The Aftermath - An Epistolary

Dear ….. Erm, I don’t quite know what title to ascribe you now.

I’ve held this pen for quite a while now, dithering over what to write. I’ve always wanted to explain everything that happened a little better, but how do I start?
You see, I have absolutely no experience with heart breaks considering that I have practically no history with relationships, but I can totally imagine your present state of mind. I can imagine the hurt, disappointment, anger, the possible hatred and feelings of betrayal.
And yeah, I know, I caused them all.

I remember the night I dropped the ‘bombshell’ of wanting out. Even though I don’t think it should have been a bombshell, for it was a long time coming, i don’t expect it was any easier for you to handle. I was just too much of a coward to admit that I’d wanted out for quite a while and I did not quite know how to finesse the exit and not look terrible about it.
I’m sure your most prevalent question, right now, is ‘Why?’ Why did I leave? I know if you could find a way to ask me that question, without seeming desperate, you would. With that in mind, I can give you my answer now, before you ask; I don’t know. I absolutely do not.

I can’t explain how I came to not be thrilled anymore when you make those clowning, South Park themed jokes that used to get me in stiches. How did I lose total interest in embarking on road trips with you, when it used to be the highlight of my admittedly infrequent vacations?

Remember when you’d tell me I was an amateur in the kitchen, and then you’ll waltz in and prepare those mouth-watering, delicious dishes that made my house a main stay for the guys on weekends and public hols? I remember your veggie stew with ‘long throat’.
I used to love your cooking. I still do, to be honest. I just wasn’t enthused anymore to try to spend time with you in the kitchen while you worked your magic.

Remember how we’d forgo Friday night Turn-ups to stay in and catch up on old movies? Yes, I admit, I enjoyed lying down to watch chick flicks with you. And cuddle. I used to want to spend every moment with you. Where did that go?

I just watched the closing Ceremony of the Rio Olympics. I remember when we were giddy, watching the Copacabana beach scenes during the World cup two years ago, and swearing that we’d watch the Olympics together, live in Rio this year. Funny, we could just have afforded it right now. Life happens eh?

I could not explain it either, when I’d look at you now through the eyes of my friends and not feel an immediate oomph added to my swag. Remember how proud I used to be upon seeing the envy in their eyes? And how I’d smirk, preen and remark to myself, ‘yeah, that’s all mine’. When we’d dance and it would immediately become an exhibition for everyone else watching, and people would exclaim, ‘Ah, relationship goals.’ Yes, I still hate that goals word. But how the hell did all that wear off?

I can’t answer any of these questions, but I can definitely assure you of two things;

First, I didn’t give up easily. I tried. Not just because I wanted to stay so much, after all, you’ve been the best thing that happened to me recently, but also because I want to believe I wasn’t destined to end up alone, as I’ve always suspected. Remember the break? I wanted to miss you then. I tried to, so bad, but, again, life happens.

And no, there isn’t someone else. There never was. And this epistle isn’t to exorcise my demons so I could move on to someone else. Nope. You’ve set the bar way too high and probably no one, bar say, Angelina Jolie (remember we love her?) could even attempt to measure up. I mean, if I couldn’t stay with someone as awesome as you, who would I stay with?

I mean, who else would tell me on phone to say hi to my truck, and tell it that you miss it?

Damn, I really didn’t deserve you. Sally was right. I really am so jaded, I’m Jade itself

I still don’t know what to call you. I hate to acknowledge that I would one day use the word ‘ex’ to refer to you. I’m not ready for that, even though I know it has to happen.

Anyway, I hope this finds you well.

                                                       Yours ever in love,
                                                       (I don’t know, what do you call me now?)

For the Love of Beer

A few days back, I met someone awesome for the first time and we had drinks at a Café in Abuja here.
It’s known for having really good cocktails and coffee mixes on menu. She ordered a ‘dirty white boy’, a coffee, milk and cream mix, (I know, who the hell names these drinks right?), and I, a beer. Without being asked, I hastened to convey my love for beer but couldn’t quite explain properly what draws me to it and makes me choose it over probably every other alcoholic beverage, even over my beloved Cap’n Jack and Skyy (that’s really good vodka).

