Crumbs In Our Wake

Crumbs in Our Wake

As we walk the quiet streets of our cities in the assumed isolation of our seemingly contented spaces, we so easily and unknowingly leave crumbs of who and what we are in our wake.

Others, like pigeons of the air, swoop down and peck away at those crumbs, a meal provided by the divine hand of providence, in whom we can scarcely believe cares enough for us, even when neither bird nor beast worries, for provision does indeed come.

These crumbs tell other stories, the ones we cannot let go of because unanswered questions remain. It is unlikely we would ever get the opportunity to satisfy the curiosity that one strange encounter brings into view, even as we try to mind our own business.

A Chance Encounter

Much earlier today, a lady was coming towards me, pushing a pram. I presumed she was a grandmother, and not a walking miracle of Sarah begetting Isaac after the incredulity of her laughter at the idea that she could still bear a child.

She was adjusting a paper windmill, or pinwheel, and for that alone the expectation was that a child, reclined in the pram, was being entertained or distracted with the novelty of a spinning attraction. Had small talk ensued, it would have been about seeing a pleasantly focused, smiling toddler, whilst commending the grandmother for keeping the child at peace.

The Doll in the Pram

As I walked past, I looked to see a grinning face, teeth showing with the gaiety of the widest smile possible, even legs being thrown up in the air in acknowledgement of the object positioned for their attention. Nothing of the sort; the passenger in the ornate perambulator was a doll, unmistakably the plastic rigidity of a lifeless presence that only a doll could muster.

There was no need for a double take, but one did vacillate between concern and sympathy. Concern that this story was one of mental illness brought into the public sphere; the wish for a child now given over to the taking of a doll for an outing, with all the presence of mind to furnish that doll with the trimmings that might accompany a child.

Sympathy and Grace

Then came sympathy for whatever the tragic story might be, such as the loss of a grandchild remembered daily in this sad display of grief that I had now uncomfortably witnessed. A daily upset for her, and a lingering one for me, for how do you ask the pertinent questions?

There might be another angle, though, beyond concern or sympathy, this being eccentricity, and we all have some of that in us in different measures. Whether this be suffering expressed so vividly, or an expression too quickly misunderstood, the reality of a person's private world is not that private when brought into the public sphere.

A Good Samaritan Nature

Yet even this might not begin to cover the spectrum of life experiences that became that momentary observation, for any person's story is barely told in a brief encounter. Rather, what we know in part might define them too narrowly in comparison to who they really are.

And if we were to ignore the things we see, we could, in that very mindset, miss the moment when someone in distress could do with our Good Samaritan nature and our help.

Yet, in the crumbs that the pigeons do get to feed on, is a complete meal not better than manna, without a care for what tomorrow brings? There, but for the grace of God, go we, so that whatever story we tell might be a blessing to another.

A Gemini Notebook AI Podcast on this blog

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content.

Thought Picnic: Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Sometimes, I reflect on the fact that I lead a number of public lives which revolve around simply doing what I love, without seeking acknowledgement or reward. Something in my upbringing, in the observation of my parents and mentors, drives me towards excellence.

Much as I seek perfection, I quite frequently fall short. I upbraid myself, accuse myself, and talk to myself in a voice that calls me by my own name, because there is a conversation to be had before someone else has it with me. I would rather be my own critic, so as to be prepared to receive a better critique, one of recognition, of merit, and of acknowledgement.

Stories That Once Scared Me

There are stories from my past that frighten me, where the infirmity registered in the ravine of failure offered no opportunity or facility for recovery. It was unsalvageable wreckage, beyond repair, and utterly hopeless.

Yet, I have a better story to tell. No narrative I share today wallows in helpless resignation, for I am blessed beyond measure with testimonies of goodness, success, victory, and triumph.

The Pleasure of Work

At work, I enjoy what I do, not for the remuneration, of which I have once earned stupendously, but for the satisfaction that the knowledge and expertise I bring to bear on the mundane and the complex still matters.

I get to learn as much as I help others learn. I do what I do, not to get noticed, but to make things work. In the process, acknowledgement, respect, and rewards may well come. My motivation, however, is the pleasure.

Appearance and Carriage

In appearance, I have my own kind of dressing, something I pay attention to, because appearance and carriage matter. There have been times when I have been stopped so that pictures could be taken of me.

Once, a young man, after complimenting me, said he would love to have the confidence to dress like me. I suppose hardly a day goes by without some sort of recognition from strangers, and yet I am not out to attract attention. My motivation is simply looking good.

The Wealth of Expression

On this blog, I write about anything that takes my fancy, not for want of engagement or readership. To think there was a time when I hated writing, even though I had a great deal to say in conversation.

I am easily shy, quite introverted, and socially awkward and nervous in organised meetings where people are networking. It is in the use of words that I truly flourish. My motivation is the wealth of expression.

The Story of a Man

What all this says to me is to keep doing what I know to do, in the best possible way, with every aim to impact, improve, and perhaps impress. I will never be everyone's cup of tea, but I hope those who drink this tea enjoy it tremendously.

