A red hat in Paris

My heart in Paris

Paris, a city I know like the back of my hand and have not had the opportunity to visit since November 2018. Now, I do transit through Charles de Gaulle Airport, but that is another story. The truth is I miss Paris, the café culture, and my seat on the first floor of Café Beaubourg watching onto the front of the Georges Pompidou Centre, that I have never visited, as the world goes by.

That view I have cherished for 21 years, a place of memories and much else, for some friends have departed or fallen apart, and this apart from those from whom one receives no alerts of conversation or communication anymore.

A walk of life

Stepping out of Café Beaubourg after brunch, I bear left onto Rue Saint-Merri, cross Rue Saint-Martin which as certain times host venues of excitable pleasures with strangers and then I am at a milliner’s where every colour of hat exists to challenge your daring. That is where I eventually decided, the day after on a red pork-pie hat.

I put the hat I was wearing in the bag and stepped out with this callout of brilliance that elicited commentary every few steps I took, I was looking good and feeling just as good too. Then on to Boulevard de Sebastopol past Place du Chatelet, down the ramp to the north side of the Seine and a walk westwards towards Pont Neuf where I found a seat to observe the river traffic, take in the winter sun and some photographs too.

You can’t have not

One of such photographs became the source of a compliment, my outfit with the red hat according to him, he loved, and I looked really cool. I acknowledged and asked if he was doing well too. He was preparing for the day and out of interest asked where the picture was taken which gave life to my knowledge of Paris.

To my concealed shock, he had never visited Paris nor been around Europe though he planned to do a bit of travel before he was 50. Now, I can understand people planning for adventures and exploration at a later point in life, taking it as a given. For instance, he had another 12 years to fulfil those desires, if we are sure of things, times, and terms.

The time for travel is now

I have learnt, the only time we have is the moment called now, the past is gone, the future uncertain, so we are left asking the question, what are we doing with the now? It is where I suddenly get philosophical because it is necessary to have things in perspective.

Any time you get to do travel, do it, do not wait for a time you might think is convenient. I am 55 and thankfully 12 years after cancer which at prognosis only gave me 5 weeks to live if my physiology could not tolerate the treatment. Before that illness, I thought myself inviolable and invincible.

Banish the spectre of regret

Whilst not trying to sound morbid, the time we have for anything is now and what we must not waste the now on is to set ourselves up for a future of regrets at what we could have done. It is the same thinking I had at the end of 2018 when at one point I was undecided about going on holiday to South Africa until I caught myself thinking, if I did not travel, I might well regret it.

I did travel and I met Brian with whom I hope someday to visit Paris and see the sights that have enthralled me. Too many people have options and opportunities before them, but they, out of the embarrassment of choices and an inkling of self-worth set themselves on for the prospects and possibilities ignoring what is at hand. I hope they can reset their course before no option is available, those opportunities are lost and the possibilities they dared to dream of shatter into shards of regret.

No prophet would come into your indecision, but you will hear some voices and some advice as good as prophecy, now for the discernment to make that move and make it count.

Paris by the Seine - February 2017

I need no apology

[]

Quite for long, I need no apology,
For how you think things ought to be,
I am striving, giving you the best that I got,
For who we are is what we have brought,
To this sunny picnic amongst the flowers.

When this trip and adventure did start
Neither you nor I knew but only the heart,
We followed through for all we dared,
From that has come the moments shared,
On this sunny picnic with butterflies.

You and I have met our vulnerable,
For which there could be regret available,
I am energised with the sure and bold,
Not in the many sorry words that leave me cold,
At this sunny picnic let’s be quiet.

The love I see leaves me with smiles so wide,
In you, I have more than just a pride,
That ahead a future can be glowing bright,
We only need to get things right,
From this sunny picnic we skip back home.

Thought Picnic: In the husbandry of futility

In the stream of time

As the end of an era beckons, the reckoning begins from the closing of accounts and the realisation of balances, many uneven between the credits and the debts, that whether there be profit, loss or a break-even, life is never as simple as the figures you see.

