The Etiology of Being Lost

"Whenever You Call" by Mariah Carey

...i'll be the one to catch your fall / whenever you call...

I used to listen to this song in high school. I used to listen to many songs with a similar theme because I didn't feel I had anyone who understood so the music was the witness to hidden loneliness.

I'm an extreme extrovert and not the least bit shy. I talk to anyone about anything. I have been told that I have a charming, captivating personality, but I never describe myself as such.

Nonetheless, as an adolescent, I was angry and irritated and lonely most of my time. I fought with my parents, especially my mom, ALL the time. I can't really remember why, but I didn't like to be at home or spend time with them. I liked to hang out with my friends, which I think is natural. In Sierra Leonean terms, I was a "strit pikin", or I liked to hang out in the streets. It doesn't mean a literal street with stree lights. But the street refers to any place that is not the residence of a relative.

I was annoyed by that. I never understood why it was such a bad thing to want to hang out with my friends. Additionally, I was not close to my mother. She is not the talkative, indulging kind of mother, which is okay, I guess.

Honestly, I don't know what the hell the problem was between the ages of 13 and 18. But I know what

happened following those ages. There were particular events that dampened my soul and infected my worldview. Some of them I caused with bad decision making. Some of them...life just happened to me.

And my parents so easily set me aside. I talk about this a lot, I know, but that is the truth to me. I feel so disposed of and again, this night, I cry under the burden of my resentment.

I just don't think I deserve what happened. I think over and over and over again about how I could have handled the situation better. I know I had alternatives. However, I don't feel like I should have been tossed aside at my most vulnerable moment.

It made me feel inconsequential. I feel as though I don't matter sometimes. I am jealous at the pace at which everyone else seems to travel while I am almost totally stationary.

I want to believe that I am charming, funny, intelligent, generous, considerate, think of others first, polite, honest, etc. I want to work at perfecting those qualities. But sometimes I feel worthless, all because the people I value most in the world seem to not value me at all. And if they only knew that I am just waiting to be important to them again.

God, I want my life back.

I'm Nothing, but I'm Big

"I'ma Put it On Her" by Day 26

...she got that swagger / the way she move it like a pro...

I know that Day 26 is a manufactured music team put together by the most pompous, sambo idiot ever, but I love this song. Whatever is going on in my life, play that song and see if I don't put a pep in that step.

Dinner is being served rather late today. The Mister and I were out all day, shopping for items for the house. Moving is a complicated business.

I made a hodge podgey soup about a week ago or so that Brittany and I t-t-t-tore up. It was chicken, onions, bacon, potatoes, avocados, mushrooms, and eaten with plain Basmati rice (which Brittany's fatness can't get enough of).

I am going to make a similar hodge podge without the bacon or potatoes and with cous cous instead of Basmati rice. The Mister is making pasta too. And yes, I'm going to eat it all.

Diaper:repaiD

"First Love" by Adele

...forgive me first love / I am too tired...

I am really tired. I am not sleepy. My mind is tired of thinking. My eyes are tired of reading. My right hand is tired of writing. My left is tired of holding my papers as I write, motionless and unattended to.

My wrists are tired of typing. My legs and hips are tired of walking. My back is tired of toting around the textbook makings of a bachelors degree. My mind is tired of thinking.

And I am tired of myself. I am working really hard, diligently, around the clock. I am reading, comprehending, deducing connecting, from no light in the morning to no light at night.

I look tired too. And I'm getting sad because I'm lost; like I'm not here.

When I went home to the parentals this weekend, everything seemed so real, so normal. We laugh like nothing ever happened but returning to my not home is evidence that a lot happened. But I go, happily, eat heartily, study, and play with Lima only to return to this hell as if there is no heaven to validate its existence. And the keep sending me back. They keep dropping me off.

I don't expect to go home. I don't think I could live there anymore. There are no pictures of me where there used to be, which I think means that there isn't hope that I'll return so they'd just as soon take down the pictures so as not to be reminded of who is absent.

It hurts only because when I'm in the library for hours, alone, reading and taking notes, I have time to pause time and wonder why I am doing this. I don't know what I am doing or why I am doing it, sometimes.

This would be a good time to tell a Mom or a Dad that I feel a little overwhelmed. But I don't think I can ever trust them with my head or my heart again. Even with this light load (just a little academic melancholy), I fear that if I asked them to hold it, they would just drop me off somewhere again. Because Africans believe that there is no child that you can just throw away, except for one: me.

Special shoutout to Starbucks and 5 Hour Energy Drink for slyly stealing $30 of my money every week.