Musing; When The Lights Are Off
After a hectic day at work, Yosola flopped on her bed. She flung her bag to the right, kicked her shoes to the left. Some minutes of rest later, she got up, undressed, went through her nightly rituals and turned off the light. Sinking back into her mattress, she burst into tears. Uncontrollable tears. It all weighed on her. Tonight, like many before it, she was lonely. She desired companionship.
Jude used to be a teetotaler. One day, out of frustration, he tried a glass of white wine. The taste was alien to his buds, but he felt a little calmer by the time he was done with the glass. He tried it the next day and the next, graduating the number of glasses with each day. Casually mentioning it to his colleagues at work, they told him the best way to enjoy wine was to share it with friends. So he went to a bar with them, and tried red wine for the first time. Now, his firsts were history. He had developed a love affair with his bottles.
Both Yosola and Jude were in their mid thirties. Both were single and lonely, very lonely. And it seemed no one around them understood how it felt.
Yosola had to move out of her parents’ house when her mom’s constant nagging was going to send her crawling up the wall. She was an only child, made it worse. Every friend that got married was a ‘point of contact’ to her, every family member, especially the females, that got married, was the beginning of family meetings on her case. She desired marriage, more than they all could imagine. None of these people knew the tears she shed when the lights are off. None of them knew the deep gulf she felt existed inside of her when she wanted to bounce her ideas off someone, her own someone. She had to think many times over before she called any of her male friends. She didn’t want to appear needy to them, nor be a bore. Plus, she also had to consider their significant others. She didn’t want to be an unnecessary threat to anyone. She wanted that special someone she could curl up to, someone she could call at any time of day or night, just to hear them breathing, someone she could unburden to, play with, be the fullness of herself with. Her needs were deep seated. These, her very ‘concerned’ friends and family members knew nothing about.
Yes, she had come across many men before, even been in some relationships previously, but for some reasons, they did not lead to marriage. She once had a boyfriend who took delight in shouting at her in public. He brought her self esteem to zero. There was another who constantly stole from her. He almost robbed her blind. She was taking her time, she would rather wait for the right one than settle for anyone. But the pressure from all angles was not helping her at all. And the desire for intimacy? Oh, that drove her crazy attimes. She would toss and turn, walk around her room, jump and yell into her pillow, all for some release which she never got. Sometimes, she would be snappy with everyone. Some of her colleagues said she had moodswings. She couldn’t care less. Then, she got introduced to the world of silicone. For now, that was sufficing.
When Jude and Kelechi got married, they spared no costs. For months, they were the buzz of the town. Their families were well respected in their community, so everyone bet on their marriage being a model. Three years down the line, Kelechi had moved out. She was a strong feminist. Everything Jude did had a theory or another against it. She didn’t believe in cooking or cleaning, they would rather argue than discuss, she wanted to stand nose tip to nose tip with him on every issue. It was draining for Jude. It felt like he was living with an opponent, not a friend. One of the days, as she was reeling off point after point why he should be the one to make his food, she had made hers, he lost it and slapped her. Immediately after, he was remorseful. He shouldn’t have done it. He should just have walked away to get something to eat in a restaurant. He was sorry and he apologized profusely to Kelechi. She would have none of it. The very next day, she moved out of the house.
It has been two years. Two torturous years for him. After all attempts at reconciliation had failed. Kelechi remained headstrong, she would not shift her stand. He was tired. He had kept his sexual urge suppressed for about 9 months, then he couldn’t anymore. He started touching himself. And just like the alcohol, he got used to it and settled into a comfortable routine. He didn’t like it, but he would rather that than sleeping around. Kelechi had refused to give him a divorce. Every time they showed up in court, she put up a beautiful performance, claiming she still deeply loved her husband but was scared of his temper. She had painted him to be a violent man and she had a large crowd behind her that believed every word she spoke. She was determined to torture him for as long as she could.
Now, I ask, what is the pressure to get married all about? Truth is, not everyone will get married, no! And some will, later than others, why push them? Why does this society make it look like an achievement for a woman to answer a man’s name? And a man isn’t responsible till there’s a woman under his roof. Why? Do we pause to think that in all our ‘concern’ for these people, they suffer far more than they can express or explain to anyone? The least we can offer is a listening ear, a supportive hand and not the constant jabbering and hammering on the matter as if they are some imbecile who need to be told what is good for them.