In the memories of the past are the stories for which no value can be placed, there is virtue and there is emotion, the feeling you get in clarity and in turmoil, nothing giving you a sense of finality.

Yet, in the irreversible event of things we have learnt of from the miraculous, that seems to escape reality apart from in theatre, sometimes as absurd as never to be witnessed but relayed to the corners of the earth, time is a perpetual motion machine, only stopping or slowing down in the expanse of galaxies and the knowledge of astronomy that blows away your imagination.

In a wasteland of barrenness

No, we cannot turn it back, much as we might have hoped, rather we live many of these events in the subconscious, in the dreamy landscapes of slumber bringing to life that incongruous or even the incomprehensible, difficult to process or understand.

For a moment, there was a shock, a numbness, resignation and then a journey into the annals of the mind to retrieve episodes and snatches of the somewhat insignificant that paints the pictures of the relationships and person you once knew. Then, in the light of the present, you were overcome with a saddened pall, for what could have been and what never did become.

If a man were half the big brother of the many who were given so much and yet made little of what they received, you can only marvel at the parable of the talents. For the servant given one talent should probably have never been given anything, but the one talent was the least that could be given to that servant, the master knowing before he gave the talent that it would profit nothing.

A harvest of little

In another tale, many servants were given several talents in access, in opportunity, in prospect, in advantage, in advice, in business and much more. Still, it all came to naught for both servant and master, the servant remaining poor and the master made poorer in means and in spirit.

Dare one believe that the husbandry of many lives might yield a harvest of a very little gain, much regret, and a multitude of hurts impossible to assuage in any way? Must a farmer know the soil in which he sows? Can one hope that life can arise in the valley of dry bones cracking from the searing heat of the desert? Alas! In the untold is the mystery of the unfortunate to be bewailed in a dirge for which there are no words.

Nine years after Chris died

[]

In my mind

For a love that dare not speak its name, I was alone in pain and grief, for I had hardly been out of hospital for a life-threatening condition when I learnt that the one for whom love was deep, sometimes requited, sometimes spurned, bordering on rejection and unrequited, yet having some enduring quality of suffering quietly whilst trying to laugh out loud had passed on.

The shock of the news was first hard to take and the pain of cancer that I already had just continued to glow with the feeling that I did not matter. In depth of grief, there was no one to share my sorrow with. I looked for comfort within and wrote a eulogy for a friend and lover.

In my heart

It was years before I came to terms with my loss, though I really cannot say I have fully understood what happened, each year and nine of them already, I wonder about the chances that came that I was afraid to take. The opportunities that I frittered away in doubt and uncertainty, what could have been and probably might have changed the course of things.

Then, I come to myself, I cannot live in a parallel universe of wishes and fantasies, writing a story that has no semblance in reality. I seem to have lost a grip on the romantic, constantly unsure of whether what is before me is worth my while. For where I have extended, I have been exerted to exhaustion. My pearls of affection get trampled on by the swine of ingratitude.

In my life

What more loss can a man bear before no more investment is considered for the affairs of the heart, all because the one that mattered got away. If one could redeem the time, so much more would have been done to redress the situation.

Alas! That chance is gone, the remembrance, the hurt, the regrets and the lessons return to haunt every year, on the birthday and on the death day. Three days ago, I remembered, for I have never forgotten, that the love I lost was a sweet love.

Adieu Chris, rest in peace, my love.

Chris: Nine birthdays gone without you

Preparing for something

Today, I would have been so excited for the evening ahead. My best laid out plans for a sumptuous dinner at a swanky restaurant, celebrating another wonderful year.

Whilst, I do not consider myself a dancer, I would have loved to dance, caught in that embrace that always made me feel safe and happy. Infatuated and lovesick I would have been, my heart beating faster than I could gasp the breath to keep me standing. I would have swooned and fallen into those protective arms, those arms long and lanky.

I held back

As tall as he stood and indeed taller, my head never had the chance of getting in the way of my heart, I was silly, stupid and senseless in the elixir of love. I could never understand how in my sense of independence and individuality, I fell head over heels, tumbling down a hill of the most beautiful feeling I could not find the words to describe.

