There's a question that has for so long wandered the corners of my mind seeking an answer. But every time I'm met by the question again, I simply brush it off with “When I get to that bridge, I'll cross it”. Now the bridge is complete and I'm here, right in front of it but I have to answer the question before I cross. Slowly, but intentionally, I had declared my love for you but it all still feels like something I did in the moment to avoid the weight of what loving truly holds. So is this what's preventing me from crossing the bridge? Yes, matters of the heart are what matter most. Especially when what matters to my heart is you.

A simple choice, but it's one that works so well since we both made that choice. To choose each other despite the glaring opposition we're met with because of our choice. In the free world that we find ourselves in, why should one make a choice for his own good, not at the expense of anyone else, and still get hated for it. The hate was nothing compared to the youthful vigor that got hold of us to remain unshakable in our choices. I was glad that it held you up at the time, and nothing else pleased me more than that. But it didn't quite work for me because the whispers have never failed to get into my head that you're too good for me, but good things come to those that wait, and I've been a very patient man for a long time.

So when did it become a crime for one to desire goodness for his heart?

I sought to do everything needed to protect us, but I failed to see the ill thoughts hidden in the hearts of the ones who never wanted this to be. Bared, bashed, broken, my resolve to uphold my choice. Even so, my choice remained unchanged solely because your choice remained firm too. That did stand for as long as needed but the challenge never stayed down for long either. And every time our resolve got tested, we just made the same simple decision again, choosing each other. We had to go through it so many times that it developed into a pattern of falling down, getting back up together, and falling in love with each other all over again.

You desired me as much as I desired you too and that's what guaranteed we'd win everytime. Oui, win because nothing was lost even as it came at the expense of overcoming the ones who dared challenge our choice. But that's not the real win I gloat over. The real win I gloat over is in getting through everything together and nothing changes except for the increased desire to keep choosing each other no matter what.

It's not so often that one gets to see two people relentlessly stubborn about a simple choice that just works for them. Nevertheless, I must admit that the simple choice bore some consequences, both positive and negative and somehow, the negative consequences never as much dented the positive consequences or forced us to change our choice. It is a simple choice we both made but it was very difficult to change that choice. Slowly, but intently, I've learned to inhale and exhale with you by my side. Now that's what makes the simple choice so difficult to change, because it's not easy to learn new breathing techniques so it's either sticking to my choice or going insane. And I don't look good in rags. So I remain firm with my choice and I know you will too because undoing it would mean we went through all that for nothing. It was never for nothing so our choice remains the same, to be at each other's side till the end of our days to realize what this love was meant to be. At present, this is what our choice has become of us, we as two best halves, now whole.

With that, I finally have an answer to that question I need to cross the bridge. From here, we'll go to tomorrow together, then we go again and again till we have no tomorrows left to go to.

Dearest gentle reader, it is with great delight I write to you on the last day of the month as I promised to from the previous month. So what on earth happened in July? Well, I did have plans (I think) and things just all kinda happened, but did things go according to plan? Even I can't lie to myself that they did. We are gathered here today, dear reader, for the third entry of Z’s Monthly Letters, “WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED IN JULY?”

The usual plan to write more actually went smoothly as I was on a roll to drop two pieces on the third day of the month. And it felt like I could keep that up for the rest of the month. But I somehow lost that feeling after dropping another piece on the fifth day of the month. I just got busy out of nowhere and it made me miss some World Cup matches.

I was able to recover (or so I thought) after a week and I tried writing another piece but I ended up writing nothing and publishing it that way only to actually write something the next day. For the last two pieces I published, I didn't know how I was going to get them done. But when there's a will, there's always a way (na lie). This monthly was low-key depressing, but I managed to just get through it. How did I manage? Even I have no idea. I was just going with the flow even when it threatened to drown me (#goodswimmer). Mnesoma tried not once, not twice, but countless times to get back with me but I sternly let her know that my heart is now for another. Myself. Quite ironic that I just wanted this month to end quickly and I didn't even pay attention to how fast the days went by. But I'm glad it's all over now. Let's see what August brings.

For some the memes that managed to make me laugh this month, more of the “son” memes made it to the list again. 😂 Here's the rest of them.

And now finally, our review. 🥁🥁🥁

The first post of the month, “10. 30” is a piece I used to show how progress in life can be at times. The inspiration for the title came from when I was watching a comfort show on my laptop and I was using another media player not VLC. So on the display of that media player, the options to rewind and forward the media content was ten and thirty. Which made me think, going thirty steps forward, then taking ten steps backwards doesn't not mean one is particularly behind because all that's between moving forward again is twenty, the number that's never uttered which places twenty as the movements we don't really notice when we're achieving some progress in life.

The second post which came later that day, “SORRY I'M LATE” is an apology to the fictional lover that the fictional writer has. I got the idea from an album title I saw and I just felt like I could do something with it as I needed a third piece to wrap up the love trilogy I was working on. It looks like the last time I'll write something on love. Or not. 🌚

The third piece, “DY/DX”, came from my username and a remembrance of my favorite topic in mathematics that year I was in secondary school. I attempted to use it to show differentials on how numerous events lead to eventually making one a different person. The use of mathematical terms just came on the spot and I think it worked out just fine. The fourth piece, “1000. 1.” was rather personal, it was more on the defiant tone, urging myself to push through whatever it was that I was met with at that time. Did it work? I think so.