Decades of work, portrayal, and expression all become the story of a man. Thank you for coming by.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

In Wine, In Play, In Anger, and In Indifference

Wisdom From the Mother Tongue

Yoruba provides a rich seam of wisdom that, even as a second language, I have mined to find gems that sparkle and light my path. “Ibi eré ni à ńmọ òótọ́ ọ̀rọ̀” is a saying that has meant so much to me; it has made friends and broken relationships. “It is at play that the truth spills out.” That would be a liberal translation, and I'll stick with it.

The Romans arrived at much the same conclusion by a different route. “In vino veritas,” they said, “in wine, there is truth.” Where the Yoruba sage observed the loosened tongue at play, the Latin observer found it at the bottom of a cup. Two cultures, two settings, one shared recognition: the heart, given any opening, will speak its mind.

What reinforces that viewpoint comes from the words of Jesus Christ in the Bible: “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” (Luke 6:45)

A Watch Over the Lips

The unguarded expression, spoken without thought or consideration, regardless of disposition, is one reason why we need a watch on our lips. So says the Psalmist, in a prayer asking for divine assistance in controlling one's speech, preventing hasty, sinful, or hurtful words, and acting as a guard over what is spoken. (Psalms 141:3)

It takes only a moment of lacking restraint, and everything comes crumbling down: the dismissing of issues consequential to others, simply because there is no background to their stories beyond what surfaces at the point of interaction.

Yet everyone has both the prerogative and the right to be unburdened and unbothered by external issues. In some cases, silence trumps expression, but that requires a modicum of discipline.

The Many Faces of Unguarded Speech

Wine and play are only two of the settings where the heart slips its leash. Anger is another: the row that begins over a small grievance and ends with a cruelty no apology can quite retrieve. Tiredness is a quieter cousin, where exhaustion strips away the patience that ordinarily holds the tongue in check. Grief, too, can sharpen words into instruments that wound bystanders who happened only to be nearby.

There is also the casual cruelty of group settings, where a joke at someone's expense earns laughter, and the laughter encourages the next, sharper jibe. Social media has industrialised this dynamic; the keyboard is a kind of wine in itself, lowering inhibitions whilst removing the face that might otherwise have stayed our hand.

Then there are moments of fear, jealousy, or wounded pride, when the words we reach for are not the ones we believe but the ones that will hurt fastest. And let us not forget the seemingly innocent slip during gossip, where a confidence shared in trust becomes currency in another conversation entirely.

Seven Words, One Covenant

"I don't have the energy for this." Those are seven words that broke a covenant, though one can be certain they would be used to castigate me as truculent, impossible, and recalcitrant. My relevance is transactional rather than in recognition of my own journey or story. I have my own issues, but everyone needs to see themselves in the mirror, too.

Going back to the verse I quoted earlier, an interpretation would suggest that a person's words reflect their inner character, thoughts, motivations, beliefs, and emotions. The "heart" represents the core of one's being, and what is stored inside inevitably spills out through speech.

The Fool in the Play

As a student of myself, and sometimes of others, I have learnt a lesson about the heart once again. It does not take drink alone to loosen the tongue; play, anger, fatigue, grief, indifference, or just plain spite are enough.

You had better be attentive to what is being said before you become the fool in the play where you are also the lead.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Taking Praise to the Bank

The Grace of Acceptance

In life, whatever you do, whether by nature, through practice, or by good fortune, compliments do not come easily. Perhaps they do for others; however, what matters most is having the grace to accept those encomiums when you have been appreciated.

Yet sometimes familiarity makes praise seem either mundane or biased. I am occasionally embarrassed by how Brian compliments me; the thought crosses my mind that he cannot possibly be talking about me. His words can be effusive and quite adoring. I suppose a sense of modesty suggests it is too much, whilst a feeling of inadequacy implies I have not yet reached the standard for which the applause has been loudest.

An Unexpected Exposure

Then this afternoon, a work conference segued into a conversation between two. Idle banter touched on many things, and then she said, “I found your blog.” She had been searching for information when the results led her to my blog. Shock and surprise on my part brought the realisation that I had been exposed.

However much we try to compartmentalise our lives through secrecy, segmentation, or even sequestration, we can only be so successful when we leave footprints online. I got my first email address in 1994, just as I began a subscription to CompuServe. My identity number is just about to slip from memory in the present — I remember it now.

The Weight of Recognition

Not only had she learnt a great deal about me, in blogs spanning almost 23 years, but she also appreciated my writing: my use of language, and the ease of reading. She enjoyed everything she had read and pleaded with me not to stop blogging. Amid this deluge of compliments, I was close to blushing.

There is no day when I do not receive compliments, usually from strangers, and I respond with thanks. It is different when a colleague at work, who knows you in a particular setting and character, sees another side of your expression and acknowledges, commends, praises, and compliments that aspect of your art. You want to take it to the bank and cash it.

Cashing It In

In this case, I have taken it to the bank of this cache of over 4,250 blogs and cashed it in as an acknowledgement. Brian has always maintained that I can make a blog out of the simplest moments or interactions. This is one of those instances. Thank you—you know who you are.

The Evolution of my Blog from 2003.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Twenty-Two years of blogging

Blogging the story within you

You may have read somewhere on this blog that it was started in a Berlin hotel room on 8th December 2003. After a few years, I began writing an anniversary blog, especially now that the whole art of personal blogging has fallen out of fashion in favour of trendier and more engaging podcasts and skits.

