Tweeting beautifully without apologising for it

The simplicity of the tweet

On a tweet that composed a seminal thought and political discourse within the conservative landscape of the 280-character limit of a simple tweet, some responses sneered, “Too much grammar.”

I have been on Twitter since the 8^th of February 2009, which means in three days I would hit a decade of tweeting. One thing tweeting taught me was brevity, concision, and precision. At first glance, these words are literally synonyms depending on context, but when the definitions are reviewed, you get a sense that they have different qualities.

Brevity - concise and exact use of words in writing or speech. This would suggest knowing the platform is limited, I would find the best words to present my tweet, which sometimes would include a foray into sesquipedalianism. If I have a word that fits the bill, I use it.

Concision - is the cutting out of unnecessary words while conveying an idea. For anything I have to say in a tweet, I want the complete context to be conveyed, I never used tweet elongators when Twitter had a 140-character limit. It could have made the tweet difficult to read, but when understood, you needed no other tweet to explain the tweet.

Precision - the quality, condition, or fact of being exact and accurate. Once the tweet was composed, there was no ambiguity, it conveyed exactly what I wanted to say, with its difficult and long words, the context of exactly what I had in mind and no doubt about what I intended.

Without the rules, we would be fools

For that, some people appreciated the work that went into the tweet, maybe it even gave some the opportunity to extend their vocabulary. I was never one to economise on what broad range of words the English language offered to anyone who was interested, whilst resisting a decline into neologisms.

Then, some would sneer, “Too much grammar.”, as if grammar had become a synonym for obscurity, verbosity, complexity, difficulty, or pomposity.

Grammar, according to the Cambridge dictionary is (the study or use of) the rules about how words change their form and combine with other words to make sentences. Invariably, without the rules of grammar, you cannot make sentences, you just have a jumble of words that make no sense, except if it is a word puzzle.

Covering for inadequacies

I have come to the conclusion that the sneering is more a lack of comprehension of what has been written, the people, rather than tax themselves with broadening their knowledge or maybe attempting a better delivery of the tweet, as the way people convey their ideas can be a matter of style, they revile and castigate the writer with a heckle, with disdain, with contempt or some other device to belittle the person and by that give themselves a sense of superiority over the expressed ability of the writer.

I do have a writing style, some have suggested it could be flowery, my blogs flourish with that style, you can read anything I have written in the last 15 years of blogging and conclude, that is unmistakably Akin expressing himself.

It goes without saying that much as we nominally recognise Nigeria as an English-speaking country, English comprehension amongst many lags their ability to read, as such, Nigerians would find that they have to take ‘English as a foreign language’ examinations on applying to universities in the UK. You would expect them to pass those examinations, but over-confidence can easily catch you out.

They do not matter

In a series of tweets, I averred, “Basically, if you have difficulty reading or comprehending a sentence of English language and think you can cover your inadequacies with condemning the sentence as excessive grammar, the truth is your proficiency at English is rudimentary if not illiterate.” I will make no apology for that viewpoint or for the fact that my privileged education should pander to the lowest common denominator of communication.

If you cannot contribute to a discourse or broaden the ideas offered in a public space like Twitter, it is better to keep your counsel than display your ignorance. I believe everyone has a story and a mode of expression, Twitter can be a marketplace of opinions and great ideas, and anywhere I find that people are expressing themselves in an interesting or inspiring way, I like to acknowledge them rather than sneer at them.

What I do not understand, I seek clarification or explanation of, and that is why I decided to tweet about grammar and comprehension, because nothing was wrong with what was said, and everything was wrong with those who had nothing to add to the viewpoint than participate in the braying mob of anti-intellectuals shouting out – “Too much grammar.”

We should never be afraid to express ourselves in the richness of all that we have acquired, experienced or been influenced by, most pertinently, never let the sneers limit your communication.

Basically, if you have difficulty reading or comprehending a sentence of English language and think you can cover your inadequacies with condemning the sentence as excessive grammar, the truth is your proficiency at English is rudimentary if not illiterate.

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ #FBPE (@forakin) February 4, 2019

Thought Picnic: I know I do not need a cure for who I am

Whose deliverance is it anyway?