The fifth piece, “BROKE PEOPLE” came originally from a picture I saw on Pinterest and I immediately thought of the title. I could have used “BROKEN PEOPLE” but I just liked how there were chances that when that notification pops up on people's phone, their first thought would be that I wrote something about people that don't have money. This piece is like a letter from me, a broke person (mentally and financially) to other people to let them know they're not alone in their broke state (more of the mental than the financial). In conclusion, it was more of a “we gather dey” post and I hope they understand that. The last piece, “ALL I CAN SAY” came from something that has bothered me for quite a while now, my gradual disinterest in talking and writing, and I found a rather interesting message to go with the title. I had the idea to just let each paragraph flow into the next one and that's why I didn't use a full stop after the end of each paragraph. And I arrived at a conclusion which ended up unburdening me of what had been bothering me.

But it doesn't end there. I had a really boring month to be honest, and I spent most of it indoors and oddly lacking in fun activities to keep me occupied. So I decided to take up a challenge. By the end of next month, I should be able to gesture “I can't hear you”, and “I don't feel like talking to you” in ASL. I plan to learn more than just that but those two sentences are my top priority. So that's a wrap on the third entry of Z’s Monthly Letters. See you in the next one, byeeeeeee. 🫶🏾❤️

Everything has been moving fast lately. Too fast. It's only recently that I discovered that I've been struggling with words. It's not that I don't know the words, when to use them, or how to use them. I'm just wondering why I need to use so many of them all the time anymore. So why is this happening? Maybe I've gotten used to the silence that comes from resigning to my fate when everything gets too loud. So how do I get over this? I know it can be quite difficult not to use words especially when I have a lot to say. Maybe I'll just take it one step at a–

Time has a very canny way of changing things beyond what we could ever imagine, and just like that, it changed me. I was never much of a talker, but I still found it easy and convenient to reach for words to write and to speak for the times when I needed to express myself. It was perhaps the easiest accessible therapy available to me, hearing myself speak very often, and reading how my unfinished thoughts get a chance to look coherent after I'd written them. I think I've missed that because I'm just full of unsaid words now. In the short while that I may have forgotten to express myself, things began a gradual descent and now I'm staring at the full weight of what used to be and what is. Quiet now, as everything and everywhere has become, I start to understand how and why the abyss of silence that I've found myself in is so important. Or so I think. Maybe the silence isn't exactly communicating nothing, and I've been learning what it has been communicating for years now without realizing it. In the two different places I've called home, one is overly quiet and I got used to it, the other one is the exact opposite, but I never stopped looking for the quiet in it. I have been learning, I have been learning what the silence held without realizing–

It is a painfully beautiful thing to understand that not everything has to be expressed with words. There's an oddly comforting peace that the silence provides that no amount of words could ever bring. The unexplainable relief of letting things exist without naming them, the particular peace of a person who has so much to say but has said enough for now, and remaining in that silence that says nothing and everything–

That makes me realize how ironic it is to use this many words just to say that I have nothing to say. If I had to use this many words to say that, I wonder, will my silence ever do the same?

Look. Look at us. Look at what we've become. Shadows of the lively people we could have been with smiles that never quite reach the eyes, and the eyes, they never lie. We move around like glass in a sandstorm, almost too careful not to get hurt or hit but we just can't avoid our fates. For so long now that we've been worn down by this fate, we've turned into recognizable shattered pieces all over the place. We'd rather the lights remain off, because turning them on conveys admittance that we want to be seen. Abandoned, but recognized, the quiet darkness we've become.

We have different lives and life has different ways of burdening us with the same fate. The tragic losses, rejections, neglect, stress, and broken trust. All of them weigh more than the burden we've built ourselves to carry. The losses hit us so deeply that we end up losing ourselves so we don't ever lose anyone again, the countless rejections puncture our self-worth over time leaving us to doubt things we truly deserved. The neglect builds up a wall between us and the world so we can remain invisible in peace, the stress we stubbornly put up with now tears us apart slowly and lets us know we've carried too much for too long. And the broken trust snatches away our place in people's lives or other people's place in ours. There's no blame here, life came at us, we gave it all we had, we got crushed and it changed us.

But it didn't end us.

We're different now, all of us. Losing ourselves after losing so much has made us fearless at the face of loss because we've lost it all. What's there to lose again? The neglect and the broken trust have turned us into houses that only lock from the inside, out of reach to people. That doesn't mean we've had it all taken away from us because we still have our dreams now apiece apart. But they're still ours.

It's quite easy to just take a look at people and just conclude they're fine, or to see them as bitter people because they are the way they are. But they could be carrying a burden that people can't see unless they carry it too, and they could be bitter from being too tired to hope things could ever change. What the world misses is that we're all pieces floating around, some people have their pieces together while some people are good at pretending they do.

All of it hurts. There's no coating it. And hurt people hurt people but that's not who I am. I admit I am broken but I am fighting back now because I refuse to sit by and watch myself get broken again. If I don't do that, what do I do with all this pain? We now exist in tiny broken pieces but there's still something we can do. We can pick up all that cared to break in us and put them back together, it'll be still broken, but it'll be together again.

There's no going back to how we used to be. But we're still capable of tenderness, of laughter, of love, of prayer, and choosing people despite everything. I know we've had our peace ripped into pieces, but we're still here. Broken, but we're still here, and that's as whole as things could ever get. ❤️

(1)

Numbers have always created a fear factor to commit to,

Or not, until it gets so high that it becomes scary,

Where one man, too weary with a fate to choose

is up against many more, uneven, the silent inflicter of misery.