At home today, nursing a bottle of Star, the words came to me. I’d just come in from the shopping complex close to my house, where I’d walked to buy tomatoes (thank God it’s cheaper now). I was thirsty, so before cooking, I opened this bottle, and sans glass, stood in front of the fridge and chugged down almost a quarter of the contents in one swallow.
I belched loudly, smiling. The ice-cold goodness had travelled straight down my gullet, cooling my parched tongue along the way and hitting my stomach with authority and command, generating that spine tingling feeling from that often glossed over spot, you know that part, back of the head, a few metres from your neck, just under the sharp point we called ‘Ogor’. Only three things give that feeling – the hum from a barber’s clipper on your head, a Beer, and very good, sloppy, …. Err… ‘brain’?

How do I extol beer further? Tough, but I’ll try.

Ever walked into a Bar on a hot afternoon during the heat wave and a visibly sweating, from-the-freezer, cooling-the-air-round-you cold bottle of lager is placed before you? I’m sure your thirst gets sated even before you drink.
Or perhaps I can tell you about Beer’s worth as a conversation enabler? Smoother of pathways, leveler of class, first of its name? I kid you not. See below:

• Want to ask a legal but unofficial favour from a colleague and don’t know how to approach him? Take him to a bar and Buy him beer. Thank me later.
• Going to a party and don’t know most of the guys you will meet there? Go with a case or two and carry it into the party late. You’re the MVP from then on. Or at least until some other guy, probably named Buchi, buys an even bigger case and brings it in, but there you go.
• Offended me, and don’t know how to say sorry? Just take me to a good bar and buy me cold beer. Sometimes ‘brain’ works, too, but only from a specific gender, and in specific dynamics. You’re safer and surer with beer.
• Worried about meeting your Significant other’s brother, favourite male cousin, close male friend(s)? Venue is inconsequential here. Just buy beer.
• Got enough Balls to attempt to meet the proposed father in-law? Err…. Maybe not always a beer here, just in case he’s that guy for whom no one is good enough for his baby-girl. He’ll turn the beer to prosecutorial evidence.

All the above is on assumption that they all drink beer. I do, in case you’re wondering, even though I’m sure you aren’t. If they don’t, don’t bother, they aren’t worth the trouble. Wait, I jest.

Seriously though, Beer is healthy. Surprised? Beer has less calories per serving than alcoholic Wine or sugary soft drinks. In fact, moderate and responsible beer consumption has been proven to have nutritional value and is actually good for you on the long run.

Can I take a minute to Say hello to the ladies who drink beer? Especially in our gender defined society? I like it a lot. I’ve always opined that my life partner must be a left handed, artistic, geeky yet sexy, smart, freaky doctor, preferably not from my tribe, but above all, enjoys beer. Tall order, I know. Maybe that’s why I sometimes feel I’m probably doomed to die single. But there’s something uniquely appealing for me about a woman that drinks beer, and writes, and draws, and is a nerd, a freak, a…. Buchi Shut up.

I do need to point something out though. This post isn’t for those who use alcohol in general as a means of escape, or as a tool for working themselves up to abuse either themselves or others, especially domestically. That’s despicable and we the association of Beer drinkers disassociate ourselves from those ‘arrants’. Nor is this for those who, despite their medical condition, refuse to stay away from alcohol. If you belong to these groups, please desist and get help.

This isn’t also for those without self-discipline who expend all their money on alcohol, or for those who, every Saturday or Sunday evening, head for their favourite spots, with shirts often unbuttoned, flabby, pregnant bellies open for the public’s unsolicited viewing displeasure, and sit down to quaff cartons of beer, enough to run a bottling plant for a day. You people make us look bad. Stop already.

Nope. This is for the blue and white (even brown) collar workers, artisan, entrepreneur, writer, geek, teacher, and of course, the doctor. I write this for the Bar owners, who are pillars of the community much like Moe in The Simpsons. I mean, where else would Homer and Apu go? This is also for those watching football in Bars (and trolling, just doing ‘bants’, not griping like @Sirkastiq on twitter about Arsene), the average Emeka, Musa and Funke, who, after a hard day’s job, enjoy relaxing to a beer or two, who are creating value, unwinding, socializing and forming bonds with like-minded lovers of beer.

So, tell me, what’s your poison? Are you a wine connoisseur, Hennessey enthusiast? You like Jack the Captain? Or are you like me, do we all love that cold, rich, smooth, sometimes brown, sometimes green bottle of soothing awesomeness, which contains just the right amount of bitterness to keep us going?

Are we united in our love for Beer?