Random Experiences - 2022

On the Grief of a Love (Sat - Jan 9)

Toxic positivity, one that says "smile in all situations of life," I believe, is indeed toxic.

I just finished journaling an entry on my grief and I realized how I was able to come to terms with reality as I went through the pages of this book, "The Beauty of What Remains" by Steve Leder

I remember telling my admin. colleagues at the place I worked in October last year, "I'll be going out on Friday and I might not come back the same. Whatever happens after this week, always remember I'm still Emmanuel."

I had visited my longtime friend and recent lover to talk about and finalize our separation. We had laughed and joked as we ate breakfast from the same plate.

While still sitting at that dining table, with the taste of the well-prepared potato porridge fresh in our tastebuds, we had transited into viewing life ahead of us without the intimacy we had shared up to that point, and hoped to share right into our old age.

We cried pretty much, she doing most of the shedding of tears. Hard as I was or thought I was on the inside, it broke me to see my baby girl cry in my arms, and this was no "tushed-up" crying. It was raw. Real. Deep. Unrestrained. Pure tears of pain. Her body racked with her sobs and I had to hug her tightly, whether to comfort her, or to share our pain, or both, I can't say.

I shed a few tears myself and somewhat envied her for having her tear glands so responsive to her pain. I wanted to cry and let it all out but couldn't. Silence and a few drops (heavily laced with pain, sorrow, and deep hurt) were what my hardened core could manage.

A few minutes after that episode, we were strolling arm in arm on the quiet streets of her residential estate in Lekki, lazily going to Nike Art Gallery.

Do you know how you can be nothing and yet everything to the same person? It's hard to describe. It was as though we shed off our skin as we left her compound. We took on a different air, and this was no 'forming.'

It was as though while we hugged and cried and laughed in between about our separation, our hearts pledged that they'd give us the gift of an experience, for this one last time.

There was no mention of our separation as we walked the over 20 minutes walk to the gallery. We laughed and joked and held hands and waists as new ecstatic lovers do.

While browsing the gallery, she'd sometimes hug me from behind as I took in the sight of some artworks. Her hands would lock tightly on my belly and we'd be that way for Lord knows how long. I'd sometimes plant kisses on her forehead and cheeks when we were standing still and nearby, sometimes nuzzling into her neck when we embraced (we were never out of sight for the 4 hours or so spent there).

This is a significant mention because we are both shy around people (strangers) and PDA isn't our thing. It seemed as though the knowledge of our imminent parting tore through the veil of our shyness and let loose a dam of expression that had been seething in our subconscious.

I came to know of her appreciation for the arts too. How ironic; discovering something new on a day of endings.

I smile as I recall this scenario. A group of friends was touring the same floor with us. They were quite a distance from us. Queen and I were gushing over an art piece we had titled "melancholy." She had hugged me again and I told her to stay that way so I could capture that moment on camera. While I brought out my phone to snap some pictures of us in that position, I overheard one of the ladies from the group say, "Awww... See love."

When we were about to leave, we met with Mama Nike. She told some stories, shared good memories and we took pictures with her. We were leaving when she said, "Are you two siblings? You look so much alike." Looking at me she asked, "Is she your sister?"

Guys, I can't fully explain how these words were like heaven and hell compressed into a swallowed pill.

"No ma. She's my lover." I squeezed her hands as I answered that question. For what reason? I don't know. It just felt like the most natural thing to do.

"Hold on. I have to give you something," she continued, bringing out two pictures from the pocket of her 'adire' gown. "Choose one out of these pictures."

While we debated which one to take, she smiled that knowing smile of an 'agbalagba' and selected one where she was all smiles and adorned in blue 'adire.'

We got home, did some more crying and laughing (people can cry and laugh simultaneously... Crazy but true), and ended the evening with a french kiss, one that contained all the emotions that words couldn't express. That kiss would be our first and our last.

I remember saying repeatedly to people after that weekend, "I need to cry," and how it wasn't understood. I understand how awkward that can sound on a normal day.

Imagine this. You are with your friends or colleagues or acquaintances, having a good time, sharing food and jokes, making lovely memories, and one of them laughs, smiles, and says out of the blue, "I need to cry."

I needed to cry so badly (I think I still do).

Weeks later, I contacted my therapist for a meeting. We weren't able to hold one that day, or that week. But I remember her looking into my eyes with deep concern and asking, "Are you sure this can wait till next week? We can work something out." I felt she saw through my smile and my "Yes it can," because she asked again, "Emmanuel, are you sure?"

Damn! I wish I told her it couldn't wait. I wish I didn't play the strong-man game that afternoon. I wish I let her see I needed help so desperately. I wish I let the emotional scales fall to reveal how badly affected I was by that separation. I had become the doctor who couldn't take his own pills, the therapist that couldn't succumb to vulnerability.

My spiral after that answer was faster than lightning. I'm still surprised at the speed with which things went. It was like the Katrina hurricane and the Tri-State tornado mixed into one.

After Bose, my high school lover, died in 2011, I vowed never to love this deeply again. One decade later, it seemed I was back to where I started from.

In more ways than one, I'm glad I did love this much. I told her this was a risk, and I'm glad we both took the risk to love. It took me six years and some months to finally blossom into that space with her and took less than a year for the tender flowers to be plucked.

If this were to happen again, I'll still take this chance despite knowing the outcome. The pain is much and heavy, but I wouldn't dare trade the good times we shared for emotional emptiness and the mere passage of time.

We made a lot of memories, most of them away from the public eye, and many of them not captured in diaries or pictures (on my end). We got to capture a few though on camera. And just so you have an idea of what a few means, for the Art Gallery visit alone, we had about 150 shots on a single phone... 😅😅

These days, I miss her a lot and long to talk to her but there's this silent knowledge that we should cool things off at this point. We're still best of friends. We spent the last days of 2021 and the first few days of 2022 calling ourselves like maniacs, like seeing the new year depended on those phone calls... 🥲😂😅🥲

Our last conversation was filled with sadness-tinted laughter and a certain feeling of nostalgia of sorts. But we ended with blessings on both our lips and a certain hope that, someday, we'll get to see again in one of the cities we both had plans to visit in the future.

Whatever the future holds, I don't know, but I'm grateful we lived the past with presence and consciousness and didn't put off things till 'tomorrow' because that tomorrow has become today, and what we have is the beauty of what remains.

And yes, it's beautiful. So fu.cking beautiful.

🥲❤️