Something With Meaning

I have heard people say that the essence of our lives is to be remembered. That in our conversations, our periods of brief contact with others; we should make an impact. But does it even count if after a hundred years no one remembers you? I do hope someone remembers me after a hundred years. What happens if I die and no one remembers me? Then, was my life a waste? Was it useless? They say that our lives are not about ourselves but about our service to others. But I know that deep down, we are all selfish beings. Only looking out for ourselves, seeing every other person as our opposition.

 Oh, the matter of love and romance and longing. In my heart, I feel a tumbling. It is from that love that I can never let go of. If I did let go of it, I wouldn’t be able to live a happy life. Because even though we are no longer together I still feel strong tides pulling us to each other. I am here and he is somewhere else in the world; our strings are still connected. The gods are not running around trying to find the perfect pair of scissors to cut through them. They are letting us dance together. The Evil One is pulling us farther away, but our strings are tightly entwined.

This entire train of thought is mostly meaningless… but what counts as something with meaning? Is it another’s acknowledgement of our work that gives it meaning? If there were zero likes on all of my social media posts would they still mean something to me? Zero comments and shares and views. What makes something mean something? Today, I am dismantling every thought that I had about who I am and what I mean to myself. What do people mean when they say that they love you? What do they mean when they say that they care for you? Do they know the meanings of what they say? Do they really truly mean them? If you meant something, if you made a promise, would you not try your hardest to keep it?

This is turning into a depressing rant. But I am really feeling good, okay, fine, normal, well, overall in a very happy state. At least for today. How high or how happy do I need to be before I come down again? How fulfilled do I need to be, before contentment takes the back seat and allows Greed and Want to drive? Writing is all about creating something out of nothing. And art making something on the blank canvas. And mental illness isn’t only a symptom of a creative mind. I don’t have to be the tortured artist, the tortured soul, I can make my art and do my job. Make a difference with my creative career. I try to do new things and step out of this bubble that I have made for myself. But the bubble burst so violently, that I am still trying to find a way to crawl back into it. How do I crawl back into what has been destroyed? And now there are all these people in my life that I never thought I would know. New things that I do, new activities I participate in. It was all meant to be a process, but it has transformed into a speeding rollercoaster – one without an end.

Many things cannot be understood, but they must be said because they are the truth. My country is burning up in flames, but I never talk about her. I hate talking about  things that I cannot fix. But if we only spoke about the things that we could fix, we would run out of material for our conversations. So, I will start talking about Nigeria more. And how I feel about the country that birthed me, its people, and everything that happens inside of it. And not just the big cities like Lagos, I have to focus on the other places. The other stories that the news cameras do not get to. I have to… I have to… I place these have-tos on myself, creating an infinite to-do list that leaves me overwhelmed. But it is my nature, maybe it is how I will always be. Maybe this is not a weakness – it could be the thing that strengthens me. I am discovering myself and addressing my flaws, it is what is making me a better person. I’m not just trying to present myself as what other people would like me to be. But being myself, truly.

I think it’s my turn to cook dinner today…