SUNDAY JULY 23RD - SATURDAY JULY 29TH
My room mate is erupting in fits of giggles. It’s twelve o’clock but her laughter is infectious. Maybe it’s the malaria or maybe she’s just gone mad either way the contagion has soon caught on and I too am choking at apparent nothings as I laugh myself to sleep. It becomes apparent to me how much I will miss her company when we reunite with our usual lives in five weeks time.
I wake up early, before the sun has even risen. The day promises to be non descript. The sky is over cast with the appearance of murky greys and nothing hints that the sun will sore in the sky nor will it set again in its final resting place. I miss the sun. It has rained non stop for almost two weeks now. My tan has faded drastically giving way to show my skins newly formed green tinge, bruised veins which make way for a peculiar yet oddly beautiful pattern and a array of mosquito bites that align the most part of my legs.
It’s Monday, I’m due to depart in my journey to work and engulf myself into pure pollution. Oh I’m sorry pores, I promise you clean, crisp air in a matter of moments. I’m unable to eat breakfast therefor I am unable to take my medication therefor I remain to feel nauseous, fatigued and with the shakes until I have solids inside my stomach. I am now aware that I am a fairly fussy eater, this has become particularly evident when trying to eat the only healthy option out here such as bananas but they hold no preservatives and look moldy though are beautifully ripe inside. This totally freaks me out so I do not eat a single one, I am going to try and combat this but for now it’s just a no.
I realise I met him in the darkest depths of my days. Signing my soul away. the brush of ink with my signature destroyed me. I had let my days be deliberated by anothers control and in turn when that was terminated I sold myself to another mans hands. I let him destroy anything I had left in me. I see it so clearly now, the two hour journey to work allows me the time to think. Unfortunately it takes all my energy and by the time I’ve gotten to work I am fatigued. Realistically I understand I am not fit enough to finish the program, I require a lot more rest. Though I am still not ready to admit defeat, I’m not yet ready to step foot back in the motherland.
The CEO is talking to me, filling my pre-occupied brain with information for our charities workbook. The work load is so heavy. All my attention is on trying not to vomit. My constant headache is getting continuously worse. On a plus I get to make four pairs of cowboy boots so I spend a little of my time selecting the skins and finalising my design. By the time we get home the slight pain of head has developed into full blown cluster headaches. I’m ready to admit defeat and I set sight for my eyes to close for the night but then my phone rings. It’s my dear friend from back home who is in a little bit of a mess. I head back into the garden, aware it is getting dark now and my favorite friends - the mosquitos are going to be setting sights on my skin. I sacrifice myself to be a comfort at the other end of the line. (I got bitten to shit, you owe me boy). He tells me. Drunkenly. He wants to date me when I am back home, little does he know I was thinking similar things just a few days before. We’ve both always been in relationships and never had the chance of exploring it. I worry to get romantically involved could ruin over fourteen years of an incredibly beautiful, loving friendship. I’m turning into one big red bite, before the conversation gets to out of hand I regain my need for the pillow and hang up. I get inside. My phone rings again, its seven forty five. I face the facts that I might not see my pillow for a while. My friend who is also residing in Ghana tells me she has been asked to pick up my medical records and photograph them. See I wouldn’t have an issue with this if prior to this event I hadn’t complained when she had picked up my prescription. I calmly and collectedly - fucking loose it. I had no knowledge nor had I given my permission towards - nor would I, that anything to do with my medical issues would be dealt with by someone I had known for less than five weeks. I mean I don’t want to shove unknown pharmaceuticals down my gob without knowing why. Yes, I know that makes me highly hypocritical, I sniff whatever can fit into my blood encrusted nostril cavities, pop any pill without the thought to the size or colour but when it comes to prescription pharmaceuticals - fucking forget it. The sheer arrogance of silly old me. I voice the fact this shouldn’t of happened, that I was promised hours prior that it wouldn’t again. I just hate liars, I hate feeling cheated. Then come to think of it who does? It’s just been issue after issue here.
Now I guess your wondering why the fuck not just leave? But you must understand one thing about me. I flake on fucking everything and I mean it. Everything. Staying here, fighting through being this unwell proves to me how strong I am. The backbone I always believed was there is so apparent now. To fuck am I going to let a little thing such as health and these shitty situations break me. They won’t. I am persevering, I am pushing through.
