they always did. Her slim hands closed around the little white bottle and she popped 2 little white pills into her mouth, swallowing them dry.

“One should be enough,” he’d said.

Suddenly, she felt better. Her face seemed to change before her very eyes. A smile crept up her face, lifting the corners of her mouth into the smallest smile. She remembered her gift, that she so loved to share. She giggled as she banged the medicine cabinet shut.

12:47 am.

Her well-manicured fingers circled the rim of the glass, her eyes scanning the crowd. It was a full house tonight. She downed her drink in one go, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and moved out onto the dance floor. The smell of sweat, cigarette smoke and stale perfume lingered heavy in the air. Sweaty bodies jostled for space, bumping into each other, in a drunken revelry. She moved, slowly and confidently to the middle of the floor and then stopped. And then, lifting her head slowly, letting her hair fall back, she began to move slowly in time with the music. She moved, increasing in tempo with the music, her hips gyrating as the music took over her senses. She ran her hands over her body, paying attention to her breasts and hips. Her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open, she made love to herself with the music. Before long, there was a small circle around her as everyone watched her, swaying side to side in time with the music. She opened her eyes and there he was. He was watching her over the top of his glass, his eyes running over her body ever so slowly. Yes, he was perfect.

1:27 am.

They stumbled drunkenly into the dark, cheap motel room, kissing deeply, his hand fumbling around the wall for a light switch.

“No lights,” she said, in between kisses.

She moved her hands down to his belt buckle and began to undo it very deftly. His hands worked feverishly to unbutton her blouse. They were naked very quickly. She pushed him unto the bed, the springs squeaking very loudly as he landed. She was all over him, touching, feeling, groping. He returned her passion with equal fervour, biting, squeezing, kneading. He took her breast in his mouth, his tongue flicked against her nipple. She threw her head back, moaning loudly. And suddenly, he was on top, his fingers, his mouth, working through her entire body. When his stubble grazed her vaginal lips, she thought she would die of pleasure. His tongue went in and out, stroking, pleasing her. She returned the pleasure, taking him in her mouth, his entire length, her head, moving up and down as she worked her magic. And then, they couldn’t wait any more. He entered her with one swift thrust, cutting out her scream with a heavy kiss. They moved, creating rhythm with their bodies, holding on to each other, slick with sweat. And finally, they came together in a wonderful eruption of body fluids and feelings. She was holding on to him as he spilled into her, his body rocking with the intensity of his release.

“Oh shit! I didn’t wear a condom.”

“That’s OK, I’m on the pill.”

“Oh, thank God.” As he drifted to sleep, he smiled and thought how this was the best sex he’d ever had. Ever.

2:06 am.

She packed her clothes and stealthily crept out of the room. Wearing only her jacket and shoes, she walked down the street, whistling a happy tune. The drug was still in effect. Perhaps, she could find some other lucky guy to share her gift with before the night ended. The drug would only last for so long, before her dark demons came to her again. Better to make good use of the time she had now.

Spreading AIDS isn’t easy business, she thought to herself.

Essay Writing Competition.


Hi guys!!!!! It’s been a looong minute!!!! I know, I know, you all missed me (^_^)I missed all y’all… but it’s good to be back.

I have finally finished my exams and now, I can stay up all night and watch Fringe (which I do all the time, except now, I won’t feel guilty) Did I tell you that school sucks ass? Well, it does. Sucks ass. Not with a straw, but a huge fucking giant vacuum inhaler (if there is such a thing). Warreva mehn, I’m happy to be back, you’re happy I’m back; life is good. Lerrus get to the matter.

I live in a city called Brampton, and recently a competition was opened by one of our local pop artistes, Fire King, to children in 13th grade (like me) to write an essay on why anyone should visit our nice city. The winning essay would receive a prize of the new Blackberry Starcomms Irregular. So lots of contestants entered and everyone wrote wonderful essays but guess who won? Yours truly, of course! (Who else would?) Although, it turns out that Fire King was a fraud and he used all the papers from the essay to make a giant paper plane and then, flew back to St. Vincent and the Grenadines where he is originally from. 😦 But I decided to put up my essay anyway even though I’m not winning a prize. Enjoy!

Why You Should Visit My Locality

My name is Esse. I am a 13th grader living in Brampton, Ontario. Brampton is a wonderful city. It’s the 3rd largest in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) and the 11th largest by population. I think you should visit Brampton for the following reasons:

It is beautiful and warm. The people are all nice and friendly…. And Indian. Or Black. But mostly Indian… or Black :/ So, if you like Indians (or blacks), you’ll love Brampton.

Indians are great cooks. They cook all the time. With spices. Spices that smell and never leave you for as long as you live. 🙂 I have personally never tried Indian food, but food that smells like that, better taste like it’s from heaven. My sister just bought a house. We spent two weeks airing out the cupboards and the entire house in fact. Then she had to buy like $50 worth of air fresheners, (I’m not even joking) before we could spend a night in the house.  Then, you still have to deal with this smell in the parks, on the bus. It. Just. Doesn’t. Go. Away. 😦

Brampton has very beautiful people. Especially the Indians. Oh, and the blacks too. Although, you want to be careful when sitting next to them on the bus. I noticed that the older Indian men don’t think it’s necessary to cover their mouths when sneezing, coughing or yawning. And they all have really long beards that they weave. Some of them tie the beards. It’s really cute! You’ll love it!  :/ Yeah, and they wipe their noses with their hands and then wipe their  hands on their kaftans after sneezing. Really cool fellas. 🙂 And the smell still follows.