Then, there were times when I could have decided, but I hesitated, I was ready to take the plunge, but I faltered, I could have made a difference, but I left it different. If I had the luxury of a parallel universe, I would have moved out there to find out about what could have been, that never became it here.

Follow your heart

The hardest lesson I learnt in all this was I failed to follow my heart to the oasis of love, come what may. My fears overwhelmed my hopes and in that, I lost what might well have remained in my grip for the celebration tonight.

Chris would have been 45 today and we would have wined and dined just for the joy and fun of it. The story really is, Chris died at 36 and this is the ninth birthday without him. I cannot turn back time, I can only remember the good times, the fond memories and the rest that comes with smiles and sadness – that was the love I lost.

Thought Picnic: Je ne regrette rien

I did

I used to care, I used to care a lot, give allowances and give due consideration. Whilst much of my actions might not have shown as much as I would have wanted to show, I kept my handicaps to myself and presented a façade of normalcy in the midst of turmoil.

Away, distant and almost estranged, I wandered into a wilderness of stark reality as my life flashed before me, there was too much pain to even think of the sentence that was upon me, no opportunity to close the books if the end came swiftly, I listened, prayed, hoped and persevered.

I lived

Persevered in a foreign land, away from all but friend and neighbour that stuck closer than blood to nurse me back to health and wellbeing.

To health and wellbeing I did get, but everything else I lost, yet I neither quibbled nor complained, I thought and strove, hungered and struggled, my confidence at its lowest, my knowledge and skill falling behind the times, I attended interview after interview with no luck but the refrain that I was no more good enough for what I was once best at.

I gave

Allowances I have made without encumbrance, much respect I have offered to many after me because as individuals they have grown and in my absence I believed I had no right to order or command, I just advised. Many times, my seemingly good advice fell on deaf ears because in their eyes I was probably inconsequential except in special cases where means made me amenable.

I opened my hands and opened my heart, yet in my singular existence I thought the thoughts of all, cried in my loneliness and saddened by my infirmity and my inadequacies, I was almost forlorn.

I’m done

In the midst of this, truculence, recalcitrance, obduracy and intransigence came to the point where it will no more be condoned. I withdrew contact and communication, in that I also withdrew support and this is a decision I have made because it was the only one left to be made.

Can I be cold-blooded? Yes, I can, not by default but by situation and circumstance within which I have lost the emotion and the last hold that anyone can use to rein me in – Blackmail!

I have found self and selfishness, most of all, I have reached a point of rationalisation, the actions I have taken, I will not regret.

Thought Picnic: Live Your Life And Avoid Deathbed Regrets

Tackling regret before it sets

This morning as I was going through my feeds and other traffic on my Social Media world, and I happened upon this article that I was quite persuaded to share.

Nurse reveals the top 5 regrets people make on their deathbed. Reading through I could not help but realise that I was once quite vulnerable and close to death but almost in too much pain to have regrets, I just needed something to deaden the pain and some other thing to keep the food down. [KarenStan]

Second chances

Beyond that experience was the hope that I will survive my ordeal, and as soon as I did, I found myself revisiting places I had been to before just to prove to myself that I had recovered, even though my life had radically changed.

I am grateful that I have done things I have never thought possible before my life-threatening experience and with this new lease of life that I have, it is important that one handles the issues listed well before they become the pointers of regret without any more time to fulfil them.

Live your life

Recently, I believe my writing has been more personal, honest and deep; it is important as I sometimes tell one of my closest friends that we begin to live our own lives by coming out of the shadows and wholeheartedly applying ourselves to the pursuit of goodness, happiness, well-being and fulfilment.

There are parts of our lives and personalities we have held back in conformity and adaptation to the environments and communities we belong to that the full expression of who we are is stifled for convenience, probably fear or even shame.