(2)

What are the odds?

That a thousand could become less feared than one,

Stretching far from where it begins to where it ends

With a count higher than any one.

(3)

What if it can never be made even?

Isn't it strange that there's no one that the numbers can't threaten?

But if it ever gets to the thousand against the one man army,

I'll be counting on the reasons why that can't harm me.

(4)

What if one could stand up to the numbers?

It's a fight, no, a battle that could go on forever,

That could strip the thousand and the one of what makes them stronger.

And there's no one with such powers.

(5)

What can be done to make it count?

The death of the thousand or the death of the one,

Or the death of the thousand and one

But who can ever bear to end that amount?

(6)

What's left to give?

I’ve gotten way more than I ever asked for,

and the gift to know how these numbers move,

I've faced a thousand before, what's one more?

.

.

.

.

(1)

It used to be so easy, all of this,

To trust, to love and to care,

But it slipped and fell off the wrong axis

Not what I wanted but I found myself there.

(2)

Not abruptly, but slowly, the most intimate kind of loss

All my trust and love got redirected by a curve,

Not a problem any of my formulas could solve

So I could only watch as everything I worked for was tilted across.

(3)

Still in disbelief, I paused

and realized I couldn't lose everything and not become someone new,

So I embraced it like I never loved

the thrill, the joy, and the person too.

(4)

I lied, I cared about every change brought by the slope

What were the fights, the tears,

the lies, and the years?

Were they only ever there to feed me false hope?

(5)

My lessons came with a prime,

And in that while I placed my whys first like Leibniz did,

No one, not even I, could get away from the division that came with it

as it forced me to count back so many times.

(6)

Thirty times the blade was thrust in me halfway,

Ten times I carefully plotted the words I wanted to say,

Thirty times now my lines always separated the truth from the lies,

And ten times now the tears have failed to come back to my eyes.

I must admit that I owe you an apology. Forgive me for every passing day I didn't arrive sooner, for staying in the dark too long that it stretched your patience, for making you wait without warmth by your side, and for keeping you waiting for so long to enjoy hot tea together. I also have to thank you for waiting, for showing me your light and despite how long I took, keeping a place for me knowing I'd find my way back to you. Thank you for the never-ending shared laughter that needs no permission to start or stop, for letting me watch the sunset with you, and for how we sit together in comfortable silence. All of these make me understand that loving you was not a choice, it was willed. But I realized it late, so again, I ask for your forgiveness.

I never wished to be away for so long. I was just too busy buried in who I thought I was before I ever got to think about you. I moved through the days empty, but full of gratitude as each day passed and left me with questions I wasn't bold enough to answer. My inability to answer those questions didn't bother me, what bothered me most was that the questions kept coming. Was I wrong to be buried in who I thought I was? Maybe. But that was all I ever knew. I didn't know what to look for, so I looked everywhere, found nothing, then I gave up looking.

Now I just imagine what life was like for you before I stepped out of the darkness and saw the light you shone. You must have had to carry all those burdens alone, the light and the heavy. But you managed them gracefully, your shoulders still perfectly aligned. The battles you had to fight alone, the scars and victories you had to celebrate yourself, how much you had to give to go on even when you had run out of what to give. I simply wish I could've been by your side through all that. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride” couldn't be any more true in my case because without warning, without force, you finally arrived. And I was there, wondering how your light found my shadows on an ordinary day whenever I never knew what light to look for.

Being buried in the cold, dark space of who I thought I was made it impossible to find me, but you came as light, bright and just right for clearing my clouds of darkness. Your timing wasn't off by a beat, because you arrived at a time when I needed saving but I didn't know the words to use or who to turn to. I had no difficulty adjusting to your light, it was all I ever needed. With how long it took before it found me, I knew then that time could never fully separate me from the love my heart holds for you. That has made me realize who I really am. No more questions I wasn't bold enough to answer because I finally found the answer to all of them.

What more could light do to a shadow if not to cover it and expose its radiance? You appeared in a space I never prepared for you and you've moved with ease to make many changes fitting for just us. The only thing you had to get rid of was the darkness that never sent an invite to stay. I don't see forever in your eyes because we're mortals but you brought the light, the warmth, the laughter, and the silence we needed to get by for as long as we live. I'm no longer embarrassed to say that if I lose it all, I know I'll still have you. And having you means I still have everything.

I'm sorry I'm late, but here's the answer I found to the questions I wasn't too bold to answer before. It is that loving you, Ìtùnú mi, is a direct consequence of my existence and I wouldn't ever have it otherwise.

(1)

It's 10:30am and I've fallen ten steps behind again,

I thought I was past it but these steps still echoed the past

and I ask myself, why am I here again?

I'm ten steps behind but how long will it last?

(2)

One step, two steps forward but it's all a sham.

It's still ten behind as it was then,

and it's a dangerous place to be for men.

It's 1pm now and I've remained where I am.

(3)

It's 10:30pm and I'm still ten steps behind,

Not further out of place, still in line.

I've remained still for a while now that it's night.

Will there ever be a time I'll march into the light?

(4)

It's 1am now and I am standing again,

It feels stiff, forced, like I hadn't moved forever.

One step, two steps, where do I even begin?

But I must move now, not soon, or never.

