ERASED

 ERASED . . .

By Chidij

I am no longer mad at our fathers for not sharing our culture with us or passing down our traditions. I have now realized that unlike their fathers, they have no culture or traditions to give us. We have no more tales by the moonlight to connect us, no more white chalk rituals to school us, no more new yam festival feasts to celebrate life, no more fables with moral endings to guide us, no more thought provoking idioms to tickle our mind, no more memories of our ancestors to uplift us, no more stories of grand father's or great grand father's exploits to revel in, no more herb recipes to keep us well, no more obi to call home.

Our fathers are unaware victims and vectors for colonialism. They should be forgiven. At a young age, foreigners convinced our fathers to look down on our traditions, culture, and identity. Now, we have elders who spent their entire life submerged in a culture and tradition that is not their own. Our fathers are just as lost as I am, just as lost as my young children in diaspora. 

Last December, I watched the world celebrate christmas as a religious holiday, as a euro cultural heritage, and as a capitali$t $ociety'$ dream. I envied those who had maintained and globalized their traditions.

Then, my heart broke as I realized that this beautiful bronze skin child of Umuahia, has absolutely no African Igbo traditions to boast of. Lost, I am lost.

It only took three (3) generations - my parents, me and my children. Mission accomplished! 

We have been

 ERASED . . .

Courtesan!

Courtesan!

I get into relationships with men who love me so much they want to marry me immediately, but…

They want to claim a relationship with a good woman, but…

They enjoy that I am open to intimacy, that I respond to their embrace and it’s great and exhilarating, a real ego booster, but…

They cannot wait to have a baby with me, but…

They are excited to have a drama-free lady, but…

But why do I always start arguments? They ask…

How am I both drama-free and also so dramatic?

“You’re too emotional, woman please learn to control your emotions!”

Nobody is perfect is synonymous with “before you ask for something, you better fix yourself first, lady”.

Asking them to hear what I'm trying to say means getting shut down again before I’m done articulating. In this new game, I’m losing. In fact, I have lost.

I appreciate the gifts and the flowers, but…

Oh, they thought that the flowers and the gifts were enough? They forget that I’m grown like them and that I can also attain those by myself.

I am unapologetically Oliver Twist. Please sir, I want some more.

But then I finally reach my limit, I have had enough because I've remained unheard for long enough. I will not nag. I know my worth, but..

• My inner peace is shattered.

• My voice is muted.

• My silence is loud.

• My light is dimmed.

• My flame for you is dying!

Repeating myself is like a broken record, deja vu is our conversation.

Deep down you still want me but I can see that there is no room for me in the fortress that you have built without me.

But I’m guilt tripped for ending the relationship…

What relationship?

The one where you didn’t want to connect? You were satisfied with no foundation and no further investments.

The one where I constantly have to wait for that right moment to chat that never comes?

The one where you want the kids and the house and the sugar but not the required dialog?

The one where I pour out my heart and you do not even respond with a comment?

The relationship where I feel so alone even though you are ‘here’?

The relationship that never took its first breath in the real world?

Was our love connection only a fantasy?

The relationship where you choose to sit on the curb for the challenging parts?

Neither committed to leaving nor committed to stepping into the house.

We have not built a home, we have not built a solace.

We stand at the outskirts of an amazing love life deferred.

So, I am forced to meet you at the curb where you can be found.

My only connection to you is a moment of fleeting embrace.

Because eventually, I am left alone at the curb, up for grabs by the next John.

Courtesan!

>courtesan

noun

cour·​te·​san ˈkȯr-tə-zən  -ˌzan,  also  ˈkər-, -ˌzän;  especially British  ˌkȯ-tə-ˈzan

plural courtesans

Synonyms of courtesan

: a female sex worker with a courtly, wealthy, or upper-class clientele

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/courtesan

INFJ

INFJ

(INFJ means introverted, intuitive, feeling, and judging. It is one of the 16 personality types identified by the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI).)

A poem by ChidiJ.

INFJ traits be killin' me!

Calculating, re-calculating

Planning, re-planning.

It has to be perfect. 

But no one, as we know, is actually perfect.

I know this oh too well.

'Cuz these INFJ traits be killin' me!

INFJ.

Rare, they say I am.

Deep, way too deep to be real.

My reality always a step behind,

Catches up, but not fast enough to the world around me.

INFJ.

Always an outcast, 

Foreign even amongst my own kinsmen.

Finding my way to loneliness and to pure bliss,

My unfortunate paradise in peace awaits.

INFJ.

So mysterious. 

Oh if they only knew

The thoughts that cross this crown of mine.

Too wild at times not to sound like a screw last night came loose.

Visions of tomorrow already lay bare at my mind's doorstep.

The future is but a thought away.

Prophesy sista!

INFJ, INFJ.

There really is nothing wrong with me.

I, who loves so deeply,

But love I'll always dread.

How I hated to have had those silly crushes in my teens and on.

The pain of loving so completely was predictably unbearable.

Clear insights of young love's frangibility, 

Unkindly and always crushed my girlish fantasies.

Depriving me of innocent moments of pleasure much needed.

INFJ.

So rich and so poor.