We live our lives so different from who we really are, so as to be accepted by people who expect us to be what we are not. Constantly fending off pressures and interferences with tact and dissimulation bordering on lies when we must be true to ourselves whether we be accepted and loved or not, because the deathbed regrets will always be personal, never communal.

Beyond the wishes

Therefore, I ask you to review the list and the article, take yourself from the wishing to the doing and then to the accomplishment. Whilst we are able, strong, healthy and have the means, there is much to be done until nothing else can be done. Have the courage of your convictions and refuse to be a victim of the circumstances you find yourself in.

If the last expression is happy and the end seems fulfilled with a smile of satisfaction of a life well lived, we would have ushered ourselves away from our mortal coils with a sense of achievement and a story well told after we are gone.

Nurse reveals the top 5 regrets people make on their deathbed.

1. I wish I had had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

2. I wish I did not work so hard.

3. I wish I had had the courage to express my feelings.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

Always have this in mind - You’re free, to do what you want to do

Ultra Naté – Free (1997)

- o - 0 - o -

Where did we go wrong

Where did we lose our faith

My brother is in need

But can he depend on me?

Do you think if one of you tried

Maybe you could find

A better friend than any other?

If you gave more than you took

Life could be so good

Come on and try, now's the time

'Cause you're free

To do what you want to do

You've got to live your life

Do what you want to do

Do what you want

Do what you want to do

Are we all strangers?

Does anyone really care?

Deep down we're all the same

Trying to hide our pain

You think you can never trust another

'Cause they're all out to get ya

We have to live in this world together

If we open up our hearts

Love can finally start

Come on and try, now's the time

'Cause you're free

To do what you want to do

You've got to live your life

Do what you want to do

Bridge when you're down and you're feeling bad

Everybody has left you sad

Feels like no one will pull you through

It's your life, whatcha gonna do?

Make that change, let's start today

Get outta bed, get on your way

Don't be scared, your dream's right there

You want it, reach for it

'Cause you're free

To do what you want to do

You've got to live your life

Do what you want to do

Do what you want

Do what you want to do

Courtesy MetroLyrics

Songwriters

Ultra Naté, Lem Springsteen, John Ciafone

Published by

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Royalty Network, Foreign Imported Productions & Publishing, Curb Music/Curb Records/Mike Curb Music/Curb Songs, Peermusic Publishing, EMI Music Publishing

Thought Picnic: To wilfully forget a parent's birthday

An unfortunate breakdown

It probably signifies a breakdown in relationship building when parents and children grow considerably distant that the only connection between them becomes that of grudging filial duty rather than longing friendship.

Association challenges some children and at times blackmail spurs action through comparison and embarrassment; caught between comparison and envy of others who have cultivated better of parent-child interaction.

These things do not happen in a vacuum, opportunity and choice over the years left untapped and unexploited defines what becomes of how parent and child respect, acknowledge and support each other in whatever paths they all choose and thrive in.

Emotions in turmoil

This might catch a child between resentfulness and gratitude; the former borne of unfortunate inadequacies on both sides and the latter recognising that as age diminishes the influence of parentage, their being around still offers some slight opportunity at reconciliation and renewed friendship.

Resentfulness however is a consuming fire that leaves a person in danger of being past caring, indifferent, unconcerned, disinterested and unaffected.

Exasperated kids

Children are not perfect, and parents do strive to do their best within the spectrum of the knowledge and experience they have from handling the responsibility of making basic provision of shelter, protection, education and material needs, but these are no substitutes for the intangibles of love and affection borne out of proper emotional engagement.

Children do get exasperated starting with parents demanding respect through to parents being overly controlling that the child never gets to live their own life. Crudely, you find instances where the father expects to be feared, and the mother will not countenance the idea of joking or laughing with the children in idle banter.

A lack of adaptation

Independence cannot then come too quickly for the child to break free. The nature of the break if not properly recognised by the parent such that they adapt will lead to unavoidable disengagement as each party goes their different ways, decades separating them until it appears they do not matter to each other anymore than through the intrusion of emotion brought on by nostalgic impudence.

