Sex is Ruining our World

Mulata

I actually don’t mean the title, it’s ridiculous, and I am a hater.

I went to the database of the International Association of the Unlaid to find the list of individuals who are destined to depart from this cold, hard [lmao, what fuckery] world without ever experiencing intercourse with other individuals, and my name was first on the list. Brethren, believe you me, I was not surprised in the least.

Each time I imagine myself existing in that state of vulnerability that one has to be in to engage in the moment of action that is sex, the thought sends shivers up and down my spine. That won’t be me, God; that can’t possibly be me. Inherently, or perhaps it isn’t, I don’t know,  I can never find true pleasure in a state of vulnerability, and sex involves many things including the surrendering of pride and power. It is a non-violent act of violence. Don’t take the last sentence seriously; I don’t know what I’m on about.

A few years ago, when I used to travel to my mum’s rented residence at Okuku, the same town where my mum was a professor and the head of her department at the Osun State University, there was a perverted individual within the vicinity. He was the landlady’s son and I called him ‘Uncle Raphael, as per the culture. If someone is old enough to be your uncle, ‘uncle’ has to precede their name before it is uttered.

Whenever my mum wasn’t looking, he would look at me weirdly, suggestively, so I avoided him at all costs. I have never told my mum this, and I can certainly see how people who have gone through serious forms of molestation, especially of the sexual nature, keep quiet about it, even for the rest of their lives.

Whenever my mum gave me her clothes to wash, and we sometimes would travel with dirty clothes so I could wash them whenever she was away at her university, I would wash them indoors, in the bath, and although I knew she would give me a piece of her mind whenever she returned for doing so instead of doing the washing outside, I couldn’t exactly tell her why. I was trying to avoid Raphael. I stayed indoors until the afternoon or evening, until I could hear my mum’s car horn outside the gate; I am an indoor-loving person anyway.

Raphael was a completely different person whenever my mum was around. He was a bit cold towards me, almost mean. There was this one time that I slept off and rain fell, making the clothes that I had spread get super-wet all over again, and as my mum was scolding me for not paying attention to the rain, he was too. It was mind-blowing.

My mum spoke highly of him, and she would many times call him ‘Uncle
Raphael’ too, even though she is very much older than him. She would thank him for running errands for her and stuff- some of it had to do with the fact that she was the landlady’s son, I believe.

My whole family took a vacation of sorts to my mum’s residence at a time, and after I had made the meal [I am the first and only daughter of four children, my natal Saturn is in the 1st house, I am not even 30 yet but I have the maturity of a 55-year-old, and I have had to work quite hard till this day], I was told to go into the car to get something- I don’t remember what it was. I grabbed the torch, left the residence, and headed to the car.

There he was, right in front of his residence, as it was next to my mum’s, staring at me like a wild cat [no offence to cats, I love y’all], like he was about to devour me. He was calling me, and I think he may have hastened his steps as I ran to the car. He didn’t run after me, so instinctively, I knew I was going to be ambushed. I remember being very terrified to return to the residence. I got whatever it was and headed for the residence, and as I expected, he was lurking by a wall in the dark, waiting for me.

I kept telling him to leave me alone. The whole thing happened quickly; he carried me, and he kept trying to force a kiss on me. I kept trying to struggle free, but of course, he was stronger than me. I used to be short and slim. I’m still short, just not slim. I can remember how uncomfortable I felt that night; the whole thing was quite distressing.

Then he heard his mum’s voice. It happened not too far from his mother’s quarters and she must have heard me tell him to leave me alone. She was seated, and I can remember her calling his name, ‘Raphael!’. He seemed surprised that she had seen him since she would have been asleep at the time, I assume, and he quickly left me alone.

My family was to leave the town not too long after, and he asked me for a parting gift after he let me go. I gave him a can of Malta Guinness; it was either out of relief or confusion, I don’t know. There were only six cans in the house, and my family members were to have one each. When my mum asked if I had taken my share, I pretended that I had taken the drink. My father was around too, and I couldn’t tell either of them what had happened.

It bothered me for a long time; it bothers me to this day. I wish it didn’t, because nothing really happened, and a voice in my head keeps telling me that the experience I just narrated may be quite insulting to people who have been through more-serious forms of rough handling. The memory of being so vulnerable and unable to defend myself, unable to save myself from Raphael’s very-strong grip, is quite painful. I could have been somewhere between 11-15 years old; I don’t remember vividly.

I have a very strong phobia of being kissed, being held or hugged for longer than necessary, and definitely intercourse. I somewhat believe that my experience has nothing to do with those fears; it is who I am inherently, guarded, not just a late bloomer. I gave myself my first kiss with a mirror and that’s it; I don’t need anymore.

I have a feeling that there will be a change in the future, that perhaps, when I am in my 30s or 40s, I will meet someone, male or female, I don’t care, and when we both look into each other’s eyes, the rest will be history- I will want to be touched in that way. I just don’t see it happening, and I am, for some reason, quite determined to not let it happen, but we’ll see. Life always happens, and life has a very interesting sense of humour.