I wake up at five a.m, it’s only Tuesday but my friend is in town who I haven’t seen in years and there is promises of westernised food. I feast on spaghetti and cheese, not the usual fried rice I have been unhealthily surviving on for the past five weeks. I go home to the same four walls I have been starting at for the last five weeks. There is a dull ache in my lower back but this is probably due to the fact my body has gained so much weight from being here that it has caused me to regain the strength to form a period. This is the first time in nine years. I know it is supposed to be natural and proves signs of my health improving but I find it wretched, it is rancid. To me it is unnatural. It has been nine years since I bled from such a place, well with the exception to my horrendous miscarriage last year. Who knew two such incompetent drug addicts were in fact competent. No wonder I feel so bound to him at times.
It’s a Wednesday. We are presenting our recommendations - I am here with the charity training to be a business consultant - with all my moaning it probably encouraged me to miss that crucial part. Due to my friends broken smart phone issue, she has gone old school and reverted back to the glorious Nokia 3310. What a fucking revelation. Intermittently (I mean it is her phone after all) we spend the afternoon nostalgically playing Snake 2. When it is her turn my mind wonders off and gets excited to top up my dater later so I can Google Snake 2s’ highest score. I will acquire such a phone once home and beat her top score. Scrap all those plans I’ve made for back home, theres a new hobby to be had here.
It wasn’t much of a surprise that our presentation went swimmingly, in fact fuck it, I’ll boast, we smashed it. Hey business is one of my strong points, why not gloat? After all my five minute overview over syrupy coffee proved worthy enough prep and give me a break I had only had three days to work on all aspects as my business as I only got out of hospital three days ago. Everyone else had near on three weeks. His presence in the room however had unnerved me and made me fidget like a mother fucker - this only happened to be our only criticism. I nearly pass out as I am running off coffee solely. I go outside to smoke because that surely validates my nutrients right? Some old man from the neighborhood comes right up to me and starts chanting. I think he wants a stick, so I offer him one as I am sucking away on my smoke. He doesn’t. He’s in fact telling me off profusely as smoking is illegal here - I am not sure if I ever mentioned that but nobody smokes in the place I stay in. So I’ve kind of offended him but it was lost in translation as he has harmonized a beautiful song in dialect. I go back into the compound to write outside and avoid presentations. He goes up to his balcony to glare at me, the awkwardness sends me hysterical. I should probably go back inside and stop being so rude. In a matter of minutes I zone out. This classroom quite literally kills me. I blare Peaches in my ears. I design a bodysuit and jacket that I wish to custom make for her once I am home. At least in some backwards turn of events I am using my time productively. For I have five films lined up to direct, three exhibitions, a magazine I am co-editor and art director for to get on the shelves by the end of October. A business to re-model that is over spilling with backlogged orders to fulfill. Not to mention the second business I wish to launch by the end of September. Why did I ever let him put me down? Why did I listen to his words when he told me I was ‘stupid’.
It’s the evening now and I speak to an old friend on the phone who is going through a similar situation. I realise we live in a society that is afraid of commitment. There is no solidarity in any future so why should anyone bother with the here and now, let alone anything long term? Everything seems shorts short of pointless. Love is only for a day, a week, in my case a year ... Well not for me, not for her even. But for him and her him is deems to be poignant that the matter and the issues remain the same. There is love there, there is care there but under the lying issues of self indulgence inflicts the very thought or feeling of love not to be enough. Why commit yourself to the responsibility of another when in turn you cannot even be held accountable for the response of ones self? It is sad at best, in my case it is utterly tragic. I sit outside, allowing the nights sky to absorb me and the surrounding creatures to drain any blood I have left in me. I play Radiohead - I promise. I cry. I don’t understand if it frustration that I won’t allow myself to reply or if it’s the overwhelming feeling that I am finally letting go of him. What does it matter? I am feeling it either way. It doesn’t matter to allow it to matter.
