Being Me

I don’t know how he did it; did he go down on one knee? Pensively, I think he’s ironically, too old-fashioned for such chivalry. I’ve seen his old pictures though, he also rocked the 60s look, you know, the well combed afro, bell-bottomed pants, high wedge-heel shoes and, of course, the stalwart bicycle. Considering this, he may have used the one-knee skill because at his age, he may have wanted to keep it hippie and groovy, anything to get a yes right? The young and successful entrepreneur from the Eastern part of the country had been on his stubborn girlfriend’s case for quite a while and she just kept stalling probably because she wanted to gain stronger roots in her academic profession which, by the way, was making her tour the country. She delved into civil service at a young age so much that her independence was already touching the hem of her future persona’s garment. This was probably the reason she felt she had for stalling this young man. If only she knew that it was all part of the perfect plan, especially for me.

He probably got her a gold ring, maybe diamond, maybe silver, I have no clue. Knowing his kind of person, he probably didn’t use any jewelry at all in professing his love and proposing marriage to her. Oh wait, I know he wrote a love note in a card. This man was unique in his way of showing romance; when he wants to, he goes all out. She, on the other hand, seemed to have adjusted to it. Did he take her on dates? Did he shower her with gifts? Did he send her melting chocolaty messages or letters? These are questions I’ll one day ask him. He will read this anyway. All I know though, is that one day, she said yes!

Their wedding pictures portray happiness, I see smiles on every face, there are bright colors and laughter radiating off each pixel. His black tuxedo looked like it finally heaved a sigh of relief and from her white gown, you could tell that one other reason to add to her archive of excuses for stalling him initially, was that she needed to fit perfectly into this gown. True to that, the pictures did not betray their efforts, they looked beautiful but something, someone was missing – ME! This was the grudge I had with them when I was younger. I saw some other kid in a black tuxedo crowned with a black bow tie standing between the couple, they say he was the ring bearer. I really didn’t care whatever the excuse was. Where was I? I thought they loved me like they say. And I’m their first child!

Enough about my parents, this story is supposed to be about me.

There’s a cliché belief that healthy babies cry when born, yeah I said it, cliché. Sorry to override that hackneyed idea as I, irrespective of what I was told and what I will be told, have a perfect picture of my birth in my head. Call it illogical and mere imagination seasoned with ignorance, all I know is, on the 17th day of July, that awesome weekend, I made my birth colorful as I probably had preplanned in the womb. I came out, wiped the fluid off my eyes, smiled and flashed the peace sign at my mum. Yes, let me wallow in my obliviousness, thank you. I could go on and on to fascinate you with my colorful and glorious birth story but for the sake of my humble personality and to avoid shades of jealousy, let me acknowledge a hiatus.

As a first child, I had it all. I admit that my parents showered me with all the love they could afford since I was the first child (more like, I was the first specimen of their love and care experiment). Amidst the luxury of all the love, I still didn’t pass for a spoilt child as my folks knew where to pinch to restore me to my default settings. I took my first steps when I was just over a year old and I could read a whole book at five. Before you fall into the temptation of judging me and casting the first stone, can we all just take some time to appreciate our species and how far we’ve come?

Raised in a Christian home, I had no excuse to turn out to be a rascal influenced by the neighborhood. Yes, I grew up in a neighborhood that I would call ‘a mild excuse for a ghetto’. My folks were bent on shielding the negativities of the world from me and my siblings who started coming two years after me just to share in my inherited loot. Fun fact: My dad played the bass guitar in his days; yes, I’m the son of a rock star. His love for music was genetic as he passed it on to me, including his angelic voice. He got me a keyboard as a child, or was it for my brother? I am the oldest and the tallest so it was for me even though he got it on my brother’s birthday. My mum, who was well marinated in the academic coast, made sure we all established deep and firm roots in education. Due to this, I sped through my nursery and primary school and I was done at the age of eight. Oh, and by the way, I learned, just five days ago, that the “O” in BODMAS meant Order and not Of like I was taught in school and I really don’t know how I feel about this. It seems mild but I feel like I’ve been lied to all my life. 

My two brothers made my childhood beautiful because they seemed like what I’ll call, loyal retainers who would bow in obeisance and accomplish my every bidding. In English, minions. I may have exaggerated a little, a lot rather. They were more of my partners in crime but I was always the sacrificial lamb whenever we were caught. The perks of being the first right? I had this one friend that grew up in the cloak of being my brother, he was so close that he could pass for one; actually, we’re still that close but he has become a nerd since he is now a doctor. He had his own fair share of the chastisement because he’s just six months younger than I am. My two beautiful sisters came later so I have an archive of antique throwbacks to tease them with. I grew up as a very social and interactive child that even the northern cobblers that passed by my street always called out to me by name and we would exchange some sort of pleasantry. I was very popular in my neighborhood especially among my parent’s friends and church members due my witty racket. Meanwhile, puberty was lurking around the corner with a very mischievous smirk waiting for me to come around.

All my boldness, my happy energy, my charisma, my childhood glow succumbed to the raging wind of the dreaded puberty. It probably was just a phase as I can clearly recall that there was no traumatic experience or atom of depression that could give rise to a twist in my behavioral pattern. I retreated from most of the world, my neighbors, friends, even cousins. It was not healthy for me I could tell. I had gotten to high school and to my teen age. I think you all can relate that these two, when mixed, can bring about, very unprecedented results. It’s either that or I’m just weird. I can mention over twenty people that will choose option ‘B’… it’s not funny. All my emotions and my thoughts were turned into some sort of twisted poetry on paper, so twisted that no one could decipher. I could write a very colorful and cheerful poem borne out of deep and intense sadness. They would all just end up reading it to appreciate the poetry which was rather ironic because I majored in sciences. But all of this gloominess gradually came to a halt once I stepped into college. Leaving high school at fifteen was part of the dream but I think it wasn’t well looked into as some felt it was too young an age to be ready for college, societal stereotype right? This didn’t slow me down though as I ran into college with the zeal of a prospective gold medalist in the Olympics.

College was not just a school for the shaping of academic intelligence for me, it also immensely contributed to my moral contouring and personal equipping of survival skills. In simpler terms, college helped me become a man. I had it very rough at the beginning because I was trying to find solid grounds and carve out a niche for myself. I made some very amazing friends, some okay ones and some “let this cup pass over me” ones. That’s the beauty of variety though. My roommate had succeeded in teaching me how to pluck a few strings of the bass guitar, you know, that instrument with the deep voice, not the one used in winning girls over. I had become a lunatic when it came to music. I would sing out loud and annoy my roommate and the neighbors or I would play my guitar so late into the night that they would have thought I was possessed. College was quite an amazing world that fed me with countless experiences that even included pinches of violence. Yeah, I rep the human race. I found myself coming off as confident and bold - two endangered traits I thought would follow the tide of extinction. I spent the required five years to bag a Chemical Engineering degree and by this time, I could tell from my mum’s face that she was suppressing her expectation of grand-children. Even after reading this, she still won’t admit it, want to bet? My dad was just…is just proud of me because his smile is evergreen when he sees me.

Now life hasn’t ended there as I’m currently six feet and two inches tall, raising my shoulders high in the streets of the state where I’m obeying my clarion call. My story could have been a lot different if I had meddled with the wrong items in the gift basket of life.

“By all of this, I’m not insinuating that I’m my parent’s favorite, but come on…” Picture me saying that with an arrogant smug. Why wouldn’t I? I’m a year older today!!!