That things could have been better is no more the discussion or argument, whether the time can be redeemed is another issue, but worse still is the possible regret that might follow never having done something when things could be done on the side of both the parent and the child.

Whatever!

You then ask; can a child wilfully forget a parent’s birthday? At which point your realise that things have really gotten that bad and rather than face the trepidation that infuses each conversation when they talk, the greater peace though without comfort is best served by just getting on with your life and the sadness of the story being told.

Providence and consequence draws on a long history of experiences, we are young, we cultivate relationships and grow old living the knowledge of our lived out truths. For those whose memory is the keenest, the hope is that the good remembered outnumbers the ready reckoner of the bad and the ugly when it is all put in the balance.

C’est la vie will say the French, but just west of France, in Spain, one might hear, Que sera, sera.

Thought Picnic: Before you call him a man?

In distance and in nearness

Distant and near has been the journey from home, distant in person and near in the mind, distant in its reality but near in the memory, distant in the possible but near in the impossible, the ambiguity and ambivalence of existence captured in realities that life is changing and priorities are shifting as one becomes more distant to others and near to oneself.

It was never easy, the hold that beliefs had on all of them that led to initiations into activities that simply weakened the bonds whilst creating longings that none could fulfil as needed and left the journeyed way out at sea that there was no boat to go home.

Once of the same beliefs

What the eyes have seen that reside in the memory is no more the reality, it is far gone that it has become the stuff of dreams, dreams that relive times that can never be now but come into the now with fearful impact from the unresolved, the undiscussed, the unsolved and the ignored.

There is anger, there is regret, when they could have listened to each other, they attacked each other and now that the listening could have been of the greatest value the bridges are too tattered for a crossing that risks a plunge down into eternal oblivion, they have grown more distant and never so near.

They all once believed the same, attended the same temple and grew knowing it did not have to be hard, at least that is what the children thought but amongst them, they fought, they railed, the jostled and rivalled.

They did things

She went out to wildernesses of supplications to prophets of the eerier and the utterly bizarre, rituals of incantations derived from Psalms prayed into all sorts of liquids, candles lit to outshine the sun, there were enemies everywhere; at home, at work, amongst enemies, amongst friends, within family and far abroad, to her marriage, against her children, they were consumed in a never ending battle of Psalmist wars that they were never sure they will win, each glimmer of hope was one that was almost but never grasped.

He had his issues, always denying lechery but seemingly always compromised, a dab hand at the core animist rituals, shaved heads, tortoise shells, charms and many more things that unlike her were kept away from the purview of the kids, discretion was evident and at play though in the end you never knew what he believed, the old or the new, the customary or the fashionable, he seemed to be able to straddle both systems in marriage, in involvement and in engagement belying a maturity to be envied.

He saw things

The boy was lost in all worlds of identity, discovery, expression and impression, each path seemed fraught with danger and peril, he never found the opportunity to reach out when it really mattered, things happened in ways that brought the empathetic out of her and the sceptic out of him.

It all culminated in one fateful night when earlier in the day, the stories shared to the hearing feasted on the most fertile imagination that as the dark came, it was able to create apparitions that only those eyes could see and voices only those ears could hear, all in the presence of people who could not understand the beginning of the knowledge of fear that brought terror beyond the control of all around.

Whatever it was, he had seen the devil and that was twice in 6 hours, red-chested, horned, tall and scary did not begin to describe it, he has searched and been unable to determine what that phrase he heard in middle of the night was – Poofau! Poofau! It was terror that put horror to flight and the gateway to much else that defined a journey that has never found words.

His road made out

Rituals too many to all sorts of religious practitioners and charlatans, baths in houses and groves, in forests and in pits, with lizards and too many unmentionable, everyone brought a story, a view, a prophecy or a reading, tackling it from all corners, he ate the inedible like performing magic tricks, scarified to draw blood on all parts of the body with all sorts of concoctions rubbed in, he had become a reliquary of absurd unexplainable theologies and a living receptacle of fetish practices that were forgotten lifetimes ago.