I'll be the first to suggest this medium suits me best, and I think writing will always have an enduring quality over all other means of expression. Even in the case of music, before we had recordings, it was putting all that creativity into musical notation that has given us the joy of listening to classical music today.

There is no need to write a long treatise about blogging beyond relating to the view expressed in this quotation: “If a story is in you, it has got to come out” (William Faulkner). I think we all have stories, and too many of us never let those stories get out. That is a shame.

This is a quiet celebration of 22 years of blogging, and I'll keep doing it for as long as I can. I am thankful for the readers, even the large language models that have been trained on it, my loyal audience, and the people who take the time to comment on my blogs. Here's to more words coming together in stories you'll enjoy.

Writing Well: Craft and Wellspring

Well, it’s tough

“Of all those arts in which the wise excel, Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.” This quote is attributed to both John Sheffield, 1st Duke of Buckingham and Normanby (1647–1721) and André Breton (1896–1966); however, I do not intend to make any issue of the results of my internet search.

Writing well can be viewed as both a wellspring and a craft. At least, this became my reading of the quote, not as a sign of wisdom, but as a recognition that the willingness to express oneself and the choice of expression have won changes in areas that seem intractable.

Over the last few weeks, the teams in which I work have found themselves subject to management's pressing inclination to seek statistical successes with little consideration of the effort involved that does not show up in the figures. It has been nigh on impossible to communicate the difficulties in our battles to tackle the problems we have encountered.

Well, Bad Faith

At one point, in what was clearly a breach of trust and confidence, we were both threatened and bullied. It was a particularly low exercise of managerial control, oblivious of everything but meeting some arbitrary target. It rankled so much that I even found my voice fading in agitation, anger, and angst whilst challenging the various ungallant uses of office.

Much as I appreciate that people in authority might be caught up in the illusions of power and demands, they cannot defy the reality of the practical elements necessary for achieving what they want. It is against this backdrop that I entered the fray of another push for targets without a sense of effort.

My goal, expressed a few days before, was for management to reward those putting in the most to achieve the target, even if the seemingly impossible target could not be met and the goalposts shifted in the meagre rewards they were offering. A difficult exchange ensued that first challenged the premise, then conditioned the situation, before adjusting the focus.

Well, Write Well

Fetching from the writing well of wisdom, gauging the time to interject and pressing the case, I first exposed the numbers malady before setting the perspective. This was presented in an inadvertent comment from a manager; my response was a case of writing well for effect.

It put the purpose on the defensive and led to a reassessment of the goal, but I held back from responding further. The ordered use of words is a skill demanding the scalpel blade of teasing rather than the machete of chopping. What ensued included receiving a slight rebuke, but the bruises of battle are part of being in a fight, though it rarely feels like one when the other party needs to exert authority.

The initiative eventually came without my suggesting it directly. Whether the target is met or not, the best-performing member of the team will be adequately rewarded. This should have been done the week before, beyond empty platitudes. Is it any wonder morale is so low?

Well, Just Write

The writing well is a resource from which I have dug deep to fetch the fresh water of writing well in the art of persuasion. The wounds matter less given the many victories won through time. I don't even bother to celebrate the wins, except in appreciation of the gift of writing well.

I suppose this is why this blog exists. Of all the mediums of expression available to engage us, writing has the potential to exist long after interest has been lost in hearing and watching people perform.

It's bad speech winning over free speech

It’s a bad speech issue

There are so many facets to the free speech debate but one thing I am convinced about is there is no limitation to the freedom of speech. What has really happened from viewing the quality of speech of many people with platforms especially in the political arena is expression had given up finesse for crudeness.

One could attribute this to lassitude in many areas, especially in reading, the reading of the classics, of philosophy, poetry, ideas, stories, and the forms of debate that mine the seams of the richness of language that challenge our thinking or excite our humour.

Weak forms from lazy

For instance, the kind of language and expression that the American president uses might appeal to the broad masses and make him an adept communicator, however, apart from the cachet of his powerful office that attracts all sorts of patronage, there is little to inspire from his speeches that elevates the quality of conversation.

The excessive use of comparatives and superlatives reveals a standard of mental indolence poorly served by lack of reading material that allows a broadening of the discussion, giving some flow to how words interact to persuade, even speechwriters will struggle to give those lips the kind of conviction that matches both personality and position.

Even the art of oratory, which is the skilful and effective public speaking is being lost, there are presently very few leaders of the world that could attend the United Nations and command the world stage with the quality of expression that would yield quotes surviving headlines of the next day. The pulpit shakers with their training in homiletics and hermeneutics barely make the standard of this is worth listening to again.

Do more reading

My argument is if people were well read, they would always find the form of expression to convey whatever thoughts they have elegantly without being misunderstood.

Giving thought to what you have to say before you speak needs a resource of usages and misuses studied before. Then we have the matter of a rich vocabulary, from books, novels, journals, and magazines rather than from cramming a dictionary, because context always matters in the use of words.

Then again, one does not need an elite education, just some curiosity and inquisitiveness, a willingness to learn and explore, because that opens the world of expression that unleashes freedom of expression.

