Kunle said it was better than cigarettes, at least healthier as he used me to revise what he learnt in medical school. I wasn’t sure I cared. I just wanted an escape. I wanted to feel happy again, or at least not feel this heavy or sad. Anything but this honestly. Amidst all the quasi-medical lectures, he taught me how to roll a good blunt but what I created was very very short of that. I wasn’t sure I cared. I dipped my hand into the bedside cupboard without looking, carelessly stumbling through things for my lighter. Success, I lit it. I knew all I needed was three calculated deep inspirations of this to go off. I wanted to die, seemed like a good way to go, floating away, pun intended. I placed my headphones in place with all the good music lined up for the end. This was it. I pressed play.
I took the first. Gazing at the distant city lights as I slowly exhaled what seemed like empty smoke holding hostage its main content in my lungs. I thought of all the fights I had been in. Subconsciously running through my skin for the scars as some sort of memory stimulator. Painful, yet soothing like reaching for and picking at a scab. I reached my heart, it was a battleground as expected. The fights, the words that pierced deep and caused the damage. All of it coming back. I bled again. I want out.
I took the second. I thought of all the times I hurt people with my words and actions. I wasn’t a saint after all, who would’ve guessed. And yet I had people in my corner once upon a time. Till I fell off, they fell off, not sure anymore. The words washed over me like a wave. I was drowning in all of it. The words, the thoughts, the moments. It was all too much. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted it all to end well. Why wasn’t life fair? Why did it have to come to this? Why didn’t they stay? Why was I born? Why this country? A lot of “Whys”. Anger, fear, frustration and some twisted euphoria played dancing chairs in my heart. I was going through the motions in all it’s intensity. I want out!
I took the third. Eyes closed. This one hit hard. This was it. I was floating away. Finally, peace. “Don’t you worry about me, don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll be just fine, you wait and see”, were the last words from the song still playing as I sailed off. Or sank, it was all going. It was empty now. Do I really know what I want anymore? Do I care?
……
The sun shone, directly at my face as the street’s fowl went off like a well timed nuisance of an alarm. I stumbled to my feet. Rubbing my temples, then my eyes. Looking like what I’ve been going through, I lay what was left of the blunt in the cupboard, placed the headphones on top of it. Took a long good stretch to open all the joints locked up in my body. I felt empty, definitely better than the heaviness I carried last night. Realization slowly dawns on me, it’s Monday and I was still working class, single, broke and hungry for some 9th mile Okpa. Why the specificity for the Okpa? Why Okpa? Who knows?
But in summary….
Shit.
Wind sailor- Obongjayar. It’s a great song to meditate with.
Okpa- a snack from the south-eastern part of Nigeria.