(5)

Three, four steps forward and it no longer feels like I'm stuck,

It's a free flow now like motion explained.

Clear that I am no longer behind, I continued to walk,

Now it's like a miracle, the bursts of emotions delayed.

(6)

It's 10:30am now and I'm thirty steps forward,

I now live by ten and thirty steps in between,

and twenty too, the number I never uttered.

So here's to the beginning, the end and everything that has been.

Dearest gentle reader, I must admit I have some explanation to do regarding my disappearing act just after 10 days into the month. The thing is, I planned to have an unforgettable month, but did I? Yes, I did. I can never forget what I faced this month, the unforgettable and unforgivable crimes committed against me and my sanity. So we are gathered here today, dear reader, for the second entry of Z’s Monthly Letters, we have “AN UNFORGETTABLE MONTH; THE MOOD OF JUNE DUNES”.

My plan to write like a man possessed and had his rent due sank throughout the first week, but I was not pressured, I thought I had it all figured out. I was right, just for two days. If you followed the first entry, you'll remember I mentioned being trapped with mnesoma since the middle of April. 😭While everyone else was doing the “Late nights in the middle of June, Heatwaves been fakin me out” trend. I was up late for several nights in the middle of June and it was not because of heatwaves. I was thinking about whatever I did to be stuck with mnesoma for two months(who did I offend?).

It didn't look like love anymore, it was pure murderous intent and I had to fight back in order to survive. In the wise words of the great British philosopher, Olivia D., “who would do that to a friend, let alone the one you love?”. So we argued, harangued, haggled back and forth before we finally agreed on a condition before I could be free. Just before the middle of June, my disadvantageous association with mnesoma slowed me down and a couple of the problems I ran past before caught up with me. So that's the main reason for my disappearing act and I take the blame for that (no I won't, I blame mnesoma). Most people like to solve their problems, I like to make mine disappear, as I run away from them. So to do what was necessary to make my problems disappear and detach myself fully away from mnesoma, I ran. Yes, I started running, and I was able to run fast enough to make my problems disappear and free myself from the harmful embrace of mnesoma. I'm a free man now thanks to the support of my super sidekick, for taking on those night shifts to save Gotham while I slept, and two super twinnn, who supported mnesoma (wicked women) and who supported me, and finally all of my super fans out there. I'm back now (up and dangerous). 🙂‍↕️

On other notes before we get to review the two publications I posted earlier this month, the World Cup placed at this time of year is just perfect, it has been an excellent coping mechanism. The only problem now is the time zone because it's not being played in Europe. Other than that, it has been just fine. Gutted that Nigeria didn't qualify though. Before the World Cup started, we had this wave of “Son” memes and I honestly couldn't get enough of them. Every one of them were simple enough to make me laugh. 😂😂 It's tough to pick a favourite, so here a couple of them that still don't fail to make me laugh.

Drumrolls please…. 🥁🥁🥁

Now to our main event, the review. 🙂‍↔️

The first post of the month, “ÌGBÀ M'BAJO K'ÓNÍLU MÁ GBÉLU LỌ” (When my time to dance arrives, let the drummers stay and not cart the drums away) is a prayer. A prayer hinged on timing, the patience required, and the good tidings that follow suit. This one was easy to write for two main reasons. The first reason is one of my friends wrote a collection of poems, and the fifteenth title “ÌGBÀ M'BAJO, ÓNÍLU GBÉLU LỌ” (When I wanted to dance, the drummers carted their drums away) instantly drew my attention, and I just knew I had to do something with it. The words had already been in my head for so long, I just needed a perfect title for the prayer. So he gave me the other title I used and it was just the right fit. The second thing that made it easier was the timing, there was no better time to pray about timing being a fresh graduate and several thoughts of what to do next that kept stirring sandstorms in my head. And it's a prayer for everyone too, regardless of wherever you are in life at the moment, I pray your time to dance comes and you'll be there to dance. 🫶🏾❤️

The second post, “THE WAR I CALLED PEACE” is an upgraded version of what I wanted to do with “ALL THAT FLOWED”. Both of them were tipped towards betrayal but the latter felt a bit rushed and it ended in regret but the former has a twist to it. It's more like, “thank you for doing this to me, now I have more reasons to protect myself”. Did it get personal along the line? I must admit, yes it did. But on the bright side, it felt quite peaceful and that's all that matters, no? 🙂‍↔️

My Lisan al-Gaib moment for this month happened when I finally freed myself from mnesoma and my oh my, I feel unstoppable again. That's a wrap on entry two of Z's Monthly Letters. See you in the next one, byeeeeeee. 🫶🏾❤️

We called it peace once, this. All of it. None of it lacked the warmth to get through violent snowstorms, the cheerful laughter that drowned sad voices, steady hands that always reached out whenever the earth trembled, and the ship that sailed even when the tides turned over. We were warriors, and we always fought so recklessly close but our swords made no mistakes striking the hearts of our enemies. It all felt too good, too good, I feared it would bring our destruction but the ever steady hands, the ship, the warmth, the cheerful laughter gave me a reason to believe destruction was impossible. All of that couldn't just go away.

When I got caught in a snowstorm and I shakily believed warmth would arrive but it never did was when it dawned on me that I'd given out all my warmth. The cold air slowly froze my face, my heart and while I was slowly losing my sight, I saw a dim light. It was the warmth I gave out, concentrated in someone so close yet so far from me. Maybe that wasn't the warmth meant for me, I was losing my sight so I couldn't be too sure of what I saw.