I posit the issue has never really been an attack on freedom speech in the UK, people have just forgotten how to say nicely the bad things they are thinking. In the process, they have been caught out and to that, I’ll say, more fool you, or get smarter.

Somebody I used to know

Is that really me?

Yesterday brought some issues into stark relief as I attended a men’s group where a recording of an interview done some months before I commenced radiotherapy had ended up in a short documentary for the organisation.

Hearing my voice amplified and played back to my hearing still feels strange, there is a disembodied otherworldliness about it that leaves me uncomfortable. Having taken some readings at the cathedral, I am getting used to it, and it will only get better.

However, with my voice as it is today, the person I saw and heard looked like I was watching somebody that I used to know. There are differences I am working hard to bring back to who I once knew.

Managing the limits

For instance, I would have a brisk walk to the men’s group from my home in twenty or so minutes, that I was not even contemplating yesterday, I hopped on a bus for the three stops and on my way back, I did the same.

There is an urge to do a lot more, but I soon realise it tires me out quite easily, the occasions for rest are more frequent, and it could be a battle to concentrate. Yet, I do apply myself quite diligently to the tasks I set out to do from cooking to revising for a test among other essential activities.

No breaks in transmission

Earlier in the day before the men’s group, I was out to take a Microsoft certification test. I put in a good week of work on the material and in the process, I learnt quite a bit.

By Monday, I had done enough to tackle the challenge. Distractions impacted my ability to do a last revision overnight and from then, I decided not to bother myself any further with last dibs.

I passed the test and gained a new certification. There are vestiges of that person that I used to know that are still active. The temporary loss of strength and timbre in my voice does not indicate a loss of expression. I can be as forceful as I have always been.

After playing back the documentary, I was invited onto a panel to share views and opinions. Akin is still there, there is no break in transmission.

Nobody Does It Better

The music to my ears

Against all the odds, there is a spirit that drives us to that point where we are selflessly committed to something that matters. To me, there is so much music that I am familiar with, but I have not given myself the time to listen fully to the lyrics and appreciate the quality of songwriting and expression that went into the song.

Yesterday, I was listening to the music of James Bond films with orchestral support that was performed about two months ago and being broadcast on BBC Three. This was just after I had returned home from a long day, I even took the tablet into the bathroom to listen as I took a shower, I was enthralled. [BBC: Bond… James Bond] Only available to listen to in May 2024 before it is archived.

Indeed, a James Bond song

The many performers of James Bond theme music, going back to 1962, I began wondering and thinking, I did not know this was the original sound as they played through the repertoire of amazing sounds rearranged and performed by contemporary artists.

Nobody Does It Better, the theme song to The Spy Who Loved Me, written by Marvin Hamlisch and Carole Bayer Sager, the latter who suggested this was such an incredibly vain song that it naturally fell to Carly Simon you had sung You’re So Vain to give this ballad the full rendition it deserved.

If I remember correctly, we had a film night in boarding school, probably in early 1978, and that was when I first watched, The Spy Who Loved Me, I can only remember the last scene if anything. But we were and maybe remain lifelong fans of James Bond and the James Bond spirit.

Having the joy of the best love

Yet, as I have found out, whatever the inspiration behind any creative work of expression, how it is listened to, understood, and appreciated by others cannot be accounted for. It was written about the apparent sexual prowess of James Bond, I listened to it intently yesterday as a narrative of how the unexpected blossoming of love becomes a story of deep gratitude for having met someone to whom saying, “Baby, You’re the best”, doesn’t even begin to describe the blessing you have encountered.

That is how I feel towards Brian, “I wasn't looking, but somehow you found me”, that first embrace told me peace and comfort, I knew I would never love this way again because what I have is perfect. Thank you for loving me so unconditionally and so very supportively. I never say that enough.

Let's delve into this

We delve deeper

Some parts of this blog started off as a comment on Facebook that I decided should not be left there but given a bit more context that might go into a series of discussions on language, expression, vocabulary, usages, culture, and influences. Other rather succinct views on this topic have been expressed as tweets on Twitter. God, forfend I suggest the other name.

The matter of the word ‘delve’ has been a burning topic for the past few days on social media, where someone of privilege and influence inadvertent revealed a bugbear about the use of a word in an email and attributed it to the use of Artificial Intelligence because by his assumption, it was an unfamiliar word and people do not write like that.

Now, I write this in the context mainly of my own upbringing rather than in the broader spectrum of how Nigerians have reacted to this as I 

The different cultures

I was so miffed, even annoyed; the bounding dunce, (and I use that charitably to suggest he is slow to see his own blind spots), in every other area except for his computing nous and venture capital clout, who is just over a year older than I am, was British-born but left for America at the age of 4, meaning my Britishness at that time was even more impactful as to appreciate the good use of the English language than him.

He was schooled in the American system, and what he has retained are vestiges of the English aversion not so much to pomposity, but that unfortunate inability to pigeonhole the unfamiliar into trenchant class structures that remain significant in Great Britain to today.

The education context

Imagine being so well-spoken and still having an accent, it upsets them no end, they cannot believe we had schools that did Eton College for a pittance abroad. (We had reading, writing, comprehension, and spelling classes at the primary schools that I attended in Nigeria, which had a large foreign contingent of pupils and staff.) You attend to every variant of the same question, “How do you speak (or write) better English?” You want to answer, that I had an exceptionally good primary education.

