The Musician

So I called the "ex" today. (He will henceforth be known as "the musician ex" to distinguish him from anyone else.) I don't know why I did but I woke up this morning thinking of him as usual and just decided to call him. Didn't think twice, just did it. I hadn't spoken to him since I found out about his child and it was strange, to say the least. He was surprised to hear from me and he apologised again for the way I found out, the way he treated me, etc. I think I actually believed him this time.

The worst part was hearing his voice because it felt like coming home. Frankly, I was horrified. This is somebody I'm supposedly getting over and the sound of his voice alone made me happy. Keep in mind I hadn't even escaped fully from his voice because I kept hearing his song everywhere I went. Barbecue? They'd play his damn song. On the bus? Some obnoxious teenager would be blasting it through her mobile speakers. Walking down the road? I'd hear somebody playing it in their car. You get the picture. This damn song that decided to blow up all of a sudden just to punish me!

I think part of me decided to call him because I'd rather have him in my life and have it take longer to get over him, than not have him in my life (even though it shortens the mourning period). I don't know if I'm making any kind of sense. I mean I'm willing to put up with the punishment of being around him even though I'm not with him than be apart from him completely. He was my friend and I don't want to lose that friend along with the person I was dating (I refuse to use the word boyfriend). I know people insist that you can't be friends with your ex but I've managed to stay cool with every man I've dated before (although some took a lot longer than others).

I've missed him immensely and now he wants to see me. I don't know if I'm ready for that quite yet. We'll see. I'm scared to set myself up for another fall. I guess we'll see how this "friendship" thing goes. I guess I really am a glutton for punishment. Pray for me!

I won't complain...

I've had some good days

I've had some hills to climb

I've had some weary days

And some sleepless nights

But when I look around

And I think things over

All of my good days

Outweigh my bad days

I won't complain

These last couple of days have been rough in more ways than one. A job I thought I had fell through and therefore the job hunt continues. I also realised that I'm not doing as well getting over my last relationship as I thought I was. It's just basically been one of those weeks where everything that could go wrong, has and it's been difficult to stay positive and not succumb to depression. However, I remembered that I made a promise to myself a couple of months ago that I would count my blessings and allow God to take control. So "I won't complain" will be my theme this week (and beyond). Hope it can help somebody too.

Currently listening to: I won't complain- Rev. Paul Jones

I wanna hear a poem...

One of my all time favourite poems. This was at the height of my 'Def Poetry' obsession and the line 

'I wanna hear a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply that metaphors get jealous'

kills me every time. Hope you enjoy it too... 

You have such a pretty face...

I don't really know why I'm choosing to blog about this topic but it's something that has steadily pressing on my soul for at least five years now. Haha I guess there's my reason right there! Growing up I never really thought of myself as pretty. Don't get it twisted I didn't think I was ugly either, just not "pretty". I was always described as the smart one but never the pretty one. This was the way it was all the way through primary school and most of secondary school too. I put on a lot of weight when I was about 11 or 12 and that weight hasn't ever come off. I think I've just learnt to live with and truthfully it's not something I think about  everyday. It's not as as if I never received any male attention either. Truthfully the only requirements to get chirpsed in London (especially by our beloved persistent Nigerian men) is to possess a vagina, so I didn't really "count" them if you catch my drift. However, in my late teens, when I first went to uni in America, I began to receive a different kind of male attention. More genuine shall we say. I mean guys would tell me they thought I was pretty or whatever and even though I knew that was what they believed, I still didn't quite believe them. Then I began to be accused of being arrogant and some kind of faker. I still remember one of the first guys I ever hooked up with in the states (let's call him Kojo) telling me I was pretty in an almost insulting way. When I expressed surprise, he said to me "Why are you fishing for compliments? You know you're pretty" with a mildly disgusted look on his face. "Excuse me but I don't know anything" was what was going through my mind.


Because of the whole weight thing, I'd always felt I had to play my role as the smiley, clever one and not step on any of the "fly girls"'s toes. However, I guess with the progression of age comes a burgeoning sense of maturity. I knew from a reasonably young age that I couldn't stand insecure people. I went to a boarding school, which meant that living in such close proximity for an extended period of time with other teenage girls was a recipe for disaster. Of all the girls in my year, I know for a fact that only one other girl apart from myself was above a UK size 12/14 with the majority being 6s and 8s- I kid you not. Still we endlessly had the daily script played out for us with the whole "Oh my God I feel so faaaaaat. Look at my belly!" as a shiny toothed girl flaunted her washboard abs at you, lower lip pushed out in an oh-so-charming pout. Yes we had our share of bulimics galore. I would get so bored (still do) of people talking about their various body hang ups all the time. Seriously, for a school that was supposed to consist of some of the elite minds of the country conversations rarely ventured beyond boys, clothes, the latest "cool" band and drugs (rich people with too much time on their hands). Forgive us for we were but children hehe! I guess my point is I began to find people complaining about their bodies the most irritating thing  and I vowed NEVER to whine about my body issues. I still believe that moaning about something is only going to draw attention to it. Plus it's boring.
 I basically began to fake confidence and in the course of this charade, a genuine sense of confidence somehow emerged. I'd always tell myself "you may be fat, but at least you're not ugly" (ugly is a very strong word imho).