I seem to be regulating the practice of waking up at five a.m. This morning I had a nightmare of sorts which induced me into a paralyze of panic. Usually I dream of those I hooked up with before I left. The missed men, the missed opportunities. Ever since I took an active interest in searching for witch camps out here these dreams have become less and less frequent and have found themselves invaded by those with brutal ends. Perhaps it’s a warning as such to stop searching? Maybe I am fucking with the wrong things here and I am out of my depth. Seems to be the way I have led my life so far. I am aching for coffee, real coffee, nothing instant, nothing that makes way from a tin. I realise I have run out of the tinned stuff and I’m almost out of smokes. I’ve made a firm decision not to reply to him, he has messaged and rung and rung but it is too late. He cannot choose to dip in and out of my life like a yo-yo.
It’s four a.m on a Friday and I am waiting till the sun rises at five forty five a.m. As soon as it does I put on my Nikes and blast Danny Brown and set off for a run. I let my feet carry me as far as my physical health will allow them. I don’t get to far before my body gives up on me. I have under estimated how weak I am. I walk back, out of breath, red and dripping with sweat but I do not feel defeated. This was a start. I message the staff to see if they can risk assess the pool so I can swim lengths. I promise to give swimming lessons too. I want my health back and I want a healthy mind. For the first time in forever I am beginning to feel positive. I can’t wait to complete the next five weeks here, I learnt so much about myself so far and I have grown more than I could have ever imagined. I get back to scrubbing my dirty pants. I scrub till my fingers bleed raw, fortunately I saw a launderette on my run. So no more backyard launderette for me, I’ll be sure to use that next time. The sun has finally returned to the sky after two weeks of bleak overcast horizons. I’m happy. It’s so good to finally feel happy. I rest for a while and read Dennis Coopers ‘Wrong’. I receive a message from the head of the charity saying he would like to come up and check on me. I think nothing of it and was looking forward to telling him the development in my health. He comes but so do others. I still think nothing of it. The conversation flows - they put a councillor on the phone to listen in. Naively I still think nothing of it. I can’t exactly recount what got said but they mention they’ve read my blog and know about the incident. I freeze. OH fuck. They’re mentioning about the health care I’ve previously complained about and how unwell it documents I have been. They are kind, they are caring but I preempt whats going to happen next. They are sending me home. Effective immediate. I panic. Nobody is home. Everybody is away. I don’t even try and fight my corner because I need to see UK specialist, the health service here quite rightly as put is not sufficient enough. I don’t want to leave but I agree it is the right thing to do. They’ve also read about the case of me being taken advantage of and don’t feel it is safe for me whilst he is still an acting staff member. I don’t know how to feel about it still. The majority of my emotion and realistic approach to this is that I am too much effort and too costly to have on the program, they've admitted they can’t care for me properly and it is for the best. Of which I still agree.
So I do something stupid. I call him. I ask him to meet me at the airport. I mean after all the last thing he had messaged me, in the messages I chose to ignore, was how much he truly cared for me and he wanted to know I was just okay. So stupid me for thinking I could count on self assured - self absorbed him.
He asks me why I am calling? Why am I acting like we are still in a relationship? He doesn’t love me, he doesn’t want anything from me and it is best if we don’t talk again for he has moved on. Now I am not an idiot, I also wasn’t in love with him anymore but I had panicked and ridiculously this absolute waster was the first person I had thought to reach out to help me. But he couldn’t give me a precious day out of his time to ensure my safety. It said it all. I knew that was coming. I just wanted to rip the band aid off with a double whammy blow. He did say however next time he was in Brighton if I wanted to grab a drink he would consider it... I am holding back from laughter whilst writing that. This cements his lack of care or empathy for me but after all how stupid was I to expect an addict to be able to put himself before anyone else. Yes I did recycle old words to you because you held me on by a shoe string all summer, playing the same old game you play so well. Well fuck it. I’ve closed the chapter, I’ve grown bored of you and your substance less life. He tells me I should of just left it, we would of been okay, though he was the one who initially reached out to me asking to know one another again properly, bullshit aside. I’ve only ever responded to his emails apart from the one time I was in hospital telling him how afraid, alone and scared I was. He took three days to respond and only did when he was on his apparent comedown from the weekend and probably came to his senses of what an apathetic arsehole he was acting up to be.
I wake up early, before the sun has even risen. The day promises to be non descript. The sky is over cast with the appearance of murky greys and nothing hints that the sun will sore in the sky nor will it set again in its final resting place. I miss the sun. It has rained non stop for almost two weeks now. My tan has faded drastically giving way to show my skins newly formed green tinge, bruised veins which make way for a peculiar yet oddly beautiful pattern and a array of mosquito bites that align the most part of my legs.
