I have always wanted to own a diary, this desire dates back to primary school. Yes primary school! I have always had loads to say and no one cared enough to listen to me rant on and on. 😦 So the desire burned and the longing grew and I often times wrote down my thoughts as a cathartic release to pent-up emotions. Still, a diary I never possessed, until one was presented to me several years back.
Recently, I got another diary, presented at the workplace, but owning the diary defeats the idea of carrying something handy about and writing details of everyday life in it. It’s rather large and can’t be carried in my pockets. So I had to start rethinking the idea of wanting a diary that big.
As I ruminated on the question of why exactly I needed a diary, having done a forensic research on my life and come up with the report – boring: there had to be a
damn good reason for me to be desirous of detailing a monotonous life on paper for people to read. I mean, I wake at 5.30am daily to go to work and get back home around 7.00pm, ping for a few hours till past 10.00pm sometimes and then hit the sheets to re-energize for the new day and do it all over again. My life is like the misadventures of Pinky and the Brain.
Weekends are rather interesting, whilst other boys throng in numbers to viewing centres to go view the live game on, or ‘control’ the female counterparts, I sit my lazy arse down and in my room not bothered by their activities as I
study actually see cartoon series,or just plain laze about sleeping and pinging.
So I wondered why I really need a diary if what I’ll write will be about the boredom that is my life and bore the reader to no end. It occurred to me then, though my life may be termed boring and monotonous, though inactivity may be my best friend (we hang-out everyday) still my diaries have always been filled with colour and deep imagination. No, i didn’t embellish, just recorded what had happened and a few years later, found out it was actually a cool thing I did back then. :d
I remember reading through one, seeing disguised codes in plain text re-living those moments allowing the euphoria envelope me and wondering if anyone who had read the diary understood what I passed through in those instances. Back then, I thought my life was even more boring. So the poser became if I was boring, how come my my life seemed colorful in comparison? It hit me then.
The mind is an unfathomable character, irrespective of what faculties have told us, or still are sharing, we’ve always been had. They didn’t get up to sixty percent right and still we had erroneously believe as gospel their assertions. I picked up my pen to write then, and only the action part of the day flooded my memory. I remembered the fine girl whose fragrance was so alluring I was drawn into a conversation with
in my mind.
As my friend and brother Basketmouth (okay I famzed, bite me) and other comedians I know and have listened to have proven, telling your story is always a good way to entertain others. The downside is that it’s boring and stressful because you had to live that life. Outside that, the boring life is a fertile land, waiting to be waiting desperately to be discovered. Therefore my mind steeled, and my decision formed, amma keep being boring. At least some people some people think me interesting. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, is a question of your perception.
So, I’ll keep breathing, taking each day as it comes,and chronicling my life here. Do not hold your breathe, you may be dead before I eventually get round to publishing the first one.
PS: Diaries are good companions, they allow you pour out all of your angst and years later, you may visit and over a cup of coffee or tea re-live those moments. because they documented that snapshot of your life and though it may seem blurred and vague right now, hindsight will make you smile.
PPS: I need to give out the big diary I have. Still searching for a worthy recipient who will use it and not just convert it into a notebook.