Conflicts came with the urge to break away when they were needed and then he veered off on a tangent of religious beliefs that left them first scared, then hostile and ultimately implacable, the purposes for which one was to exist failed as this path offered nothing but the reality of great disappointment.

Cursed from the source

One Sunday, he returned from church, she was livid with rage that the order never to believe as one had now chosen to believe was defied and there and then in her room, she stripped and cursed her son from the womb from whence he originally came that if he defies her again he will wander away never to be seen again.

He never understood the significance, there was nothing to fear from that act and they never talked about it afterwards though he did defy and did continue to do what he believed for himself and with that came separation and distance unbeknownst to the man who probably would have been absolutely livid with rage with her having tolerated much of her deviation from the conventional into the esoteric.

A wilderness of the world

He has however wandered away, far from all that is conventional, proper and expected, charting his own course away from prying eyes, he has died to emotions that once made them near, nostalgia is only a matter of taste than presence, the memories are things one lives, but the pictures today are too difficult to look at, the changes that come with age have wizened them all, they are all closer to the grave and as distant as ever in life.

That distance was consolidated when he found himself in hospital with just 5 weeks to live if the medicines did not work, he was there alone though maybe not alone, who could tell, but they were not there. He fought to live but lost everything else apart from the hope that something might just be made of a life that has done much and wasted much – time, resource, opportunity, fortune and relationships – regrets that could sink a man loom but they are ones you strive daily to walk away from.

How many roads must a man walk down, before they call him a man? To them, he has not walked enough roads and to him, he is honestly past caring, he cares enough for the basic connection that has history and a past but the present brings some resentment, some anger, some bitterness and very little forgiveness – this is not even half the story but it is a start - the wander in the wastelands of the world continue as tomorrow, if it comes, becomes another day.

Cordially invited, my regrets

My weekends are mine

As we deliberated on getting a project through its critical stages to full deployment, a director suggested we would have to work 24 hours and weekends if necessary to meet our milestones.

I quickly interjected, that he could not demand my weekends at will, rather, he owed everyone the courtesy of ascertaining we were free for the weekend rather than assuming our lives were wedded to the job for the satisfaction of unrealistic project goals borne from bad project management.

Many faces went red, the daring challenge coming from a contractor-consultant left a few quivering as he answered back that I was employed for my time.

My time, is set for a week in hours, if you want more, you apply for more and if I have nothing planned, you will have that time. However, if I have something planned for my weekend and you think you can request my presence for a weekend on Thursday afternoon, well, my plans would not shift.

Some people have seen my attitude as uncooperative, with the shoe on the other foot, I see that attitude as a lack of consideration and blatantly disrespectful – anyway, the message was understood and courtesies came into the request for the presence of anyone in the team after then.

To put it another way, no boss is too big to be humane, considerate and courteous, no job pays enough to forfeit the commune that ensures your well-being and quality time with those that matter - if you are falling short of these issues, you desperately need a realignment of priorities, Pretty Damn Quick!

Such lessons do need to be taught to many more people who plan meetings without proper consideration for those being invited to their meetings.

The majesty of excellency

Only this afternoon (Thursday), my mailbox was slightly burdened with a cordial invitation for a meeting taking place on Saturday afternoon, with the gentle request to be punctual. The cheek! I would always be punctual if offered the opportunity of early communication. I don't do African time.

Obviously, I had to give the invitation a second look after being engaged in conversation with a very interested party, but that is all it got, a second look and nothing more.

Before, I close the matter, I would say in Europe we have clear agendas and planning which requires good publicity, good communication and managed feedback – all of which were lacking in this cordial invite.

If you want guests at a weekday evening meeting, consider giving at least a week’s notice, if you want to take a weekend evening, probably two or three weeks minimum allows for people to keep their agenda free.

That is not to say some people would not attend, especially if they are in the privileged presence of excellency which is not far off from majesty, but being a respecter of persons (tongue in cheek), I hope the message is crystal clear to those concerned.

My sincere regrets, Ma'am, but thanks for thinking about it, maybe some other time.