It’s Monday, I’m due to depart in my journey to work and engulf myself into pure pollution. Oh I’m sorry pores, I promise you clean, crisp air in a matter of moments. I’m unable to eat breakfast therefor I am unable to take my medication therefor I remain to feel nauseous, fatigued and with the shakes until I have solids inside my stomach. I am now aware that I am a fairly fussy eater, this has become particularly evident when trying to eat the only healthy option out here such as bananas but they hold no preservatives and look moldy though are beautifully ripe inside. This totally freaks me out so I do not eat a single one, I am going to try and combat this but for now it’s just a no.
I realise I met him in the darkest depths of my days. Signing my soul away. the brush of ink with my signature destroyed me. I had let my days be deliberated by anothers control and in turn when that was terminated I sold myself to another mans hands. I let him destroy anything I had left in me. I see it so clearly now, the two hour journey to work allows me the time to think. Unfortunately it takes all my energy and by the time I’ve gotten to work I am fatigued. Realistically I understand I am not fit enough to finish the program, I require a lot more rest. Though I am still not ready to admit defeat, I’m not yet ready to step foot back in the motherland.
The CEO is talking to me, filling my pre-occupied brain with information for our charities workbook. The work load is so heavy. All my attention is on trying not to vomit. My constant headache is getting continuously worse. On a plus I get to make four pairs of cowboy boots so I spend a little of my time selecting the skins and finalising my design. By the time we get home the slight pain of head has developed into full blown cluster headaches. I’m ready to admit defeat and I set sight for my eyes to close for the night but then my phone rings. It’s my dear friend from back home who is in a little bit of a mess. I head back into the garden, aware it is getting dark now and my favorite friends - the mosquitos are going to be setting sights on my skin. I sacrifice myself to be a comfort at the other end of the line. (I got bitten to shit, you owe me boy). He tells me. Drunkenly. He wants to date me when I am back home, little does he know I was thinking similar things just a few days before. We’ve both always been in relationships and never had the chance of exploring it. I worry to get romantically involved could ruin over fourteen years of an incredibly beautiful, loving friendship. I’m turning into one big red bite, before the conversation gets to out of hand I regain my need for the pillow and hang up. I get inside. My phone rings again, its seven forty five. I face the facts that I might not see my pillow for a while. My friend who is also residing in Ghana tells me she has been asked to pick up my medical records and photograph them. See I wouldn’t have an issue with this if prior to this event I hadn’t complained when she had picked up my prescription. I calmly and collectedly - fucking loose it. I had no knowledge nor had I given my permission towards - nor would I, that anything to do with my medical issues would be dealt with by someone I had known for less than five weeks. I mean I don’t want to shove unknown pharmaceuticals down my gob without knowing why. Yes, I know that makes me highly hypocritical, I sniff whatever can fit into my blood encrusted nostril cavities, pop any pill without the thought to the size or colour but when it comes to prescription pharmaceuticals - fucking forget it. The sheer arrogance of silly old me. I voice the fact this shouldn’t of happened, that I was promised hours prior that it wouldn’t again. I just hate liars, I hate feeling cheated. Then come to think of it who does? It’s just been issue after issue here.
Now I guess your wondering why the fuck not just leave? But you must understand one thing about me. I flake on fucking everything and I mean it. Everything. Staying here, fighting through being this unwell proves to me how strong I am. The backbone I always believed was there is so apparent now. To fuck am I going to let a little thing such as health and these shitty situations break me. They won’t. I am persevering, I am pushing through.
I wake up at five a.m, it’s only Tuesday but my friend is in town who I haven’t seen in years and there is promises of westernised food. I feast on spaghetti and cheese, not the usual fried rice I have been unhealthily surviving on for the past five weeks. I go home to the same four walls I have been starting at for the last five weeks. There is a dull ache in my lower back but this is probably due to the fact my body has gained so much weight from being here that it has caused me to regain the strength to form a period. This is the first time in nine years. I know it is supposed to be natural and proves signs of my health improving but I find it wretched, it is rancid. To me it is unnatural. It has been nine years since I bled from such a place, well with the exception to my horrendous miscarriage last year. Who knew two such incompetent drug addicts were in fact competent. No wonder I feel so bound to him at times.