The longing to love so strong,

Yet the need for aloneness even stronger.

Like a human chimera, I am two in one.

For I am me and there's another me too.

INFJ.

The blessing and the curse.

The gift and the punishment.

The joy and the pain.

The love and the hate.

The future in the present.

The two faced coin.

INFJ.

I pity you as much as I admire you.

Your rare beauty can be ugly and ravaging.

INFJ, my dearest INFJ.

You are here to stay, please don't go.

Your insight refreshes the soul.

And your unapologetic love heals the land.

So, keep your head up.

Push your chest out.

Stand tall, unwavering.

We wouldn't have you any other way.

For such is life and its rare gifts.

Therefore I must

Rock on!

Photo by Jonas Mats from Pexels

Love Story

Love Story

A poem by ChidiJ.

Do you?

I do!

Fast forward 10 years later…

Do you?

I do... believe in prenups.

🤣😂

Photo by Avonne Stalling from Pexels

41. Happy Birthday To Me!

 41, Happy Birthday to me!

A Poem by ChidiJ

She is 41 years old today.

Do the math...

1292976000 seconds.

21549600 minutes.

359160 hours.

14965 days.

491.999 months.

41 calendar years.

But what can she show for it?

Nothing.

Except for the Love that she has for her family, her friends, our humanity, and the world.

Nothing.

Except for the drive to create the change that can save a girl, a boy, a nation.

Nothing.

Ashes to Ashes. Dust to dust.

For she is here but for a short while.

So all she really needs to show for 41 is

Nothing.

But there is so much in between the nothings.

At 41, she is neither too naive nor too old to effect change.

41 is a good age.

Happy Birthday to me.

.

More Equal Than Others

A poem by ChidiJ

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others -

George Orwell.

⧫

When she is born, there is sincere jubilation. 

But a secret wish that this newborn baby should have been a boy lingers beneath the surface.

Her value is already determined, already inferior.

If she had older sisters, then their value would plummet even more with her birth.

Why is there no male child? They would now ask openly. 

The message here is clear - there is no worth placed on the female child.

⧫

From birth, she is groomed to neither succeed her parents nor their wealth. 

No, she has no future here. She is groomed to be sent away. 

Already, her name lays waste, not to be engraved on the family stone; 

why bother, she does not belong here. 

Privileged Intel is withheld, inheritance too. 

Why bother, this girl does not need property, 

she is just a transient member in her "father's house".

And when she is "of age", she is sold to the highest bidder, 

exchanged for cowries and a cow that will never match her true worth.

⧫

Alas, her name, her only identity, her only sacred possession, is stripped from her. 

Belonging now to her new owner, she must take on his identity.

This is the last step to fully reprogram her for her new assignment,

her new post in her “husband's house”. 

She will never be allowed to own herself.  

And her children, not bearing her father’s name,

may not be considered as full fledged grandchildren in her "father’s house".

⧫

My name is Chidinma Jenny Chikezie, formally Iroezi.

I was born into the female body. 

I did not choose to be, I was never given a choice. 

I was taught to eat, bathe, read, like every other child, I suppose.

It always seemed like my audience was surprised by my success at seemingly mundane tasks. 

But, why so surprised?

Women have been triumphing alongside men since the beginning of time.

⧫

The Bible says we are all created in the image of God.

When did the female creation get reassigned to be less equal?

⧫

There needs to be:

A culture shift. 

A re-education. 

A righting.

Change.

⧫

Equal rights for women, like charity, begins at home.

Value your daughters at home and the world outside will.

Photo by JJ Jordan from Pexels

I CHOOSE ME (AND MOTHERHOOD).

I CHOOSE ME (AND MOTHERHOOD)

A Poem by ChidiJ

I shan't worry about saving my career right now.

I shan't worry about saving the world right now. 

What's so wrong with just focusing on me and my children right now?

What's so wrong with focusing on what I actually want for me for a change?

I choose to be the mother I've always dreamed I could be.

My children didn't ask to be born. 

I am obligated to raise them well,

Not pass them off to someone else while I pursue "not looking defeated" by maxing out my potential, or getting a bigger house, or making more money. 

But why do I judge me so harshly for taking a stand for something that I believe in?

I choose Me.

Not the "usual", 

Not the "norm", 

Not the unspoken "tradition". 

I choose Me, 

Like so many others who have walked the road less travelled.

I choose Me,

To listen to my heart,

To do what's right for Me.

I choose to offer my children first-hand love;

Not, second-hand love.

For like smoke, it can kill the unsuspecting childhood.

I choose to hear my children. 

They have so much to tell, so much insight,

If I would just take that moment to listen;

To listen now while they are still tender enough to want my undivided attention. 

For soon they will leave the nest and take their hearts and voices with them.

Then the moment would have passed.

A mother's ultimate regret.

I choose to live life to the fullest.

I choose My life,

Not yours, 

Not your well meaning expectations.

Yes, I choose my life on my own terms.

I choose to be fearless to be Me!

Tomorrow is not promised to anyone.

I choose to be Me today.

I CHOOSE ME !!!

Treat yourself! HushCandles.com

photo by @august-de-richelieu