The Perfect Buffer

Word on the streets growing up, if you accidentally swallowed a fruit seed of any type, it hold grow inside of your stomach, cut through your brain and pop right out your head like a red balloon. It would grow, grow taller then the Eiffel Tower, touch the skies and say the Hail Mary’s to any plane going by and birds making their nests. I wonder if there were any fireworks or wind blowing with amusement once they heard the first leaf fall.

I drunk the lemonade, not the kool-aid but lemonade for a while, sipped from the champagne glass as I vividly recall giving in to the tune with zest; yes, I did. Bought it cheap!

It was one furious nightmare that rented a space on my brain, free of charge; it made bed and wouldn’t let go. I dread its inner existence. Those fears were rampant and real. They would curl up through my vains, pervert my soul and take stock of it, parking themselves like automated rocket blasting through an open field. I mean, the thought of I walking around like a scarecrow with a tree popping out of my head, made the batman retreat into his cave in a jiffy. Nevertheless, it drove my bus.

I would patiently roomage through the fruit, painstakingly picking the seeds up, one by one, so none would see the daylight out of my stomach. It was a choreographed pungentry dance of fear, sans the horse off course, never witnessed.

I would play this dance religiously until I was grown enough to know better. I grew up and started reading, and the buzzer went off like that. I came to realize it was only a tattletale, an unpleasant story but how it came to be, is a mystery as the story itself; no one knows. I was told to like countless other children and assumed it was common practice. Whatever it was, didn’t stop me from loving fruits. Like one annoyed rebellious child, I rolled out the dice, sprung to action and did just the opposite; I went for it and disnt look back. I went for the fruits, so much so they are my muse, my meal, my zen, my handkerchief, my handbag. And as I was cutting an apple yesterday and came across this, I wondered if a tree would finally pop out of my head if I ate it. In the age of corona, it would perhaps, be the perfect buffer.

Life Made Simple 


Sao Tome, Sao Tome and Principe

The simple life. Life is who you are, what you create, what you become. Life is creativity, what you live and how you present it. It is what you dance to, what makes you, what makes scream the most. It is not about what you can’t have but what you don’t have. It doesn’t take much to make a kid happy, all he/she needs is a toy and if you don’t have one, you create one. You make one out whatever you can find and then zig zag through the hood. It is life, it is what drives you, what becomes you, what makes you happy, a toy made of wire and wood. This beautiful expression of “leve leve”, meaning slow, unhurried definition of an happy and simple childhood emblemises the islands of Sao Tome and Principe in Africa. Yes, life made simple.