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Wednesday, April 21, 2021

NOSTALGIA MY ADDICTIVE DRUG

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Kirubai Brian
Learning, unlearning, relearning bkirubai@jujamaica.com

I hate it when I’m sad because just like a dying man, more often than we tend to admit I clutch a straw and draw deep into our reserves of happy memories for a sense of familiarity. My wedding photo hangs on the wall; a reminder of genuinely one of the worst days of my life. I know it’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life but come on; the stress the bride and groom go through behind the scenes goes unnoticed. Imagine waking up and finding out your wedding cake order got mixed up and now you have to improvise. How you planned for three hundred guests but now suddenly the whole village remembers you and decides to show up. Yet I still have to dance and smile and act like it is the happiest day of my life. God I must love that woman.

I never was one to believe in love in fact I never imagined myself on the alter confessing my undying love to a woman but when it hits it hits. My heart didn’t skip a beat like most of you think is supposed to happen. Her presence seemed to light up the room in a way I have never been able to describe. Apart from the fact that every man in the room shifted his gaze to her despite her clothing doing everything to defend her, she had this confidence that fuelled desire but extinguished it to fear or what many call shyness. She simply fascinated me for lack of better words.

Kids these days know nothing about love. Social media has monetized everything. I pitch my manifesto to a young lady and if she deems it worthy agrees to be my significant other. Where’s the fun in that? Where a simple blue tick ruins someone’s day or a status post leaves one green with jealousy. Try writing a letter to someone who would take another month to reply that is if they had money for stamps, or if they even receive the letter in the first place. Still we marched on.

She never made it easy for me but looking back I wouldn’t prefer it any other way. Who loves it easy anyway? Getting to know her made me rethink some of my life’s decisions in a good way. I realized we can all be good humans without sharing similar values, that we can be so content with a person’s qualities that we’d be willing to overlook their shortcomings to provide the world to them without question. Most importantly she taught me that home is not necessarily a place but can also be a person.

It’s not a perfect ride. There are days when I wake up and her face is the last thing I want to see and I’m sure mine isn’t a sight to behold till death either but then I remember I’ve become the man I have partly because of her . I know my chewing puts her off just the way I disagree with her fashion sense but at the end of the day I know she wants what’s best for me just as I have her back whenever she needs me and that is all that matters. Looking back I now realize this addictive drug of digging the past for familiarity is and always will be the perfect remedy to our imperfect world. Memories propel us to the unknown abyss of the future with optimism and so long as there is motion, then maybe for a bit there may be progress but for now I have to advice my son who came crying because he got left on read. Tough love.

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