The INN(T)ER VIEW.
Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash.
Na see finish dey make man go when God say stop. And oftentimes, na why man no dey see the tin finish. - ANotSoBrave Twentee
Take 1: I was in front of a people recently. I ordinarily wouldn't say they belong to me because when you're being viewed by different people, they call it an interview, I hear. And subsequently, sometimes, you belong to the people viewing you. But that wasn't the case, or maybe it was, because in this circle of people, maybe I did belong to them. But that's obviously because they belonged to me, too, in some way.
Take 2: I am in a very serious relationship with my room. I think one day, someone will ask me to show them my room, and I'll say, look at yours. They all look the same. Mine’s just probably quieter, with her own kind of chaos. Love comes with its chaos; even Disney knows that. But when the people of the inter(resting)-view asked me to show up, I sighed in the way people who love other people that make them do things they'd rather not do, like to sigh—heavily.
Take 3: My room hid my best clothes from me. I think she wasn't exactly pleased that I was going out to pose and answer questions from other people that weren't her; asking me questions and her listening to me answer myself. I insisted that I did all the asking and answering. I told her all she did was listen, to which she replied in her usual answer: silence. She believes it to be quite a formidable answer. Then I scoffed and headed out to the club with people who didn't play golf or polo. A club of people I belonged to in words and in different colours of emotion.
Take 4: It turns out that stars live on Earth, too, in people's eyes. I used to know that, but somehow I forgot. I saw them for the first time in a while. Maybe it was what I said to them when they asked me if I regretted schooling here, somewhere in the North; whether I think the course I read was going to be full of use? I looked into the distance and sighed. My room was right; I wasn't who these people thought I was, am; wise, accomplished, great, a leader? I still struggle to get up early enough for 7:30 classes, and I stay through the night settling squabbles between work and play.
Take 5: I took a deep breath, and I tried to do what I've been trying to do for years: tell a story. I painted a picture of an ant with a rolling stone the size of a rat rolling towards it. It would either break the stone, or the stone would break it, but there was one certain end: it would come out bigger than the stone (emerging as the size of a rat, which it wasn't before), either by breaking the stone, or the stone breaking it and rolling it over till it's atop the stone. Then it's no longer an ant; it's something bigger. Maybe one could call it a rat. It then moves to the next big stone that comes along. On and on, bigger and bigger until it's on a mountain, and it's the earth rolling it around, trying to break it, or it trying to break her. I'm not sure how it ends at that point.
Take 6: I had to say a few sorrys to anyone who identified as a rat or who thought I was calling them that. I was just trying. To tell a story. About people who try. And about God's Providence too; how nothing happens that He's not aware of or taken by surprise. How He relishes sending the stones for us to break or to break us, so we can ultimately become bigger, than the stones, than ourselves. It's surprising how scientifically defying it is that humans get crushed, but yet, somehow, we still don't die. Sometimes we're better, other times we're not, not so much (and usually not for long). But the amazement for me is in how we're built. Different.
Take 7: I almost had to point out that I wasn't a superstar and that the starry eyes had to stop, too. I was, am a simple man. I don't dream too much, but that doesn't mean that if I wanted awara and the only place it could be found was in Antarctica, I wouldn't risk going there. People tend to subconsciously believe that sometimes achievers do it for the people's benefit, but oftentimes, if we're going to be naked (which makes us honest about the parts we'd rather hide), we're really just doing it for ourselves, to see if we can touch the sky too.
Take 8: And then I had to explain that I wasn't a selfish person, that I'd choose a small happy family over a hundred houses. My colleague seemed to disagree, but I think the simpler things are the hardest things to build.
Take 9: I joined my hands together, pleading and praying with them that I was beginning to suffer from the “I need to go back to my room and read” disease. The people clapped, and I wasn't exactly sure how I was viewed, but I took it gratefully. When I got back to the room, I bluffed about the clap, to which she replied with silence. I suppose she was trying to say: vanity.