It’s a Wednesday. We are presenting our recommendations - I am here with the charity training to be a business consultant - with all my moaning it probably encouraged me to miss that crucial part. Due to my friends broken smart phone issue, she has gone old school and reverted back to the glorious Nokia 3310. What a fucking revelation. Intermittently (I mean it is her phone after all) we spend the afternoon nostalgically playing Snake 2. When it is her turn my mind wonders off and gets excited to top up my dater later so I can Google Snake 2s’ highest score. I will acquire such a phone once home and beat her top score. Scrap all those plans I’ve made for back home, theres a new hobby to be had here.
It wasn’t much of a surprise that our presentation went swimmingly, in fact fuck it, I’ll boast, we smashed it. Hey business is one of my strong points, why not gloat? After all my five minute overview over syrupy coffee proved worthy enough prep and give me a break I had only had three days to work on all aspects as my business as I only got out of hospital three days ago. Everyone else had near on three weeks. His presence in the room however had unnerved me and made me fidget like a mother fucker - this only happened to be our only criticism. I nearly pass out as I am running off coffee solely. I go outside to smoke because that surely validates my nutrients right? Some old man from the neighborhood comes right up to me and starts chanting. I think he wants a stick, so I offer him one as I am sucking away on my smoke. He doesn’t. He’s in fact telling me off profusely as smoking is illegal here - I am not sure if I ever mentioned that but nobody smokes in the place I stay in. So I’ve kind of offended him but it was lost in translation as he has harmonized a beautiful song in dialect. I go back into the compound to write outside and avoid presentations. He goes up to his balcony to glare at me, the awkwardness sends me hysterical. I should probably go back inside and stop being so rude. In a matter of minutes I zone out. This classroom quite literally kills me. I blare Peaches in my ears. I design a bodysuit and jacket that I wish to custom make for her once I am home. At least in some backwards turn of events I am using my time productively. For I have five films lined up to direct, three exhibitions, a magazine I am co-editor and art director for to get on the shelves by the end of October. A business to re-model that is over spilling with backlogged orders to fulfill. Not to mention the second business I wish to launch by the end of September. Why did I ever let him put me down? Why did I listen to his words when he told me I was ‘stupid’.
It’s the evening now and I speak to an old friend on the phone who is going through a similar situation. I realise we live in a society that is afraid of commitment. There is no solidarity in any future so why should anyone bother with the here and now, let alone anything long term? Everything seems shorts short of pointless. Love is only for a day, a week, in my case a year ... Well not for me, not for her even. But for him and her him is deems to be poignant that the matter and the issues remain the same. There is love there, there is care there but under the lying issues of self indulgence inflicts the very thought or feeling of love not to be enough. Why commit yourself to the responsibility of another when in turn you cannot even be held accountable for the response of ones self? It is sad at best, in my case it is utterly tragic. I sit outside, allowing the nights sky to absorb me and the surrounding creatures to drain any blood I have left in me. I play Radiohead - I promise. I cry. I don’t understand if it frustration that I won’t allow myself to reply or if it’s the overwhelming feeling that I am finally letting go of him. What does it matter? I am feeling it either way. It doesn’t matter to allow it to matter.
I seem to be regulating the practice of waking up at five a.m. This morning I had a nightmare of sorts which induced me into a paralyze of panic. Usually I dream of those I hooked up with before I left. The missed men, the missed opportunities. Ever since I took an active interest in searching for witch camps out here these dreams have become less and less frequent and have found themselves invaded by those with brutal ends. Perhaps it’s a warning as such to stop searching? Maybe I am fucking with the wrong things here and I am out of my depth. Seems to be the way I have led my life so far. I am aching for coffee, real coffee, nothing instant, nothing that makes way from a tin. I realise I have run out of the tinned stuff and I’m almost out of smokes. I’ve made a firm decision not to reply to him, he has messaged and rung and rung but it is too late. He cannot choose to dip in and out of my life like a yo-yo.