Then it all started happening at once.

The cheerful laughter went silent and the sad voices got their noise back with me covering my ears and wailing, my world trembled and no steady hands reached out to hold me. I was left on a raft to get through the rocky rides and the sword that was used to fight alongside me struck my heart. It carved a recognizable hole, the one that gets carved on our enemies at war. This was no longer peace, it has become a devastating rumble. Destruction. And it has engulfed everything I had in its path.

But I survived.

I told myself it had to be part of the cycle. This peace can't all just go away like that. So I started over, the same manner I did in the beginning. I was ready to give everything to ensure the peace lived with us forever. The warmth was mine to give and not to receive. The sad voices always had their noise, they just got louder than the cheerful laughter. I couldn't find steady hands to hold on to while my world trembled because the world trembled everywhere. The ship got torn apart by the rocky tides and that's why I was left with a raft. We were reckless leaving our swords out unsheathed when we had no enemies to fight. It was still the peace we learned to name, maybe it just changed form and I was too late to learn about it.

I lived in my life's greatest lie about the peace we named till my heart bled until it could bleed no more. I recognized destruction when it knocked but I thought all that we named peace could save me.

But it didn't.

Now I've stopped giving away my warmth, it'll make no sense if I have something that I can't use for myself. I find myself funny so I laugh hard at my own jokes. I've held so many heavy feelings that my hands have become steady enough to hold myself. And I just avoid going on a ship, I get seasick. I quit being a warrior but the scars remain.

Now my sword remains unsheathed, and I'd like to keep it that way. I've found peace.

Here I am again, in this graceful pause of silence, my heart in hand, deliberately hoping that I get to dance when my time comes. I fear if I don't ask, I may never get to hear the beating of the drums, the drums might be taken away, or when I finally hear the drums, my feet may get too tired to dance. I pray not because I have no other option, but because I know that prayer is the most powerful option I have. Without it, I am completely hollow, and there's nothing that can fill me, not even the noise from the drums. So whenever I am deemed ready to dance, all I'm asking for is the drum to stay. That's what brings me here today.

It is near impossible for me to dance without woeful missteps to drums beaten for another man's dance. So these are the drums that make my dance mine. The Àṣhíko, cylindrical and rope-tuned, ready to be struck. I pray for my purpose and when I eventually find my purpose, I will joyously dance and others will dance with me. Like the Gángan, the talking drum that can speak calm into chaos. I pray I find peace, the kind of peace that answers noise, drowns noise and makes sounds that convey my soul to the places that it'll heal. Like the Sákárà, round and shallow, played with precision by both stick and finger. I pray for clarity, the ability to discern what is important from what is hollow, to hear the messages meant for me clearly. Like the Gbẹ́dú, the drum that resounds royalty, large and commanding at the same time. I pray for wealth, and not just money, but abundance that signifies gracefulness, one that opens doors, that honours the value of who I am and what I bring. Like the Sàwọroídé, a drum singing with brass bells ringing beside it. I pray for love that resounds, a love that carries chords and harmony that makes others feel the beating of my heart.

I do not simply ask to dance to these five drums giving nothing in return. Nor do I expect the drummers to play the drums just because I deserve these things but that I'm still here, still hoping I get to dance to these drums when the time is right. I stand here with my willingness, my readiness and my unshakable faith that no matter how long it takes for my turn to dance, I will keep showing up.

The hardest part of any dance is keeping up with the intensity of the drum beats. But it is also important to remember that the drums are not beaten at all times, so the hardest part now is waiting, waiting for the first time the drumsticks and the fingers gently tap the surface of the drums to announce arrival and herald the answering of my silent prayers. I do not know when it will come but I will keep asking, I will keep hoping because whatever was meant for me won't pass me by. So I will remain here, gently tapping my tired feet on the ground ready for whenever the drummers start beating my drums.

I would love to go on and on but that would lead to desperation which would slowly deplete my unshakable faith. I trust that the time is coming so for the final time, here's all I ask for.

“When my time to dance arrives, let the drummers stay and not cart the drums away”.

Dearest gentle reader, it is with great delight that I announce to you that we are soooo back. Like we never left. 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️ The last time I wrote to you was when I finished my 4 turned 5 year sentence in university. So now we're back. It's not going to be anything like the previous publication, because we'll be having this on the last day of every month starting today. I'm thinking of calling it “Z’s Monthly Letters” because it just sounds right. Now let's start what we're gathered here to do. 🤭

This month started off with me clueless on two things, what to write and how to get some sleep at night. I've had mnesoma by my side since the middle of April up until now. It's a toxic relationship. 😔 Other than that, I briefly battled the “after university blues”. I don't know if that's a thing but it should be. I got through it after a conversation with a close confidant where I picked one line that has helped me ever since.

“Nobody has it all figured out, for now everyone is just pretending they do. So you do the same, and don't beat yourself up for not having it all figured out”.

And just like magic, my worries disappeared so when I get asked what I'm up to now, I simply reply that I'm going with the flow (flood). About my cluelessness on what to write, I finally figured it out on the eighth day of the month while it rained in the morning and I wrote “SEND DOWN THE RAIN”. I didn't even know what I was aiming for, I was just desperate to have something written to continue my streak of writing every month. I go back and read it and realize how peaceful it felt and how I should've made it longer.

