It was two years ago around this time that I was on my way to Nigeria. I'd left Ottawa by this time, rolled out of the bus station on November 5th (a good day to remember, remember). I recall that my mother was there and Irene and Oliver (bundled up and smaller). I think my father may have been there as well. Was my brother? I'm not sure. Anyhow ...
I would have been preparing to leave London or perhaps already on my way. The specific details elude me for the moment.
But I do remember arriving before dawn. The early morning darkness, crisp and cool, seemingly quiet, but humming with potential ... the day's energy perched like words on a poet's fingertips. Too abstract? Something more tangible then ...
I stepped from the plane into the pre-dawn morning, inhaled the cool air. An overwhelming feeling of relief washed over me as I took in my surroundings. "I'm here." It was a beautiful feeling. Everything had been a building up to this moment. All the nervousness, tension, anticipation, melted away and I was free. The morning's stillness on the tarmac was punctuated by the sound of crickets chirping. It was undoubtably one of the most perfect moments of my life.
I entered the city with Planned Parenthood's driver, Danjuma. Would it be strange to say I felt somewhat like a newborn? Obviously, not in the literal sense of the word. It's the only way I can think to describe the sense of awe that I felt. Perhaps that's what it is like for most people the first time they go somewhere far away and so very different from the surroundings they were accustomed to. I'm glad that I went where I did. I don't want to imagine entering Nigeria without that feeling. It is a part of what made it so dear to me, no matter d wahala.
And so now, two years later, I feel fuller for the experience, but also so empty at times. I feel as if I lost a huge chunk of my self when I left there. It shouldn't be like that, but it is. I wish I could carry around that sense of fullness and peace that I felt with me here, so that I could take it in again and fill this hole. But the hole was always there. It was here before I left and surfaced while I was there. I've carried it around with me for as long as I can remember. It's my inner demon, something I must overcome myself. Going here or there won't change that. It requires something more ... I don't know the words ... serious soul searching?
The thing is, I'm not sure I'm capable of doing what it takes to make things 'right'. To do that, I'd need to figure out what to do first. This realization keeps eluding me.
Perhaps this is just what life is, a series of moments, a questioning, a learning, and, well, a living.
I was telling a friend tonight that I am beset by the feeling, the fear, that there is something terribly wrong with me. I don't know why. I try to shake it off, worrying that I am going to curse myself with all these negative thoughts. For thoughts do have powers.
And now I just feel like I'm rambling. It happens from time to time. I've had a lot to think about lately, a lot 'on my mind'. So it goes.
I would have been preparing to leave London or perhaps already on my way. The specific details elude me for the moment.
But I do remember arriving before dawn. The early morning darkness, crisp and cool, seemingly quiet, but humming with potential ... the day's energy perched like words on a poet's fingertips. Too abstract? Something more tangible then ...
I stepped from the plane into the pre-dawn morning, inhaled the cool air. An overwhelming feeling of relief washed over me as I took in my surroundings. "I'm here." It was a beautiful feeling. Everything had been a building up to this moment. All the nervousness, tension, anticipation, melted away and I was free. The morning's stillness on the tarmac was punctuated by the sound of crickets chirping. It was undoubtably one of the most perfect moments of my life.
I entered the city with Planned Parenthood's driver, Danjuma. Would it be strange to say I felt somewhat like a newborn? Obviously, not in the literal sense of the word. It's the only way I can think to describe the sense of awe that I felt. Perhaps that's what it is like for most people the first time they go somewhere far away and so very different from the surroundings they were accustomed to. I'm glad that I went where I did. I don't want to imagine entering Nigeria without that feeling. It is a part of what made it so dear to me, no matter d wahala.
And so now, two years later, I feel fuller for the experience, but also so empty at times. I feel as if I lost a huge chunk of my self when I left there. It shouldn't be like that, but it is. I wish I could carry around that sense of fullness and peace that I felt with me here, so that I could take it in again and fill this hole. But the hole was always there. It was here before I left and surfaced while I was there. I've carried it around with me for as long as I can remember. It's my inner demon, something I must overcome myself. Going here or there won't change that. It requires something more ... I don't know the words ... serious soul searching?
The thing is, I'm not sure I'm capable of doing what it takes to make things 'right'. To do that, I'd need to figure out what to do first. This realization keeps eluding me.
Perhaps this is just what life is, a series of moments, a questioning, a learning, and, well, a living.
I was telling a friend tonight that I am beset by the feeling, the fear, that there is something terribly wrong with me. I don't know why. I try to shake it off, worrying that I am going to curse myself with all these negative thoughts. For thoughts do have powers.
And now I just feel like I'm rambling. It happens from time to time. I've had a lot to think about lately, a lot 'on my mind'. So it goes.