It’s four a.m on a Friday and I am waiting till the sun rises at five forty five a.m. As soon as it does I put on my Nikes and blast Danny Brown and set off for a run. I let my feet carry me as far as my physical health will allow them. I don’t get to far before my body gives up on me. I have under estimated how weak I am. I walk back, out of breath, red and dripping with sweat but I do not feel defeated. This was a start. I message the staff to see if they can risk assess the pool so I can swim lengths. I promise to give swimming lessons too. I want my health back and I want a healthy mind. For the first time in forever I am beginning to feel positive. I can’t wait to complete the next five weeks here, I learnt so much about myself so far and I have grown more than I could have ever imagined. I get back to scrubbing my dirty pants. I scrub till my fingers bleed raw, fortunately I saw a launderette on my run. So no more backyard launderette for me, I’ll be sure to use that next time. The sun has finally returned to the sky after two weeks of bleak overcast horizons. I’m happy. It’s so good to finally feel happy. I rest for a while and read Dennis Coopers ‘Wrong’. I receive a message from the head of the charity saying he would like to come up and check on me. I think nothing of it and was looking forward to telling him the development in my health. He comes but so do others. I still think nothing of it. The conversation flows - they put a councillor on the phone to listen in. Naively I still think nothing of it. I can’t exactly recount what got said but they mention they’ve read my blog and know about the incident. I freeze. OH fuck. They’re mentioning about the health care I’ve previously complained about and how unwell it documents I have been. They are kind, they are caring but I preempt whats going to happen next. They are sending me home. Effective immediate. I panic. Nobody is home. Everybody is away. I don’t even try and fight my corner because I need to see UK specialist, the health service here quite rightly as put is not sufficient enough. I don’t want to leave but I agree it is the right thing to do. They’ve also read about the case of me being taken advantage of and don’t feel it is safe for me whilst he is still an acting staff member. I don’t know how to feel about it still. The majority of my emotion and realistic approach to this is that I am too much effort and too costly to have on the program, they've admitted they can’t care for me properly and it is for the best. Of which I still agree.
So I do something stupid. I call him. I ask him to meet me at the airport. I mean after all the last thing he had messaged me, in the messages I chose to ignore, was how much he truly cared for me and he wanted to know I was just okay. So stupid me for thinking I could count on self assured - self absorbed him.
He asks me why I am calling? Why am I acting like we are still in a relationship? He doesn’t love me, he doesn’t want anything from me and it is best if we don’t talk again for he has moved on. Now I am not an idiot, I also wasn’t in love with him anymore but I had panicked and ridiculously this absolute waster was the first person I had thought to reach out to help me. But he couldn’t give me a precious day out of his time to ensure my safety. It said it all. I knew that was coming. I just wanted to rip the band aid off with a double whammy blow. He did say however next time he was in Brighton if I wanted to grab a drink he would consider it... I am holding back from laughter whilst writing that. This cements his lack of care or empathy for me but after all how stupid was I to expect an addict to be able to put himself before anyone else. Yes I did recycle old words to you because you held me on by a shoe string all summer, playing the same old game you play so well. Well fuck it. I’ve closed the chapter, I’ve grown bored of you and your substance less life. He tells me I should of just left it, we would of been okay, though he was the one who initially reached out to me asking to know one another again properly, bullshit aside. I’ve only ever responded to his emails apart from the one time I was in hospital telling him how afraid, alone and scared I was. He took three days to respond and only did when he was on his apparent comedown from the weekend and probably came to his senses of what an apathetic arsehole he was acting up to be.
I sit in sheer darkness and look on at the house that has grown to be my home the past five weeks. I mourn it, in between inhales of my Rothmans, I weep. I realise this is the last time I will most likely ever see it. For the first time since I got here the darkness above me is unlimited by a crescent moon and the North star is shining so bright besides it. The two alone light up the whole sky. I feel like I should see this as a sign, they are there with me, watching over me, I should be positive but tonight I feel none of it.