My toxic relationship with mnesoma pushed me to write again seven days later. In “BEFORE THE MORNING LIGHT”, I was able to capture what I go through every night that I'm left alone with mnesoma and how fast it's becoming a habit. The idea to add timestamp only came to me when I already started writing it and looking back now, I think it worked out just fine.🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

The motivation for “WHERE HE DIED” came from Four-eedah’s piece “WE KILLED OURSELVES”. It felt strangely calm for the dangerous situation it was describing so I tapped into it and did something drawing inspiration from a quatrain that has been sitting in my notes for over two years now. I mean it's not exactly like hers, but I was quite pleased I could try something different, so I tried again with “ALL THAT FLOWED”. This time, I moved the theme to end of life through betrayal. Somewhere along the line, I'll confess it got a bit too personal but that helped me to find the right words to use for the piece.

“I'D STILL CHOOSE YOU” came from me feeling like I was on a hot streak, so why not? As much as I don't really like getting into all of that writing something on love, I think this one did just fine as a sequel to “BEFORE WE FALL IN LOVE”. And no, it doesn't make me a lover boy. I'm Batman, and saving Gotham is all that I think about.🌚

“THE BENCH IN THE PARK” came from a place of gratitude after I realized how I still manage to hold on despite everything that has happened and is happening. It was long due before I posted it, but I had a pretty busy last week of the month that I didn't really have time to post it at the specific time I wanted to. Which brings me to let you know that all the posts I've written this month were published at exactly 5:05pm. 🌚🌚 I simply did that because it's the fifth month of the year, so why not?

So, for the last day of the month update and plan for next month. I have a on and off relationship with mnesoma, the love is still there. Also, I got to attend a wedding for the first time in ten years. That isn't as crazy as the fact that the last wedding I attended in 2016 was at the same venue. I have completely forgotten what they even do at weddings so I was lost as the event progressed.😭😭 And for the plan? Write more next month. 🙂‍↔️

Anyways that will be all for our first entry of Z’s Monthly Letters, see you on the last day of next month. Byeeeeeeeeeee. 🫶🏾❤️

“Finally.”

I said as I sat down on the bench while I looked on and saw the trees swaying gracefully, birds flying by, some of them perched close to the ground ready to peck on crumbs flung to the side by couples having a picnic. I hear the endless noise coming from the children running around flying kites, the soft chatter of people sitting on other benches and splashing of water in a pond nearby inhabited by brightly coloured ducks. Then a gentle breeze hit my face to welcome me back. I let out a deep exhale. I've missed being here.

The park has been here for as long as I can remember, and so much has changed, but it all still feels familiar. All the benches were placed strategically along the stretch of the cobblestone walkway surrounding the park. There were grass patches only between trees but now it's everywhere. The pond that houses the brightly coloured ducks used to be just a puddle. Not many people saw the appeal in this small expanse of land sparsely covered with grass, now there isn't a count to how many people wished it was home to them. But the birds never lost their swift pecking response to flying crumbs. And through all this, I looked on in silence. Everything was moving, I wasn't.

Now that I'm sitting on this bench after so long. I got reminded of the things that I find constantly slipping away. From the never ending shared laughter, genuine smiles that needed no permission to be around, and the joy of genuine connections. To the roots that have always held steady, and to the comfort of always having a place to return to. And finally to the four walls that shut the noise out and calms my heart among the peaceful hush of devoted hearts, and the serene moments where my worries seemed lighter or I got stronger. I'll admit I didn't realize earlier just how much these things held me throughout the weight of it all, the love, the losses, the sleepless nights. It felt too good be true but I never gave it much thought. I always wondered how I managed to get through everything. Maybe it all just kind of happens. Maybe I got lucky. Maybe I got through it all because I could handle it. But I never thought that all of these things saved me. I'm not ungrateful that they did, I just never knew what saved me.

I realize it now, and I look back at the bench with the eyes of a man who has discovered a reason to still exist, and settles with the reality that would have been or that could be if the bench was never there. The bench has always been there, but my eyes weren't fully open to seeing it. Now that I do, I fully understand what it means and everything it has been carrying for so long. Without it, everything would mean nothing. So I am eternally grateful that it has given me everything. All that I asked for and all that I did not.

Here I am again, on the bench staring at the green patches of grass everywhere, the trees still swaying gracefully, birds chirping louder now, excited noises of the children running around, and the cheerful quacks of the brightly coloured ducks. I've missed it all and now I've found myself back on the bench in the park.

I won't be leaving for a while.

It's very difficult making up my mind on things I want these days, but I've grown certain of one thing. It may sound too sudden, too late or unnecessary, but in-between freeing myself to love for the first time and ending up paying the cost of giving my heart out for free. I still want all my tomorrows to be with you by my side.

I'd always wanted my tomorrows beautifully painted with a forever love by my side. I thought I had all that before but apparently it wasn't the nicest piece to paint. It arrived blissfully and I met it with open arms, impulsively, not knowing what intentions it had for me, then it cut me open and tore me apart till I could no longer recognize myself. It was pure misery. I lived through it and I have learned not to let the old pain linger, but as I can't entirely forget it, I still live with it. In your presence, the pain from all that just seemed to heal and there was no uncertainty left if I wanted to fall with and for you.

