And you feel too much

I decided to try writing on impulse today. No deep analyzing thoughts. Just type. I looked to Daily Prompt. It said:

Daily Prompt: Can’t Drive 55 

Take the third line of the last song you heard, make it your post title, and write for a maximum of 15 minutes. GO!


That song’s been on repeat all day. Here it goes!

Many times, I feel like I have scars. Scars from different experiences. But don’t we all, I mean, every bad experience we have leaves us with its own unique scar.

There’s like five scars on my left arm. The most prominent one lies midway between my wrist and my elbow. I got it when I was 8. Our dogs had to be given some injection like that. Either ’cause they were sick or ’cause they wanted to ensure they didn’t give anyone rabies. I’m not sure. I never tried to find out. All I was certain of was the injection made them cranky and they had no appetite for food.

I got back from school eating speedy biscuit. When I got into the compound, all four of them barked – most likely their little way of acknowledging my arrival. Billy came close. I reached out, he snarled at me. I walked away. I was close to the door when he came back. I felt he had a rethink, so I put my hand out to scratch his head and in a split second, there was a snarl, a scream and blood oozing out of my arm.

He turned and walked away. Was he remorseful? I never found out. Had to get to the hospital before I joined them in the barking kingdom. Did I feel betrayed? Hell yes!

I still feel the pain. As with all the other scars I’ve gotten over the years.

Some scars fade away with time. Others are internal, they never quite heal. We just try to smooth it over to make the hurt go away.

But pain is pain. It never really goes away. Or maybe we just feel too much.

Time’s up!



Things that can make me happy when I’m in my all-time low:

A stranger reaching out
Sitting out and talking about life
A romantic movie (kinda gives me false hope)
A good book
Arranging my closet
Little kids strolling by without a care in the world
Cake/Puffpuff and Ice-cream/Froyo
The way my dad feigns ignoring me just to get me back
Trying out new clothes
Running till I’m breathless
Art in all its many forms
Singing in the shower
The way my sister gets angry when I’m sad
Having the house to myself
Performing a duet – alone – to no audience
A passing whiff of good perfume
Smiling at a begger
Playing on a swing in a park
Cigarette smoke in an air-conditioned room
Taking pictures of silhouettes on a sunny afternoon
Holding a baby
Fantasizing about the not-so-distant future
Knowing all my many dreams would come true

Things that can’t make me happy:

She’s all I gat

The fondest memories I have of her are our early days. We’d go for summer holidays at our cousin’s. It was always the best part of our year. A house full of at least 12 kids with ages in a geometric sequence with a common ratio not less than 3.  We had crazy times then. At noon, when the power’s out and there’s little to do, we’d all gather in the living room. The chairs were arranged in a semi-circle. They’d put me in the middle and start to chant “Konko Konko Konko… ” with arms stretched out and bribes rolling out.

It was a game and we loved it. The rules of the game were simple. Run into the arms of the one you love the most. It was always the younger ones in the pack. I was the youngest and cutest. I was the centerpiece almost always and even then, making decisions were really tough. I’d hear “Konko, I’ll buy you Ice-cream” “Konko, wafers!” “Konko, I’m your only sister” That was her voice. *shrugs* She’s all I gat.

Growing up together was cruel. I always said I’d give anything to have an extra sibling. Our holidays just never seemed to align. I’d seat on the floor in her room and lay out the Monopoly board. I’d take out tokens for both of us and give us our allocated sums. They I’d set out to play the game alone. I’d say “Bisi play”  and then mimick her voice with a reply then play for her. Very creepy something. But I had and still have very little choices. She’s all I gat.

Somewhere along the line, I loathed her. Not ’cause I wanted to, but ’cause her life became a benchmark for mine. I never ever seemed to meet up and she never seemed to go off course so I could at least have a breather. It just always felt deliberate to me. Like she had it all figured out from time “I’ll be the maven, she’d be the unable apprentice” Those were dark times.  The good thing about time is it passes and important things today aren’t as important tomorrow. What’s that quote about connecting the dots from behind? Looking back, it made me better.

My sister’s taught me too many things. The most being the ability to faff and eat all sort’o junk love. There’s this great feeling knowing that come what may, there’s someone who’s been with you from the start, seen you in all your element and would still love you for you. That’s her. She’s all I gat.

Happy Birthday Bisi. I’m all you’ve gat too. Deal with it 😛