My dearest friend comes outside and holds my hand as we look up at the sky. He takes me inside, for my house mates are throwing me a goodbye slumber party, we’ve put beds on the floor and added our favorite songs to a playlist. I can’t hack it, I lie on the floor and sob so much my chest begins to hurt. My eyes are so swollen and my grip is so tight on my room mates hand. I don’t want to let her go. I never want to let her go, for I love her so much and she taught me to be strong and to love myself again. I slide a Valium down my throat slighly with a sip of a beer so nobody will notice. I just need it. I need to take the edge off because the love I feel that is being generated in the room solely in the direction of me is overwhelming. My room mate lies down and I can feel her sadness. I haven’t been here all that long and even I am able to realise the impact that I have had on people, the real root core love that is there. It is unconditional. They saw me at my absolute worst, reporting back on things that even shock me, things I don’t remember and honestly don’t want to from that night. I have been open and honest about all aspects of my life and still they chose to love me. You see and I know one day you will read these words, people do love me, people are not afraid of me and are only friends with me out of fear. I am not a bad person, a stupid person as you so often made me feel and so often told me. I am a loved person, I can make friends from afar, friends that stick by me through thick and thin, friends who fight for me, friends who want my best interests to be met. Friends that want to remain forever in my life and don’t talk trash about me behind my back. I have real, loving friendships. I am loved and significant. You will forever drown in your negative misery and you will forever make people feel weak in order to empower yourself. You are a sad sorry soul and I am free of you finally.
I wake up and wish this wasn’t real. In a few hours I will be gone. I begin to wonder if I will be forgotten. I frantically finish knitting my host sisters hat that I had promised I would complete for weeks. Seeing her smile as I complete it filled me with warmth and love, she is so precious, I only wish I had more time with her. She asks me to promise that I will come back to see her, she doesn’t understand why I have to leave, I promise her I will, though I know it’s one I am likely to break.
I take the last walk to the shop with my room mate, Cher ‘I Believe’ comes on someplace in the background. This is now a sign. ‘Do you believe in life after love’. It’s time for me to go home and face this.
We take polaroids on the step of the house, I want to eternalize a forever memory of how significant the steps are for me. We laugh, pretend we don’t want to cry and it’s captured forever in a short moment. My room mate wonders off but it is time for me to leave. I go to find her but I don’t find what I was expecting. She is crying. A lot. Now if there is one thing I can tell you is that Ghanian women don’t cry and if they do, they don’t find themselves doing it that often. This was a girl who told me to never cry over anybody else, ‘Be strong Jodie, be strong’. I owe my strength, my new found solidarity to this girl, I am going to carry the lessons she gave with me forever. She built me into the girl I have been trying to get back to for so long, she gave me self-worth, self-love. She gave me real love and taught me to rid those of who were not kind to my heart and soul. She was the real deal. One of the most courageous, beautiful people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I tell her this, I tell her I love her, how I am forever indebted to her and how I will miss her more than she will ever know. I cry for her, I cry now as I write this. We were taken apart to quickly but it was because I had fulfilled that part of my journey. She rebuilt me and now it was time to go home and face my fears alone. With the strength she had given me, I was no longer afraid to do this. My sister, I can truly call her that, she’s the sister I wish I always had, was being ripped away. I couldn’t take it. We were dreading goodbye in those five weeks time but now it was happening here, today.
As we pull away, forever from this place, in the cramped, sweaty taxi. Bob Marleys‘ ‘Redemption Song‘ comes on. ‘Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery . None but ourselves can free our minds’.
It’s another sign. Oscar is with me now. He’s telling me to be strong. I’m trying to take in my home for the last time but my eyes are soaked, there stinging and it is a battle in itself to absorb everything for the last time. He’s telling me people come into your life for a reason, my room mate made me so strong. She apologized that she right now cannot be strong. So I try and be strong for the both of us. This kills me. God I love you, if your reading this, I love you so much and I always will. I will miss you till the day we meet again. You made me realise I can be strong. Hear that, I CAN be strong. You taught me to love myself, you are one hell of a woman and I will forever be in debt to you for that. I’ll be at your wedding gifting you a tro tro, of that I promise you.
I’ve written rather a lot I recognise this post was a total emotional roller coaster. So I will write up on my last few days next week which will co-inside with my reverse culture shock of being home.
Although my time was spent largely unwell in health, the love and self love built during such a short time was invaluable and it won’t be time spent in vein. I can truly say these short weeks will be spent long in memory and forever in my heart. It’s not goodbye, it’s a hello, I love you, I am so glad I got to learn your names.