I mean the title, it’s not ridiculous, and I will tell you why I think so when I make a second part to this- Sex is Ruining our World II. 

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Love is a Butterfly

If you truly love a butterfly,
you ought to let her fly.
She’ll show you her buttery side if you do.
If you open your palm wide enough,
she’ll always perch in it if she wants you.
Don’t break her wings off
because your fears make you want to.
If you squeeze her in,
you would either weaken her
or make her cry,
or make her die,
and at any chance she gets to be free,
she’ll fly far away
and never come back again. 

Hope

Naturally, you hope less
when there is less hope.
You could even become hopeless,
but an hopeless end would mean nothing
to you if you have endless hope.

So, I hope that your hope will know no end
as you journey through life,
and that you will doubt less.

If Someone Says You Can’t Do It

If someone tells you
you can’t do something,
certain things might be involved:
It could be something
they think they can’t do,
something they haven’t done,
and since they doubt their own abilities,
they’d definitely doubt yours.

If it is something they can do,
or they have done,
they might be trying to protect you
from the coming challenges
because they were once like you;
they might have gone through some challenges
that they don’t want you to go through,
that they don’t think you are
capable enought to go through.

If none of the aforementioned apply,
they could be jealous of you
because what you want to do
is something they’ve not done,
something they can/want to do
but have not had the opportunity to.

JUST DO IT!

The Sun is a King of Swords

The heart of the sun is cold!
See how it punishes us so;
it makes us sweat for it’s strong presence
whenever it wants us to.

King of swords.jpg

I could be wrong.
Maybe it has a nice and warm heart,
but how would we know,
if it doesn’t let us near?
It’s always so defensive;
how could we know it well down here
if we have lots of fear?

Man on the Sun.jpg

“Man on the Sun” by Leo Barkarola

For all we know,
landing on the sun
could feel like landing on the moon,
but the sun won’t let us make it up there.

Death: Fear

The fear of death
is the fear of everything.
The fear of dying
is the fear of living.

Roses Die

Women who talk back when they are spoken down to are “mannerless”;
they have “bad attitudes”.
Men who don’t talk back when they are spoken down to are “morons and retards”.

She served him dutifully because she wanted to; most importantly, because she was led to. It was the Lord who led her. Now, her psychic friends say it was some karmic obligation she had to fulfill, or some shit. Whatever. She had a “very good attitude” then. “imeyatekcorawulO”, wasn’t it? 

It was a very undefined relationship, extremely confusing. Today, they’re sexting; tomorrow, they are just friends- siblings in the Lord. He never wanted to talk about what they were, His Royal Highness, The “Dawonlopoloru” of Mind Game Kingdom, the third. 

It’s her 21st birthday and she asks, “if I lived in the same country as you, you would take me out and buy me a meal for my birthday, wouldn’t you?” He says “no”. She gasps. “Well, why not?” “Why would I? Yen yen yen yen yen yen yen.” She’s upset.

“I would do everything I can to make this man happy, and he wouldn’t even buy me a meal on my birthday if he could. I’m not even worthy of a plate of rice.” “Aye le, aye ma le, oro aye yi, otoju sumi.” It’s a wicked world we live in.

She’s getting even more upset. She says, “it’s not about your money. I would buy myself a meal. Don’t flatter yourself. I just wanted to feel that you cared about me. Yen yen yen yen yen.”

He snaps. The egoistic, ungrateful man writes a whole fucking epistle on how rude and bad mannered she had been to him. It’s funny how bad-mannered men can’t stand bad manners. He says he is done with her, talks about reporting her to his parents. What is he? Two?

She begs. She doesn’t know what she’s worth. She says “okay, forget the meal and everything else I said because I was hurt, I’m sorry. For two years, we’ve been in this ordinary friendship [cough cough] and you want to just leave. The devil (that’s you, moron) is about to scatter all we have (’cause of your immaturity).”

He doesn’t listen. She cries, attempts suicide, cries again, doesn’t eat for days, then overeats, but she heals, quickly and fiercely. They haven’t spoken since. 

Oya came in to scatter and rebuild her life. “Eepa e!” Osun came to cook and decorate. “Iyalooode!” He was stinking the whole place out. Good riddance!

Bad Friend. Dab, Friend

Loves you when you’re weak,
hates it when you’re strong.
Might shout “go” for you the loudest,
but when you move an inch, you’re wrong.

You need to end that friendship.

The Three Non-Stooges

First, (s)he possesses,
but (s)he gets possessed;
then (s)he becomes possessive.

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Come Back

My fear of losing you made me lose you.
I was so afraid that you would leave me,
so much so I didn’t realize that you were here,
and that each time I pulled you closer,
it felt like a sharp push to you.
You were not here because I asked you to,
you wanted to be here.
I couldn’t make you stay,
I couldn’t make you do anything.
The only power that I had
was the power to make you leave,
and that exactly was what you did.