Daily Diary
October 6th
Dear Diary,
My sense of humour is bad — sometimes I feel bad for not laughing at the jokes of others. Truth is that I don’t find them funny. I need to come to terms with the fact that my idea of stupid might not even be as stupid as it seems or as I make it out to be. And why am I always so uptight? My idea of humour is strangely bizarre. Sometimes to cover up or compensate for my weirdness, I say “I find normal to be extremely boring” But I don’t do this to break social conventions. I am not a rebel — I am just different.
Today, I began a new journey and I have mixed feelings of excitement and enthusiasm versus fear and despair. I am above all things, grateful to be able to start again and to start despite all the odds that have been these past weeks. This evening, I ate rice and tomato sauce prepared by my younger brother and as I was about to complain about the salt in the fish, a memory of my aunt flashed through my mind — years back, I told her jokingly that she has found a way to make us eat less by cooking semi cooked rice and we laughed about it. It seems it’s a normal thing for Yaounde people to cook with excess salt. I have been eating excess salt for the whole day. What a wow.
In the midst of all the drama, chagrin and puzzle that my life is, I still haven’t found the courage to speak my truths or to tell my tales as they should be told. I will soon reach that point where I’ll tell the unfiltered stories of my past and present. But until that day reaches, I shall tell the half truths that the world needs to know. Once I convince myself that I am ready to take the crown and sit on the throne, the latter shall sit there vacant, waiting for me to mount it one day — until then.
CHRONICLE 6
I am the writer’s poet
So she falls in love with my rhymes and words
She writes an epistle of love
To enchant her poet.
I’m the penser’s muse
So I’m writing poetry
Because it’s the last thing
Left for me to do
Before I pass out.
Before I tap out,
Just remember one thing
I am your singer’s song
I am the lyrics he scribbles on his pad
The strings he pulls on his guitar
Dear Diary, keep my thoughts as secret as news can be…
