I sit with my legs on the table, a habit my mother loathes but has continuously failed to put an end to. There’s a show on TV and all I do is stare at the wall above. The light hurts my eyes but I sit in black denim trousers that tickle my limbs yet I have no intention to wear something comfortable.
The day rushes like a groom leaving his bride at the altar unmarried. Time escapes like a water from clenched fists.
I am still. Thoughts rage on my insides.
There is a hollow in me that food doesn’t fill. I have followed this path for years and met a dead end where the grasses at the edge lay. There is a cliff where the sun drowns and, in my dreams, I become a version of myself that stops searching.
It is 4 am and I woke up before the rains came. Going outside my house may be a hassle today. I am not claustrophobic but I fear the roof may cave in if I inhale too deeply. I am tired of being trapped in circles that go on revolving without regard.
I am cold and exhausted. The day has just begun and my choices will make or mar it. Regardless of my input, it will come and go in the fashion of its kind.
Read – Emptiness to be Filled – A Creative Non-Fiction by Henry Ngeli, Zambia
When I was younger, I always looked forward to being an adult. I wanted to be more, do more and have more power. All I am left with is hunger. For something more than I am.
I want to change the world. I want to leave it better than I met it. Laziness attaches itself to my spine. I try to shake it off and get the job done. And when I get tired, I fall back on my knees and do nothing but stare at the ceiling.
There is a hollow in my chest that I have carried since I turned sixteen. It is invincible and sometimes I forget it even exists.
It widens each day. I am caught in the valley of doing too much and doing nothing at all.
I want to pour my soul into writing but don’t know how to begin. So, I write whatever comes to mind.
Inspiration sprouts like weeds on sandy soil and I try to milk out every story I can get.
Some days I feel blue and my heart beats faster than I can count.
I want to express myself more than my mouth lets me.
I want to be remembered. I am so young yet I worry about the future and its uncertainty. I built shields that crack and break under pressure. I recede into my shell.
Read – Hunger – A Creative Non-Fiction by Praises Ukwuije, Nigeria
A major souvenir of my childhood that adulthood never stole away is curiosity. I am a curious human being. I have always asked questions and though introversion has been a block, I have learnt that this hollow hunger in my chest will never be satisfied.
The world will not wait until I have something to say.
It will churn on and on without stopping. Times, seasons and my feelings would change but my resolve would remain.
I am scared of letting the hollow become regrets when I am old and stricken in age.
The hollow in my chest morphs into many things. It becomes anxiety, tightens my lungs and leaves me breathless.
I hate how anxiety becomes physical pain.
The hollow knows that I cannot catch up with the world. Each sunrise leaves me in awe. I stare wondering what had happened while I slept.
I am obsessed with checking. The sun is Gen-Z showing up each time after a tragedy to say ‘it isn’t that deep’. It aids people to move on with their lives offering newness when the rooster crows.
Nobody wants to be stuck. I have been walking on a treadmill going nowhere. I want the sun to acknowledge that it isn’t easy. I want to scream until my sides ache, laugh and play. I carry a consciousness that life is fleeting. I want to live as a flower, not an angry weed.
Read – Sweet Mother – A Creative Non-Fiction by Mongkuo Armel, Cameroon
I want a lot. I am exhausted from playing hide and seek. I want more but don’t know where to begin.
I have the tendency to be a raging perfectionist. I plan and it irks me when it doesn’t go the way I envision it to. I want my writing to be the bomb, my poems to cut bones like a two-edged sword. I want my readers to find themselves in the alphabets I carve. I am still finding myself. I am not lost. My story is not over yet. As this hollow grows, I become a bottomless ravine seeking more. I won’t settle for less when I can get better. Rejections hurt but I have learnt to read them with smiles.
Life hits really hard. One moment I am cheering and the next indifference overwhelms me. I feel things too deeply. I want to hover around the surface. My sentiments bring tears to my eyes. I cry unnecessarily and laugh too quickly. I close my eyes and want a fairy tale. I’m always asking what’s next.
The hollow becomes an earthquake that shakes my core. It buries all I have built and leaves desolation in its wake. I hug my mother. I see a level ground. I begin to rebuild. I see beauty in the whole chaos. I find peace dancing and I join. I am a terrible dancer.
My feelings don’t last long no matter how much they weigh and that serves as a surety for all the times I beat myself up. Adulthood has come with a lot of realization.
The world will not wait, I cannot stop the hands of time, I can’t do everything but I can try to do just one thing extraordinarily well. I get anxious about the future but still go on ahead to do what I have to. I take breaks when tired. I haven’t stopped dreaming. I am still childlike. I’ve found my wonder and it has opened me up to a whole new world.
Read – The Hell in my Body – A Creative Non-Fiction by Enit’ayanfe Akinsanya, Nigeria
I have found absolute beauty in the mundane, crappy bus rides into the town centre, the old library, eating waina with kuli kuli and really looking at people like it is the last time I’d see them. I have smiled at strangers and hugged my friends.
I won’t live forever but I’ve found peace knowing that I was here and I tried my best.
I wrestled with anxiety and held my head up when my legs became eels.
The hollow in my chest may never be filled but I am content with everything that has made me over the years.
Sometimes I wonder how I have survived this long and smile. This hollow-like fear is both good and bad. It may save your life or make you lose it. The hollow didn’t save me. It only made me realize that I could be anything I wanted and it wouldn’t try to stop me. I have all the power in my hands and as long as it remains a hunger, the only thing capable of stopping me is me.
This Creative Nonfiction was published in the November 2022 edition of the WSA magazine.
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