The blacks are not less dangerous though. They talk. I happened to be on the bus beside a black lady a few days ago. She didn’t seem to think that there was anything wrong with having her phone conversation with the rest of the bus. Of course, we weren’t contributing. 🙂 Just listening. Apparently,they were discussing a third party who was unhappy in her relationship because her “man wouldn’t suck.” And the bus lady seemed to have plenny advice. (you will have to forgive me, my Patois/Creole is anything but existent) “Dahs why mi no follow no man wey cyant suck. Mi do eet feh ‘im too. Cept im a go around den i cyant cos d pussy stink. Buh mi no follow no man wey cyant suck. A lotta girls dem do eet feh deir man, so im a gats do eet fer ‘er too. Cept if ‘er pussy stink, cos u know d pussy cyan stink.” Rough translation: (well, I’m pretty sure you don’t need a rough translation, that was easy, wasn’t it?) These things only happen in the U.S. Or Brampton. 🙂

Another beautiful reason why you should come to Brampton is our transit system. Very well organized and planned to the letter T. If your bus is set to arrive at 6:39pm, be there at 6:49. You might still have to wait a bit though… 🙂 But if you get to your stop at say 6:35pm and a bus comes at 6:39pm (that is, the bus is “on time”) DON”T ENTER!!!!!!!!!!!! It is One Chance, I doubt their last bus stop is in this universe. Or the next one sef. So, early buses in Brampton? No. Don’t do it. It may be your last bus.

Downtown Brampton is wonderful. Lights, clubs, the works! It’s amazing. It’s also located on only one straight road. So, you can pretty much walk the length of “Downtown Brampton” which is more than you can say for many other cities.

Brampton is also very safe. I’ve lived here for 11 months, and I can remember clearly only 3 murder cases. Actually, 4. Nothing happens here. Safe and quiet. Any thief that comes here sef is dulling. Why waste your time on wealthy, careful Bramptonians when you can mug equally wealthy, less careful Torontonians? The choice is clear.

Did I tell you that Brampton is called the “Flower City”? Because of all the flowers. Obviously. -___-

Yeah, one more thing about Brampton. The malls. A wonderful match.com venue without the .com bit. Online dating has got nothing on Brampton malls. Absolute P is set here, I tell ya. I’m trying to think of a bad thing to say about the malls, but I can’t think of any. I guess that means… Oh, wait! Here’s one: they’re located in Brampton.

I hope I have been able to convince you and not confuse you *roll eyes here* as to why you should visit Brampton.

Thank you.

Increase the Peace.

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P.S. Fire King and his essay competition has no affiliation to a certain Nigerian artiste who will remain unnamed in this post, but whose name is Ice Prince. I know all you conspiracy theorists are already making up your theories. Have fun. |-(

P.P.S. This has been a public service announcement for the city of Brampton. Not.

P.P.P.S. What do they call people from St Vincent and the Grenadines? The winner gets a.. *dodges tomatoes*

 

 

 

 

Phobanomatophobia.


So, I was typing up this really interesting post about something that happened to me recently when I saw another thing that tore my attention – Phobias. Phobias are such an exciting and amazing topic. I don’t have any phobias, though, but there are some amazing phobias out there in the world. No disrespect to any one who suffers from a phobia. I cannot say I know what you’re going through, or that I know what it’s like to be in your situation. So, I respect you for your strength. I really do.

However, there are some really amazing phobias in the world. Did you know that there is a phobia for peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth??? It’s called Arachibutyrophobia. Please note that there is a squiggly underneath this word, meaning my WordPress dictionary doesn’t even recognize it. Anyway, arachibutyrophobia is fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. Not fear of peanut butter. I find this really strange and sad. Would you never really be able to eat a PB&J sandwich cos you don’t want PB sticking to the roof of your mouth?? This must be a difficult situation to live with. 😦

This one I find absolutely hilarious. Friggatriskaidekaphobia. The fear of Friday the 13th. This has to be a joke, right? No, it’s not. There are people walking around the world, and they are deathly scared of Friday the 13th. I’m sorry, I love Fridays. 13th, 12th or 31st. Any Friday is fine with me. Thank you very much.

Gynophobia is the fear of women. I find this a bit insulting. 😦 OK, no, not really, but still! Fear of women??? You were born of a woman, for crying out loud! And I wonder, do women suffer from gynophobia too?? Food for thought. Although, some people might not like my food for thought. Simply because it’s a thought. Yup, there is a fear of thought, too. It’s called Phronemophobia. No, I mean seriously?! Is there anything that there is no phobia for???

This is my absolute favorite. Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. It’s the fear of the number 666. Yeah. That’s what I thought too. I am afraid of the number 31. Why, tell me, is there no name for that?? Looolll!!!!! Get a load of this one –Koumpounophobia. Fear of sewing buttons. What I’m not sure of is if you can sew a tear, just not buttons. Or, I don’t know, is it the entire act of sewing that is scary?

And there is Nomophobia. Fear of being out of mobile contact. However, I’m pretty sure this phobia didn’t exist a hundred or even fifty years ago.
So, does this mean that these phobias are a result of our society?? I think so. I mean why the hell would you be scared of the number 666? Sure, the Bible says it’s the number of the serpent, but it’s still just a number. It was a number before the devil picked it. It did not become a number because of the devil. 😐
Phagophobia, the fear of swallowing, has to be one of the saddest. Imagine not being able to swallow your food. So, I guess if you can’t swallow, you don’t eat, right? But, you have to eat and drink to survive! So, how do these people survive?? 😦

Well, this is just a little food for thought, at least for people without Cibophobia or Phronemophobia. Remember in the beginning of this post when I said I didn’t have a phobia?? Well, after typing this post, I have one. It’s called Phobanomatophobia – the fear of names of phobias.

Signed,

Ifunanya.

Disclaimer: This is not supposed to offend anyone. If you suffer from any phobias, listed here or not, sorry. I hope you get better.
Rights to the name phobanomatophobia belong to ME. 🙂