Obviously, using a rich vocabulary is seen as trying to be clever, writing mellifluously is considered beyond our capacity, it is damned with faint praise as flowery. We are just too well-read to use English in a perfunctory and unimaginative way.

The class issue

Every inner self-loathing was inadvertently embodied in that tweet about delve, so unawares. We need to begin to understand that how people express themselves reveals just as much as they intend to say as it is about who they are. We are already self-profiling to observers and to an audience by our conduct and conversation.

On the class matter, I had to tick a box in 2024 that asked about my social mobility status. Well, I was never working class and there are settings where sophistication is effortless that it is more than attainable for many, in speech, comportment, or just the basic sense of self. The world will never attain true egalitarianism, but we can make the world a better place if people use their privilege to lift others rather than knock them down.

In other situations, it is to allow one’s worldview to be open to new ideas, understanding that cultures differ, usages are myriad, and diversity suggests there is not just one perspective. Even in the quest for simplicity, what is simple varies and that is subject to too many variables that we cannot control that we make allowances and gain new opportunities from stretching the limits of our purview.

On the delve matter, there was a bigger issue at play, especially as Paul Graham and his family have returned to the UK since 2016, we have not begun to delve into the many layers involved. I can see through him as through plain glass. Yes, I also use AI in my writing, it is Akintayo Intelligence.

Annoying annoyances

What they see they see

What people’s impressions of me vary to the extent that I mustn't allow those viewpoints to influence or constitute my mode of expression. To be viewed as truculent, easily annoyed, and quick to take offence can only be a failure to invest in knowing me rather than one indicative of who I am.

I know the people I have intentionally given the cold shoulder and I have more fingers to count on one hand after I have accounted for them. I endured years of drunken opinions of seething disdain he became one of whom it was expedient to ensure any future dealings were terminated, after an unequal and trying friendship of just over two decades.

A gardener weeding engagements

I am not a difficult person to get along with, I however actively curate liaisons, acquaintances, friendships, and engagements, knowing what to cultivate and what to leave to lie fallow and allow to be reduced to insignificance. Frequently, it is not a reflection on them but a realisation that nothing worthwhile is to be gained from the continued relationship after inadequacy and frustration.

Maybe as an individual, I am quirky and strange, probably funny in a certain way, the things I allow to bother me are looking to be a better person and I am beginning to understand I need grace more than discipline. I might even consider counselling and therapy for some things, but those are personal journeys that anyone else might well find some profitable development for themselves.

Mirrors of keen expression

What I find insightful is and this might come as a surprise because, in this same blog post, I have suggested one aspect is not a reflection in terms of the choices of engagement, but a clear reflection if reviewed with introspection is the way people think about you might well be something about themselves too, their needs, their interests, perish the thought about their neediness or their insecurities which they then project on you as unfulfilling of a certain expectation.

How you maintain your composure when confronted with such situations becomes part of the development of character. It can be overlooked or ignored though there are times when a frankness of opinion might be bruising but immensely helpful, daily, I seek wisdom in knowing when either is right. One can argue that discernment may not be present in the state of inebriation which I never indulge or when aroused from a state of the soporific that is required in typical circadian rhythms.

Gun control of tempers frayed

Invariably, I am usually not annoyed when people think I am annoyed, I am usually annoyed because people assume I am, out of some work in their relationship that they need to work on, and then project that onto me as some inadequacy, I guess that is a trigger as much as a gun needs one along with good gun keeping by ensuring the safety is always on, just in case the gun falls into the hands of a two-year-old, of whom you cannot easily demand they give you back the gun as you would a harmless thing.

Why am I writing this blog? Just a few thoughts about the fact that making some allowances for everyone might help in understanding better rather than misunderstanding leading to bizarre conclusions. This month marks 4 decades of many things including a very cherished friendship if my memory serves me right. Anyway, like Pontius Pilate did say, I have written that I have written.

The baring without blushing

Nothing too strange about it

It is strange when I remember the first time, I was moved from my bed to take a shower after days of having a wipe down in my hospital bed for days. It was not comfortable at all as the pain in my foot with fungating tumours was still unbearable, but this was an opportunity to have a full rinse down and I somewhat looked forward to it, still.

The nurse, a female was very helpful in getting me to the bathroom and as soon as she did, she was making for the exit with speed to save the embarrassment of seeing my nudity. In my state, it would have been impossible to reach certain parts apart from how the distraction of pain limited my manoeuvrability. I first told her she could stay and then said, I couldn’t be the strangest sight or patient she’d had to bathe, her presence would be more than helpful.

I was in a hospital, there was no point being bashful and I could care less for what conversation she might have somewhere else where what transpired during her day at work became the topic of frivolity and amusement. I won’t be there to listen and participate, it did not bother me.

Exposing things to help things

It just so happens that there are times you need to bare your soul and share intimate secrets of your life in the process of getting the kind of useful help you require. Coming from a culture where much is concealed than revealed, where cultural pride limits the expression of vulnerability or need, we consequently do not avail ourselves of availability or supply. Inculcated personality traits militate against presenting yourself as brutally honest as is necessary.