Now going back to my experience as a late teen in the states. Whilst I didn't think I was ugly, I wasn't exactly used to hearing guys telling me I pretty either. So this was a pretty steep learning curve for me. I always thought the way I dressed was what got me so much attention (basically not letting the Midwestern winters reduce me to a pair of eyes hidden in a bomber jacket, hat that covered 3/4 of my face, and boots that made it hard to lift your leg, let alone walk- what can I say? I'm vain!). However, as my confidence grew, so occured the exponential growth of people (particularly females) telling me I had a pretty face. Now WTF was that supposed to mean? So devoid of all my extremities and my torso I could be considered an aesthetically pleasing member of society? I guess I should thank God that I have my face to save me from utter irrelevance eh? ;-) My own mother even tells me this on a regular basis, in addition to "you're lucky you're tall or you'd seem even fatter than you are". Rarely do I ever hear "you're pretty Sankofa". It's always "Sankofa, you have a pretty face". I know it may seem a strange thing to complain about for those of you not familiar with this phenomenon bit it's so unbelievably jarring! It only gets more so when you get it with the "you're big but pretty" line. First of all, I'm not big, I'm what most would consider fat. Let's just tell it like it is and quit with all the euphemisms. I'm not one of those fatties that blames everyone and their mama for being the way they are. I got fat because I ate too much when I was younger and now I'm just too lazy to get the weight off. End of. Fullstop. Finis. We'll save that story for another day.


Now let's fast forward a few years to  just a year ago and a so-called "friend" (now former friend, thank God). This chick and I used to go raving together a few times and she also loved to have house parties. She's an average-looking chick with a pretty nice figure who thinks that her big behind alone entitles her to receive the attention of any guy she fancies. Now we were at one of these house parties and I'd been steadily getting dagger-eyes all night beacause I'd spent the majority of the party talking to a guy (let's call him Francois) who I'd been flirting with for months who she also happened to like. Now, in my head, flirting with Francois was no biggie because 1. It's not as if he was expressing great interest in her and I stole him or whatever and 2. Francois is a huuuuge male slut and is therefore everybody's first choice to flirt with (added emphasis on the flirt). So I'm getting tired of the"looks" so when I get a chance alone with her I ask her if she's cool. She feigns complete innocence as to what I'm talking about but then as she is reapplying her make-up, she casually comments that she's always wondered how I always have so many guys interested in me since I'm so fat and all. My neck snap would have done the chick from the exorcist proud. You'd be proud to know that I didn't say any of the vile things that were going through my mind and eventually, just as nonchalantly, said "Oh you know. Guys like different types of girls and it's not as if I'm ugly". I think I can pinpoint the exact moment in time when our "friendship" began to die lol.


To make matter more interesting, at this same party some chick who I'd peeped watching me at various times during the night decides to approach me a few minutes later and says "Please don't think I'm weird but I think you're really really pretty." I mumble some embarrassed, shocked, thanks in her direction and she hits me with the kicker. "Not being rude, but you know you're quite big, yet you carry yourself so well". Ah, knew there had to be more coming!


I've just always felt that just because I was fatter than all my friends, it didn't mean I had to look worse. Yes I still rock my skinnies, my harems, my jeggings (or treggings as some of you call them). I just make sure it suits (and fits) my body because we all know there's nothing worse than a size 20 squeezed into some size 16s. Hey give me a pair of SPANX and I'm good to go! We all know that I'm already disadvantaged in this western world due to the mere fact that I'm a woman, and a black woman at that. Yes  I may be fat, but going around feeling embarrassed for it will only be one more strike against me. For that alone I can happily walk with my head held high. Confidence is the great eraser for it disguises a multitude of flaws. Still is that reason enough to be reduced to a mere face? I guess the whole point of this convoluted (and long) post is do you feel I'm justified in my annoyance? Am I just being a sore taker-of-compliments? I feel like about this issue the same way I feel about the "you're so pretty even though you're dark-skinned" line. True stories, I've had those statements as well, but we'll also save that for another time.I've always wondered if I was making too much of this issue and I want to know what you guys think. Go on, hit me with your best shot. I'm a big girl, I can take it! (pun intended....)


Currently listening to: Fire Alie- Chipmunk

You fit into me

You fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye

Margaret Atwood, Power Politics, 1971