Jude used to be a teetotaler. One day, out of frustration, he tried a glass of white wine. The taste was alien to his buds, but he felt a little calmer by the time he was done with the glass. He tried it the next day and the next, graduating the number of glasses with each day. Casually mentioning it to his colleagues at work, they told him the best way to enjoy wine was to share it with friends. So he went to a bar with them, and tried red wine for the first time. Now, his firsts were history. He had developed a love affair with his bottles.
Both Yosola and Jude were in their mid thirties. Both were single and lonely, very lonely. And it seemed no one around them understood how it felt.
Yosola had to move out of her parents’ house when her mom’s constant nagging was going to send her crawling up the wall. She was an only child, made it worse. Every friend that got married was a ‘point of contact’ to her, every family member, especially the females, that got married, was the beginning of family meetings on her case. She desired marriage, more than they all could imagine. None of these people knew the tears she shed when the lights are off. None of them knew the deep gulf she felt existed inside of her when she wanted to bounce her ideas off someone, her own someone. She had to think many times over before she called any of her male friends. She didn’t want to appear needy to them, nor be a bore. Plus, she also had to consider their significant others. She didn’t want to be an unnecessary threat to anyone. She wanted that special someone she could curl up to, someone she could call at any time of day or night, just to hear them breathing, someone she could unburden to, play with, be the fullness of herself with. Her needs were deep seated. These, her very ‘concerned’ friends and family members knew nothing about.
Yes, she had come across many men before, even been in some relationships previously, but for some reasons, they did not lead to marriage. She once had a boyfriend who took delight in shouting at her in public. He brought her self esteem to zero. There was another who constantly stole from her. He almost robbed her blind. She was taking her time, she would rather wait for the right one than settle for anyone. But the pressure from all angles was not helping her at all. And the desire for intimacy? Oh, that drove her crazy attimes. She would toss and turn, walk around her room, jump and yell into her pillow, all for some release which she never got. Sometimes, she would be snappy with everyone. Some of her colleagues said she had moodswings. She couldn’t care less. Then, she got introduced to the world of silicone. For now, that was sufficing.
When Jude and Kelechi got married, they spared no costs. For months, they were the buzz of the town. Their families were well respected in their community, so everyone bet on their marriage being a model. Three years down the line, Kelechi had moved out. She was a strong feminist. Everything Jude did had a theory or another against it. She didn’t believe in cooking or cleaning, they would rather argue than discuss, she wanted to stand nose tip to nose tip with him on every issue. It was draining for Jude. It felt like he was living with an opponent, not a friend. One of the days, as she was reeling off point after point why he should be the one to make his food, she had made hers, he lost it and slapped her. Immediately after, he was remorseful. He shouldn’t have done it. He should just have walked away to get something to eat in a restaurant. He was sorry and he apologized profusely to Kelechi. She would have none of it. The very next day, she moved out of the house.
It has been two years. Two torturous years for him. After all attempts at reconciliation had failed. Kelechi remained headstrong, she would not shift her stand. He was tired. He had kept his sexual urge suppressed for about 9 months, then he couldn’t anymore. He started touching himself. And just like the alcohol, he got used to it and settled into a comfortable routine. He didn’t like it, but he would rather that than sleeping around. Kelechi had refused to give him a divorce. Every time they showed up in court, she put up a beautiful performance, claiming she still deeply loved her husband but was scared of his temper. She had painted him to be a violent man and she had a large crowd behind her that believed every word she spoke. She was determined to torture him for as long as she could.
Now, I ask, what is the pressure to get married all about? Truth is, not everyone will get married, no! And some will, later than others, why push them? Why does this society make it look like an achievement for a woman to answer a man’s name? And a man isn’t responsible till there’s a woman under his roof. Why? Do we pause to think that in all our ‘concern’ for these people, they suffer far more than they can express or explain to anyone? The least we can offer is a listening ear, a supportive hand and not the constant jabbering and hammering on the matter as if they are some imbecile who need to be told what is good for them.
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