Finding someone who can relate to that somewhat taciturn cultural trait can be very useful because they can eventually find the form of words to probe deeper and elicit the information that is usually difficult to present at the onset. Besides, there is much that we discount or have consigned to the recesses of memory, probably forgotten from times before that have been influential and possibly the formation of character and outlook, which we at present might disagree is impactful when in reality it is consequential.

You want to avoid dredging up the past to explain the cracks in the present that are foundational to issues that might manifest inadvertently in the future. Disposition actively compartmentalises situations you would rather not remember for any purpose but is germane to issues to hand. Yet memory is interesting as it can give the best context to why you are where you are.

Thought Picnic: Defined by impediment of speech

Deference for acquisition

There are encounters of amusement and vulnerability that come with life’s experiences, ones that make you wonder about ability, capacity, and identity. There are inflections on fluency that could inadvertently surprise and allude to deficiency, a conclusion that is borne of ignorance, for want of a better word.

To be courteous is a demonstration I should rarely be found wanting in, even as I sometimes compensate for my lack of curiosity in inquisitive by the keenness of observation, eliciting fact from happenstance and codifying that for future reference, for assurance purposes I would ask how a name is pronounced before it is mangled in incomprehensibility.

Reference in identification

That desire for knowledge is sometimes misconstrued for inadequacy and so it is tested with the supposition that flaws are indicative of the unschooled. In self-deprecation, I do sometimes suggest my proficiency in the Yoruba language is poor, as it is not my mother tongue; it is hardly to be accepted as fact, I am pretty fluent in expression and rich in prose.

Yet, I am sometimes caught in a flux of identity and identification as to where I have affinity regardless of heritage and where I belong in terms of roots. With time, my understanding of the cultural underpinnings of my forebears and relations with respect to mine would indicate variance and difference that dictates my worldview and outlook. I realise I am many things from many places to many people, a complex of simple humanity trying to make something of life.

Thought Picnic: That warmth has caught a chill

A sealed witness to see

My closest friends have identified a character flaw that reflects my disposition to reclusiveness and clamming up when things are not the way they should be.

I cannot recall the number of times I have heard in the last couple of weeks, “It is me, Akin/love, you do not have to shy with me.” I do not know if I can call myself a veteran of adversity, but I have my own share of stories that I hope I would find the words in reflection looking back to talk about life and its experiences, the way my hopes and fears play in the daily toil to get to a better place.

It is probably a conditioning that regardless of how difficult and dire the situation is, you put a good face on it, and make the best appearance of things as you prevent the stress, the turmoil, and the uncertainties from eating you up from the inside out.

I feel the changes

Yet, I could sense in my voice as I was speaking to my best friend that it had lost a timbre of confidence and self-assurance, my usually trusty guard was down and he made inroads into the recesses of my psyche that is rarely available and out of that came respite and support, I sorely needed but never deigned to ask for.

On an intimate level with my partner, I am even more an obscurity, that he deploys his sixth sense to read my visage and my usage of words to elicit information out of me. At other times, he follows his gut feeling and acts with such prescience almost like a seer. I do not give him enough credit for how much he understands me.

Another thing I felt yesterday was when I went into our local office for some documents to be endorsed and notarised, in explaining how I was effectively on a ‘zero-hours contract’ situation to the senior manager who asked, I distinctly realised there was no colour in my face, I had a blank and pall expression that I did not need a mirror to observe, my humour was deserting me.

Blog - Hypothetically, a zero-hours contract, it is

If only I could talk better

You do not become an expert in suffering, rather, you find ways to cope and work through it. For all that you have to accommodate, you cannot afford for circumstances to steal your sleep whilst you seek the words or music of comfort that tells you that though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death at this time, you are on your way to new green pasture and still waters as the Psalmist says in Psalm 23.

One thing I still am not that good at is asking for help when I do need that help.

Something like death by interview

For I could not talk

Looking back at a career of over 34 years, I find that I have faced the full spectrum of interview experiences from being totally tongue-tied in a brain fog of stuttering stupidity that I have to apologise for wasting the interviewer’s time through impressing the quality and depth of my expertise, sometimes even being promoted to a more senior role during the interview, to being engaged just by reputation.

Today, I was caught at the wrong end of the situation, and it was not for the want of the interviewer trying his best to help me along. Then again, the interview technique is probably more an art than a science, there is no assured way of determining whether talent and fit can be deduced from a list of set questions. Each personality and way of expression is different.

Between how you do things and talking about what you have done before, you may be able to assess knowledge and experience, but if the interviewee loses confidence, there is no comeback for the interviewee to redress the situation, you are left crying over a dam of spilt milk.

Crippled by immobility

Early this afternoon, I attended one such interview that on the surface I should have aced as much of what was asked for should have been answered by remembering things that have acquired muscle memory in use, yet, I was a bumbling babbling mess, it could not wait for the whole ordeal to end.

Going over the questions in my mind, later on, the elements began to take form in the things I have done, the other things I know, the community support mechanisms available from where I have learnt much more to stand out, came to the fore, but that battle had been lost because it goes without saying that more articulate and probably better-prepared interviewees would go forward for consideration.

