"Life is nobody's age mate. We came to life and saw life. We'd leave and leave life behind."
An experience that leaves a sour feeling on my buds minutes after it pretends to be sweet.
Few weeks ago, a gay man made a pass at me yammering of how he gets hard at the thought of me and every other thing he said.
My response was simple; "no matter how hard you get thinking of me, you can't be as hard as life.
Any erection that is stronger than life can kill the owner of the erection. The obituary may read; " died after a brief lively erection"
I've pondered a while on the difficult mystery of life. A mystery that's revealing yet concealing.
I made a new friend. A fine young girl who has been seared by the hot iron of life.
She has endured things that could kill me.
We were together one-night last week playing whot. At some point, I figured that life is synonymous to that game.
When life demands triangle, we scamper and scamper only to see that we have four circles and three boxes. When it demands boxes, triangle appears.
I was losing. She was winning. I looked her in the eye and told her "even in whot, life is difficult"
She laughed. Laughed some more and tried to swallow and digest what I said.
She responded; "sometimes, when life demands something from us, before we struggle to get it, we hear " check up and last card"
I laughed at the genius in her reply. She exhumed wisdom.
We got talking. Deep talks. Sharing our dark stories. Stories with tearful plot twists. Stories with themes of loss of dear ones, molestation, battery, heartbreak of different forms.
Then, I figured that in the story of being human and being a part of this game called life, we have the same themes. Only different characters and diverse plots.
Life is nobody's age mate. We came to life and saw life. We'd leave and leave life behind. Life is a doting grandparent that laughs at the cravings of his grandchildren scrunching its nose up as it watches us hustling for futility that looks useful.
She lost her father at age 3 and lost her mother to another man at age five. Since then, she's been hopping from an aunty's house to uncles. Her story is what I can't wish an enemy.
Last night, her estranged younger sister called. Estranged because they didn't grow together. They were scattered far from each other across homes of family members.
Siblings who do not know themselves by reason of being flung afar from each other like tantrums.
Her younger sister left Nigeria with people who my friend doesn't know. She said Italy. Italy!
Last night, she called her with a +222 number. Sounding afraid. I could see her face, I could see fear and uncertainty fighting for the better half of her face. I saw these.
She later would tell me that her sister is still in Libya. War torn Libya??
She said there was a fight. That she wants to come home and all.
Life has demanded balls from her but all she has is fear.
The balls that made her make the choice to leave had left her for fear to occupy it's vaccum.
That is how it goes. Life is happening to her in the most frightful way.
Before I slept, I thought of the 22 year old girl who is out in a totally different country trying to escape her reality.
She, where ever she is would admit that life isn't our age mate. It happens to us irrespective of our age and situation.
Osuchukwu, Mark Anthony is a young writer who masquerades as a journalist to be taken serious. If not for poverty, he would have made it in life. He could be reached via firstname.lastname@example.org