THE 360 Dreams
2nd February, 2016 Writers

it has been almost an hour since i sat on the bench, Rotten leaves filling my hands, smooth breeze blowing my hair as i pulled back the strings to the side of my ears. I sat there clustering my hands between my legs bending over with a broad smile and as i listened to somewhere only we know by Keane in my ears watching a group of children playing, their soft hands in the sands,  happy feets dancing around, I had once felt like this. The emptiness of problems but happiness if life.

Around this time last week my favorite aunt had called to say she gave birth to her third child. And even though i was having my mood swings I managed to fake smiles and excitement through the phone not to appear like a dead ghost. I had always known the joy of sharing the good news of childbirth since i was 16, everyone comes with happy faces and eptisle of prayers, a few gifts and wish you more children even if you already had 70. Those who weren't your best buddies in the family come with olive leaves and in maturity sake you forget all the insults and wicked eyeballs of previous events for peace to rain....

 But in all this chaos i could never forget my cousin face in the midst of many, who found it rather boring than interesting. Like me she listened to a few remarks and didnt say anything except when she was told to do so. She had always been labelled unique, a rare specie with an alien reasoning and questionnable imaginations with bundles of curosity engrossed in her pattern waves of Einstein brain.  It would have been a blessing to the family but their answer was clearly shown when a relative askef what she wanted to be  "An Artist" with great enthusiasm. "Lola*that wont be possible and you know that. After all your brother is given us  a good name" She listened carefully watching her mother, Her smile the last for the evening. 

It is often said parents are mini- gods, the shining armour leading  us to better life. But sometimmes their actions and words often bleed our hearts with dreams left in despair. Some get over it, others isolation, Emptiness that they feel different, the ever contagious zeal to be better than your siblings, the growing need to be in your own world. The frustration to prove to your family you are not a mistake, And is incredibly worse for those with silent mouth and explosive minds. Imagine the smell of your first book,  sigining your first publishing contract, Hearing the appaluse as you receive the nobel price for the outstanding invention, prortaits of  three times Newyork best sellers in  collection of books, selling our first graphic design or becoming Africa's great sculptor become bitter lemons because we are results of a failed school system who believes in uniformity than difference. Our dreams  become memories,  The wishes of momental truths of our present realities for our society's  favortisim. And if our hearts where ever broken, our dreams shattered, Like Lola you wonder the genesis of your troubled youth, Thought at an early stage the wages of creativity is societial acceptance for the materiality and rebellion for your own freedom. You believe you are no lesser than an un educated thief because you refuse the collar jobs, whispers than blank papers, pencils and artworks are for hopeless with no ambition. Feeling distant, hardly seeing yourself without a shadow of doubts you leave a thirty- five year career  as Chief Accountant to make cartoons and children books. As I look a t her writing this piece from my bedroom, Truly happiness is not about achieving,but in true being of fulfilment of oneself.

  So this is to our future Scientists and present Wole Soyinkas and Asas, A little girl story i love to share with you....

Lagos, Nigeria
  • creativity is the precious gift for us all....use it.

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