Losing the touch

For most of my last few jobs, I doubt I have had the requisite interview practice, many have been discussions on how I could bring my wealth of experience to the table, and others have been referrals from people who I have worked with in the past inviting me to new projects, another, just reading my profile on LinkedIn was enough to convince them they had the right man. Even I was shocked at the speed at which we went from introduction to can you start tomorrow?

Basically, I am not of the disposition of an elevator pinch proponent that in 5 minutes would win a deal, and neither would I affect to traipse the confines of a Dragon’s Den or Shark Tank programme to persuade investors to invest in a venture. I am not that sort of person.

In a number of instances, I have been asked to give a broad presentation on one of a number of topics, like one to be shown to someone in the C-suite, and then questions follow afterwards. I seem to be much better at that, but it is rarely an adopted interview technique.

Remember who you are

Essentially, I am quite introverted though could be forceful in giving direction for technical solutions, I could concede that I am hardly the best interview candidate, I might feature in the worst decile. I find some solace in this saying often credited to Albert Einstein, “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

I am a fish, I belong in the water where my gills help me acquire life-sustaining oxygen, I was a fish out of water earlier and it was death by interview, no other words could say it better.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXIX

One could not tell

He, I might have said as I wondered why he was walking in the middle of the lane of a busy road, then as it became clear, she was wearing heels you would expect to see on those modelling womenswear, but her top was hardly masculine, probably feminine and never really coming to terms of whether it should be classed as androgynous left me more confused that you might be left with the pronoun they.

Yes, they were drawing attention to themselves in clothes that could not be ignored once seen and a head shorn of hair quite redolent of male pattern baldness, that drivers in cars contributed to a needless cacophony of car horns get more people to look in the direction of the commotion.

When I thought I would see them for much longer, they disappeared into a whiskey bar and the chatter at the al fresco tables would have been given to a surmise or two before we all returned to what we were doing.

It is there to see

Whatever we were doing before a new distraction came along, body adornment in the form of tattoos that usually were discreet, but now they are all over the body down on the fingers with all the skin surfaces covered including on the face, and this is now on the ladies. I catch myself before I begin to question why, I guess they love and they do it, the appreciation of beauty by strangers is beside the point.

People do not moderate themselves into conformity if they can help it, and much as a lot is being accepted at face value and supported by laws to give protections against discrimination, being an outlier can still expose you to unwelcome ostracism. It would seem our prejudices are constantly challenged by changing norms and expressions we cannot avoid.

Our streets of education

We observe and document those observations in memory that what was at first chimeral, with more encounters of such rarities, we are eased to accepting these things are becoming commonplace.

Usually, we would not indulge and be inclined to have these situations are self-expression even as an example might provide guidance, we school ourselves into the knowledge that in all that diversity of expression with its extremes that we have difficulty understanding, there is a belonging we all have to share in learning of each other and becoming better people.

As it seems one pandemic is winding down, though not going away yet, we are presented with monkeypox and a threat that it is spreading fast that those of us in a cohort once stigmatised for infectious diseases are once again appearing more susceptible to it. A public announcement to drop-in by invitation totally failed the plain English test. We just have to be careful. [MEN: Monkeypox fears build as number of cases in Greater Manchester rise]

Beyond queer theory to the experience of living

Exploring our humanity and expression

Reading of the death of Professor Leo Bersani which occurred a few weeks ago at the age of 90, got me thinking of an area of study defined as queer theory that I have not before explored, yet on perusal suggests many of us of a homosexual persuasion might have lived. To codify the lives of homosexuals and sexuality in academic terms definitely makes for an essential area of research. [Advocate: Leo Bersani, Author on Gay Identity, Dies at Age 90]

Only recently, I was reading up on Anti-LGBT rhetoric which to many extents has been to those of the LGBT persuasion lived rather than rhetorical, in discrimination, in ostracism, in queer bashing, sometimes resulting in death, in legislation that delegitimises and dehumanises our person in the pursuit of some nebulous family or culturally based ideal that seeks to set us apart for repudiation and castigation.

The corruption of conformity

Obviously, at once in our suffering and then in our understanding, we are caught in a situation where our difference from heteronormative structures set us up in conflict with family and relations, in community and society as we seek to have a human voice to exist in a humanity is more diverse than the conformity that is expected of us.

For instance, sex to me has always been utilitarian for the simple reason that my first experience of it was from the age of 7, the innocence I lost has had consequences and it would not have mattered whether I grew up for be heterosexual, bisexual, or homosexual, once that childhood naivety was given the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, my eyes, as much as anyone else exposed to child sexual abuse were opened.

What at first seemed coercive became immersive and the pleasure it provided was natural and untainted by philosophy, religion, or morality. Sadly, the criminality of such was rarely prosecuted, rather, it was hushed up in shame and embarrassment with the hope that the child would outgrow the memory of it. They never do.

Understanding how different we are

Then within the conflicts of appreciating, understanding, and accepting one’s sexuality against the requirements to present as ‘normal’, in that one should subsume sexuality for the heteronormative and fulfil all the necessities of such.

This morning, on my walking exercise, I thought about the many males from adolescence with whom sexual relations have been explored who now deploy their heterosexuality in marriage, procreation, and the profession of faith and creed that supports that existence in their collective amnesia of the past. Grandfathers they are today even as some preach the gospel in various forms.