My dearest friend comes outside and holds my hand as we look up at the sky. He takes me inside, for my house mates are throwing me a goodbye slumber party, we’ve put beds on the floor and added our favorite songs to a playlist. I can’t hack it, I lie on the floor and sob so much my chest begins to hurt. My eyes are so swollen and my grip is so tight on my room mates hand. I don’t want to let her go. I never want to let her go, for I love her so much and she taught me to be strong and to love myself again. I slide a Valium down my throat slighly with a sip of a beer so nobody will notice. I just need it. I need to take the edge off because the love I feel that is being generated in the room solely in the direction of me is overwhelming. My room mate lies down and I can feel her sadness. I haven’t been here all that long and even I am able to realise the impact that I have had on people, the real root core love that is there. It is unconditional. They saw me at my absolute worst, reporting back on things that even shock me, things I don’t remember and honestly don’t want to from that night. I have been open and honest about all aspects of my life and still they chose to love me. You see and I know one day you will read these words, people do love me, people are not afraid of me and are only friends with me out of fear. I am not a bad person, a stupid person as you so often made me feel and so often told me. I am a loved person, I can make friends from afar, friends that stick by me through thick and thin, friends who fight for me, friends who want my best interests to be met. Friends that want to remain forever in my life and don’t talk trash about me behind my back. I have real, loving friendships. I am loved and significant. You will forever drown in your negative misery and you will forever make people feel weak in order to empower yourself. You are a sad sorry soul and I am free of you finally.
I wake up and wish this wasn’t real. In a few hours I will be gone. I begin to wonder if I will be forgotten. I frantically finish knitting my host sisters hat that I had promised I would complete for weeks. Seeing her smile as I complete it filled me with warmth and love, she is so precious, I only wish I had more time with her. She asks me to promise that I will come back to see her, she doesn’t understand why I have to leave, I promise her I will, though I know it’s one I am likely to break.
I take the last walk to the shop with my room mate, Cher ‘I Believe’ comes on someplace in the background. This is now a sign. ‘Do you believe in life after love’. It’s time for me to go home and face this.
We take polaroids on the step of the house, I want to eternalize a forever memory of how significant the steps are for me. We laugh, pretend we don’t want to cry and it’s captured forever in a short moment. My room mate wonders off but it is time for me to leave. I go to find her but I don’t find what I was expecting. She is crying. A lot. Now if there is one thing I can tell you is that Ghanian women don’t cry and if they do, they don’t find themselves doing it that often. This was a girl who told me to never cry over anybody else, ‘Be strong Jodie, be strong’. I owe my strength, my new found solidarity to this girl, I am going to carry the lessons she gave with me forever. She built me into the girl I have been trying to get back to for so long, she gave me self-worth, self-love. She gave me real love and taught me to rid those of who were not kind to my heart and soul. She was the real deal. One of the most courageous, beautiful people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I tell her this, I tell her I love her, how I am forever indebted to her and how I will miss her more than she will ever know. I cry for her, I cry now as I write this. We were taken apart to quickly but it was because I had fulfilled that part of my journey. She rebuilt me and now it was time to go home and face my fears alone. With the strength she had given me, I was no longer afraid to do this. My sister, I can truly call her that, she’s the sister I wish I always had, was being ripped away. I couldn’t take it. We were dreading goodbye in those five weeks time but now it was happening here, today.
As we pull away, forever from this place, in the cramped, sweaty taxi. Bob Marleys‘ ‘Redemption Song‘ comes on. ‘Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery . None but ourselves can free our minds’.
It’s another sign. Oscar is with me now. He’s telling me to be strong. I’m trying to take in my home for the last time but my eyes are soaked, there stinging and it is a battle in itself to absorb everything for the last time. He’s telling me people come into your life for a reason, my room mate made me so strong. She apologized that she right now cannot be strong. So I try and be strong for the both of us. This kills me. God I love you, if your reading this, I love you so much and I always will. I will miss you till the day we meet again. You made me realise I can be strong. Hear that, I CAN be strong. You taught me to love myself, you are one hell of a woman and I will forever be in debt to you for that. I’ll be at your wedding gifting you a tro tro, of that I promise you.
I’ve written rather a lot I recognise this post was a total emotional roller coaster. So I will write up on my last few days next week which will co-inside with my reverse culture shock of being home.
Although my time was spent largely unwell in health, the love and self love built during such a short time was invaluable and it won’t be time spent in vein. I can truly say these short weeks will be spent long in memory and forever in my heart. It’s not goodbye, it’s a hello, I love you, I am so glad I got to learn your names.