My childhood falls on me this night like melted butter. Like African salad with a bit too much of the chilli spice, my memories burn like volcanoes in a riot.
My childhood was not very pleasant.
Each scene, in this childhood screen, is traumatic and enabling for thoughts of great grief. My childhood was not a time of liquorice and candy cones, of white velvet sashes and apple scones.
See, my childhood was horrible. It was the creaking of a score old door. Fear like weapons prick me even now even as I think of it. My childhood, my own personal maddening malady.
I didn’t have much of it as you may have already imagined. I was alone, as small as I was and tasted the unsavoury arms of loneliness much too soon because my childhood was filled with choking silence. Aching. Longing too heavy to lift.
I was a little boy with the shoulders of a man. My stache grew out of anxiety as if in a hurry to match the olden state of my mind. Because by that time, my lips had held the taste of burning liquor. My teeth, too many dry gins. But my heart had the worst blow of all.
And as I watch this movie on my childhood screen, I feel compelled to scream at the stages where my heart was washed away layer by layer, until I was left with nothing more than broken trusts and dishonest kisses. I feel the kiss of her velvet lips stain my mind. Even now. The sensation, that meaty construction that ushers me into a world of beguiling bliss. Hmm it’s been ages.
I have been choked by the world’s silence since then. I struggle to breathe, to speak of the state of my being but no one seems to listen. My container is attractively lined with shiny glossy spray and it’s no wonder people think I’m fine. Peel me off, please anyone, please! I cry. I am waiting to be revealed. For I am an empty kom kom waiting to be filled. Help!
Trust is this! Trust is that! Trust has left me where I am today flipping through the channels of this boring soap opera that is sadly my life. Unmotivated. Unshaved. I sit here in my armchair waiting for cast calls and auditions because I know that the storyline will not change only the cast and crew with the same traumatic documentary.
How did I end up here?
Oh well you know my story!
Alas! I am an empty boy watching the movie of his life on repeat.
This article was written by Sedo Elijah Ebinne; connect with him on Instagram here