Yet, as Leo Barsani wrote in his 1987 essay, titled, Is the Rectum a Grave? he lambasted as quoted in the Advocate article referenced above, “the tendency among some gay activists to respond to AIDS by downplaying their sexuality and emphasizing the need to replicate bourgeois heterosexuality.” The point, we are not heterosexual, we have never been, we have to define ourselves as who we are, not in the context of others who have no idea of our lives. [Amazon: Is the Rectum a Grave?: and Other Essays] Ordered today.

Having sex without angst

In that is the tendency to rail against the apparent promiscuity of homosexuals, but fundamentally, once we begin to understand that homosexuals are not governed by heterosexual constructs and norms, we can also deconstruct the viewpoint of seeing homosexuals only through the lens of sex, lifestyle, and inclination, for we are just as valid an expression of our humanity that has existed from the beginning of humankind.

What seems to dog the homosexual is the tendency to want to ape the heteronormative, and so we read personals that include straight-acting, moralising the concept of monogamy, even though polygamy has defined many human relationship until it was morally and legally constrained by recent Judeo-Christian hegemonies seeking to decide the use and utility of sex, whilst removing from public knowledge the pleasure and enjoyment of sex.

We are schooled to think sex as nothing to derive any stimulation or pleasure from except for the sake of procreation, yet, in our private places, we all know that sex is considerably more pleasurable than we are told it is not.

A remembrance and celebration of lives

Amongst us homosexuals, the enjoyment of sex cut a swathe of death in our population with AIDS for almost 20 years when we lost men in their prime at never nearly 40 into the mid-1990s and the AIDS Memorial Instagram page speaks of lives of men who we have refused to forget, for What Is Remembered Lives. We stopped enjoying sex, seized by fear and loathing, exacerbated by bad faith actors depicting a human disaster as divine wrath. Yet, it is human progress and advancements in medicine has contained this epidemic.

I lost a partner and many friends, I mourn some still, though for the society I lived in, I mourned alone, because until 1995 we had no effective long-term treatment and therapies for HIV. I also was touched by the scourge of AIDS, I survived, and I am grateful for the gift of life.

My AIDS encounter has however not diminished my appetite for sex, for it is essentially part of human nature and it is only those in denial that would suggest we do not have that need. Our world presents us with exploration along with some caution and care, but to become puritanical about sex is to censure human expression.

We were never the same in outlook

When for the heterosexual, it might define uniquely lifelong bonds, it would for the homosexual be once of tryst to which you do not need to attach any emotion. It is very possible to separate the act which is practically animal expression from the higher human state of intelligence. That ability to compartmentalise the functions of the physical, the body, the mind, and the heart, devoting the right attention to the fleeting from the significant is something that probably takes the mimicry of the heterosexuality out of homosexuality.

It does not mean we do not understand commitment, it is just not predicated on sex, either through objectification or deification, its utilitarian function is just that, and where intimacy between partners is involved, there is a totally different dynamic at play than when there are liaisons with strangers.

Through generations, we have been on the margins of society, the only thing we have ever asked for is not to be persecuted or prosecuted, to be able to live our lives equally as part of our diverse humanity, contributing to the advancement of our civilisation all around the world.

For that, we can be grateful for the likes of Leo Barsani, Paul-Michel Foucault, James Baldwin, and many more helping the discourse about sexuality and its full expression.

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Beyond the fallacy of solitude

At one in two

Sometimes, I just want to be left alone, left to my own thoughts to be by myself. I know this desire is a difficult one especially when in a close relationship. It is a process of reconditioning and adaptation that is not easy but necessary when thinking and acting for two.

Your thoughts and moods are not as personal or private as they once were. Any apparent change in attitude, demeanour, or responsiveness is immediately noticed as you run a barrage of enquiries and questions as to how you feel or what might be wrong with you, with them, or between you both when there really is nothing the matter at all.

Unfortunately, there is never a satisfactory answer to the many questions to which there is an implicit demand for a suitable, adequate, and proper explanation, or it presents a vector of possible conflict. How do you explain when you just feel unperturbed and meh?

Solitude and expression

Then, I guess the concept of solitude is an often-misunderstood subject about individuality, the idea of space and the cultural dimensions that might pertain to it. My blog is both a public journal and a conservatory of thinking that frequently has too much read into what is written. Whereas its fundamental purpose is a forum to document and develop thoughts for possible discussion.

I fear that when my blog is read in this way, it would begin to arrest expression leading to self-censorship and the loss of an outlet for my own catharsis, that is something I would hate to happen on my blog. Its free format for expression and introspection is valuable and useful, retaining this space for it matters much.

Person and personable

Indeed, I am a social being, I love company, companionship, and my relationship, but not to the extent of feeling like one part of conjoined twins fused together at some part of our bodies. By nature, I am also introverted, I do not function well in crowds. Heck! I went to bed early leaving guests to my birthday celebration partying.

This is same person who appears to easily strike up conversations with strangers. There are many facets to personality and individuality, I can be a hermit easily forgoing any human intervention cooped up in my apartment for up to a week without it bothering me, it suits my temperament.

However, the joy, security, and stability of having someone to love, and lean on, is priceless. I cherish it, I honour it, I will continue to nurture it and build it into an enduring treasure of life, may it prosper and grow, I love you, Brian.