After I was reduced to the shadow of who I was, I wrapped all the love in me behind walls and promised myself never to reach for it again, not even for myself. Then you arrived and tore the fabric of solitude that I wore. Only this time, it didn't feel like I was getting stripped of all I held dear. With ease, you reached through all the love I wrapped behind walls making me realize I was a fool for being full of love and not wanting to love. What's all the love for anyways? I didn't have answers to how you did that effortlessly but I think I do now. It's because you're you, another me. And all you've wanted was to have your tomorrows beautifully painted with a forever love by your side. You found your forever love, and I did too. I'm glad it didn't take me too long to realize that you, Ìfọkànbalẹ̀ mi, are the relief I never knew I was allowed to have. So now that I have you, I can have the perfect cover to my scars.

When I look back and remember how I got torn apart mindlessly, it's enough to echo the pain again and make me rethink my choices regardless of right they may be. I won't deny that I've had doubts, but it wasn't that I was unsure about you, no, not at all. You're perfect. I had doubts because I was unsure if I could face the pain again if it ever returned but I snapped away from that. If I still held on to that doubt, I'd have to wait forever to be sure. But I'm a mere mortal, I don't have forever. I found clarity so now this is where I stand. Despite the agony I experienced in not recognizing myself, I still want this with you. Surviving all that pain has taught me the value of what I have now and I'll be a coward if I said I'm not willing to get my paint brushes out and paint beautiful tomorrows with you.

Love came, took from me, then it came again in another form, you. It is said that they all end the same no matter how the beginning looks, the relationships, the jobs, the phases of life. But the greatest lesson there is what they all carry and what we learn from them, and that's why I'd still choose you.

I thought it was like a match made forever, the companionship that we shared. It felt like a warm embrace I never wanted to get out of because it had the tranquility of a stream strong enough to put out the river of fire in me. It was everything.

With time I noticed that the warm embrace started to press the air out of my lungs but I dismissed it, telling myself, this is all I need, so what if the hug gets tighter? Maybe it's getting tighter because the fires in me were getting stronger too? And as this companionship was built to last forever, the warm embrace must be adapting to help me out and I shouldn’t resist. But it kept happening, the warm embrace slowly turned into a squeeze that felt safe at first, then a little too much. The stream was no longer tranquil, and the fires in me were burning fiercely. I still couldn't piece it together. This was where I slowly started to learn safety, watering myself down. Why does it now feel so much like it's working against me? It shouldn't be. That's not what this was supposed to be.

I remained stunned and in denial for as long as I could manage the pain, then it started to unfold clearly before me that it all began when the warm embrace started to feel like squeezing the air out of my lungs. Was I a fool to have remained in that embrace? But I didn't see it like that when it happened, I only saw it the way a stream had its own tide moment, a rhythm that just kept the water flowing. That's what I thought I was doing, keeping the water flowing. But it turned out to be flowing in the wrong direction.

As I slowly loosened my arms, I felt your arms try so hard to restrain me. Then you paused and it felt like a warm embrace again. In that moment, I felt eased and I kept my arms back in place, ready to continually melt in the embrace, and have the raging fires put out. If I could still recognize this peace, then why did all that happen? Maybe I just had thoughts cluttered up in my head that have been messing with me. These things happen. The further I tried questioning what went wrong before, the more I felt the hug getting too tight again. Only this time, I didn't hesitate to break free. Fool me once, twice, that's shame on me, but thrice? That's a shame on you.

You extended your arms towards me for what seemed like a light embrace, one that's not meant to last. Then you reached out for a knife. Maybe you were just trying to free the thoughts cluttered up in my head.

But you didn't.

I only looked down and saw a stream where all that flowed was the years I'd given, the trust and my blood.

It was right here, in this quiet garden that I met him. Rows of lilies flanked him on his right, pansies on my right and an expanse of green grass covering everywhere the flowers didn't. There stood a decade-long acacia tree and a duck-inhabited pond right behind him. A weird combination for a quiet garden I thought, but I didn't question it.

We stood there, looking at each other without a word. I only looked away when he opened a can of worms and threw it at the ducks. But instead of rushing to feed on the worms, the flapping and the quacking of the ducks couldn't be heard. Something was wrong. I looked to my right and saw the pansies blooming differently, I smiled at the wonder of nature. Then I looked to his right and saw the lilies withering slowly. My smile departed my face immediately. Then a cold, swift breeze swept through the garden blowing some of the withered acacia leaves off the tree and that was when I looked over at him, his hands tightly gripping his chest, and his face slowly losing its light.

He was falling slowly when I rushed to collect him. He was close to the ground before I reached him. So he was there, in my arms, my hand lightly pressing his own hand on his chest and I tried to tell him everything was going to be okay. I couldn't. Instead I started trembling too, because it hit me that he was leaving and he knew it. But he looked young, younger than me and in his final moments as the light slowly left his face, he didn't have despair written all over him. He looked full of hope, like someone who had surrendered, knowing a better fate awaits him.

And for the first time since we stood in the garden together, he finally spoke. “Now, it's happening now right?” I couldn't lie to him and the tears had built up in my eyes making it difficult for me to talk so I nodded slowly, fighting hard to not let the tears drop. He looked at my face and flashed me a faint smile, his eyes closing as he did.

Yes, this is it. Àsìkò náà ti tó.

I could no longer hold the tears back, they just streamed freely from my eyes. His faint smile broke me completely, he knew the end was near and he met it not with fear but with a smile. What a guy! I muttered words of prayers for him and I looked around the garden with his fallen frame still in my arms. The pansies still bloomed, the lilies completely withered, the ducks flapped and quacked more aggressively now. And the acacia tree bowed as it shed more leaves for the breeze to carry away.

The time is finally 11:00pm, the lights are off, and the world has gone silent. I tried doing the same but it seemed I was left behind and I was tired. So I said to myself, it's just 6 hours, I can definitely survive the silent night. Or so I thought.

12:00am, and my mind started doing what it does best, turning things over, and comfortably setting a train of thoughts that's almost impossible to get during the day to keep me company. But that's not the problem, the problem is how it takes ordinary things that I initially did not give much thought to, and turns them into my biggest nightmares of “what ifs”, “should haves”, “if onlys”, and the “maybes”. They become a nightmare because they seem lighter to handle during the day, but when cover of the night arrives, they get heavier, darker.

1:00am, and my mind shifts to wonder what everything is all for, what does any of it mean for us all, what does everyone truly want, what do I truly want, what did I do wrong, and what did I ever do right. I found answers to these endless worries easily because the night had given me what the day was too busy to give me, dead silence to stir my thoughts. So I appreciate the night for giving the perfect ingredient to remain worried.

2:00am, and my minds starts fidgeting, the dead silence ingredient is proving strong for it to handle until I heard unlocking of the gate, turning on ignition and my neighbor driving off to God knows where. I thought to myself, maybe he also couldn't take the silence any longer. But what went wrong? The silence at night used to be the comfort everyone looked forward to, but it has gotten too loud now.

3:00am. Boom! The dane gun echoed in the air and tore the silence. It was the unmistakable sound of the vigilantes on their patrol and that gunshot meant that their shift was coming to an end as the time for the break in morning light drew closer. I secretly wished they kept shooting at intervals to keep my mind safe from my newfound dread of the silence of the night.

4:00am. My mind had gotten very tired at this point and it desperately wanted to join the world as they went quiet too, as it no longer wants to feel what it's like when it happens, it wants to be a part of it, badly. But rejoining the world at this time would only result to losing my second battle of the day, and I was not ready to lose twice, or lose again.

5:00am. Lights went on in the neighborhood masjid and the Adhan’s voice calling people to success tore the air, and my dream of a shut eye before the morning light.

5:05pm. I still haven't slept.

As I opened the door this morning to leave the house for Fajr, I looked up and saw the clouds thundering silently. I didn't think much of it so I just left the house. Minutes later, a violent breeze arrived, forcefully opening and shutting the doors of the masjid in quick succession. Then, it rained.

I didn't get a wink of sleep overnight so it's safe to say I had a lot on my mind until the first rain drops fell, then with the repetitive pattern of the drops, all the heaviness in my heart dissipated slowly until all I could hear was nothing but stillness. Quite ironic how a heavy downpour could easily quieten the violent waves and I just sat, looking away unperturbed like the entire Greek civilization didn't just get wiped out in my head.

As the violent waves in my head surrendered gracefully to the heavy downpour, I snapped back. I remembered the Sunnah of the Prophet (ﷺ) to make Dua while it rained because it's one of the times that supplications are accepted. Now, when I was much younger, I didn't capitalize on that. All I wanted was to have fun so whenever it rained I saw it as an obstacle that prevented me from going outside to be somewhere and have fun. Adulthood has changed that for me, because like many, the heart is always heavy and we're always searching for relief. From getting upset about the rain ruining my plans to go out, to eventually finding relief for my heavy heart in the rain, where supplications aren't rejected and I can pray for mercy and ease to relieve my heavy heart. For this, I wish it could rain forever.

The rain paused briefly, giving me the window to walk back home and not get drenched. As I stepped outside, it felt like a good morning, it felt like a good day, it felt like a new beginning. The air was cleaner than ever, the trees gently swaying, shaking the drops of rain stored on their leaves and it all just felt like being washed clean again. With swift-paced steps, I made my way through the muddy patches on the road, careful to ensure that I do not fall and careful to ensure that I do not hurry through it all.

I got back home, and it kept raining. Maybe my wish had been granted.

These days I find myself asking, what good is a heart? I've had this heart for years now, and it has done an excellent job of keeping me alive. But somewhere along the way I began to truly see it for the first time.

After a closer observation, I noticed it started from when my heart slowly learned to love. It was messy at first, but it was clear about one thing, its sincerity. I thought that was all that mattered. It did matter, until it didn't anymore. It felt like breaking a piece of expensive china, cracked, scarred, rearranged, but it still did what it was meant to do.

But the heaviness doesn't end there.

I noticed again when my heart forcibly learned what it meant to say goodbye forever. It was a lot to process the first time. It got easier the second time. The third time felt heavier than both combined. Almost like my heart was meant to feel heavy all the time. I couldn't handle it all, but my heart did.

How can a heart go through all of that and still survive? What is it made of? It should have broken, but it didn't. I can only marvel at how it took a leap of faith anyway, giving me reason to still love, be loved, and experience loss without losing myself completely.

But that's not all.

This heart of mine keeps carrying everything, still surviving things that haven't fully been recognized yet. It keeps learning, unlearning, and relearning new ways to make sure it only stops when the time is up. And I am just here, watching it because I have learned to trust it now.

That trust has forged something between us that I did not expect. I no longer question its resilience. I no longer question what it is good for. After everything it has carried, everything it is still carrying, it keeps beating, giving me a reason to live.

For me, that is what good a heart is.