Earlier today I received a WhatsApp message linked to a YouTube video of a person whose life had been changed to a normative hyper-Christian existence from a time of use and abuse in terms of sex, for his identity and livelihood.

There was a time when religious instruction and influence dictated more of what was wrong with me than what could be right, what I did not understand or what I should accept about myself. For decades, one was in this inordinate quest for perfection, the constant proverbial self-flagellation that fed guilt, need, low self-esteem, a sense of failure and a yearning for things that always felt impossible.

Then, a time came when on reviewing many of the things that drove my warped religious experiences created and framed from my mother’s religiosity through personal experiences that should have elicited professional psychiatric help rather than African Initiated Church rituals of incantation, recitation, and pseudo-shamanist acts, I rationalised and began to compartmentalise issues.

Freedom from superstition

Being a product of many cultural influences, much of the knowledge I had gained and had become ingrained in my psyche borne of superstition, the paranormal, the esoteric and the bizarre needed unlearning when set in a Western environment. This is not to discount the potency of those belief systems, but to ensure that my thinking was not beclouded by the inexplicable hand of fate if other plausible explanations existed.

Why at one time on a visit to a witch doctor with my aunt we both were able to chew razor blades and swallow our mastication without internal harm to our organs, I would never be able to explain. I know that it happened to me as true as any other reality I have had that is neither hallucination, dream or trance. I have through my life guarded my sobriety with care except for when hospitalisation required opiates that deadened the pain without rendering me delirious.

Yet, the biggest thing in the discovery of self is acceptance. The acceptance of the many things I am and what I represent without disagreement in my mind. Not only that but also to have the courage to stand for who I am in spite of the cultural and societal strictures that could easily place me in a persecuted and prosecuted minority.

What I do not need a cure for

In my life, I know I needed a cure from cancer, I do not need a cure from my personality or the expression of it. In coming to terms with the many facets of my personality formed from a life of circumstance and situations that contribute to the completeness of who I am, I know there are things I might never be able to do or experience and they have not been allowed to distract me or burden me with a sense of failure, where there is a life ahead of me to live.

I cannot drive, it has not diminished my mobility, I have no children when many of my mates have grandchildren, our lives are enriched in different ways, I do not intend to live the life of another person.

More pertinently, I am grateful for the opportunities and privileges my parents granted me as part of my upbringing, however, thankfully, I learnt a long time ago that I have my own life to live, I am neither here to fully their aspirations, live their perspectives of the life they expect I should have and sadly for them, I am not here to please them.

I espouse the virtues of humanity that I hope would make my parents proud of my achievements, my successes and consequently the person I am as their son, who he is and what he is. So, what I am saying, after not even watching that interesting and possibly life-changing YouTube video sent to me on WhatsApp, is I do not need a cure for my sexuality and my open, proud, and accepted expression of it. Thank you.

Thought Picnic: Closing the chapter on dead love

Stuck in the heart of the past

Now that I think about it, I have really decided to move on as for almost a decade my mind and soul was stuck in grief and mourning, regret and longing, a helplessness at the inability to make any difference to the hand that fate had dealt me in terms of meaningful companionship.

Along the line, I confused attention for commitment, strained at every possible attachment as if it had some mileage for life and fun. I was either reading the wrong signals or a bad judge of intentions and character. It might well be said, none were going to be good enough in the end.

I made accommodations that liberally expanded my acceptance of things my somewhat life of moderation and conservative consumption would never condone of myself. I battled with my conscience where disdain had to be tempered with the consideration that other lives can never be like how I choose my vices and limit my excesses.

I was never going to seek a high that left me out of my senses, much as I could have been adventurous, I doubt I belong to the cohort of the ‘try anything once’ kind. I had my red lines, I never crossed them.

I constantly guarded my heart

What I had for Chris was deep, yet it was unhealthy, I invested more than I ever got return for in every way, yet in that person was the idea of fun and love, possible life and adventure, maybe deeper love, and affection, but there were many times I had to withdraw to keep my heart from harm. Death brought sadness and regret that lasted years, of what could have been if I dared, I feared and so lost.

Birthday and day of death, I visited the Facebook page which I only friended after the person who originally invited me to Facebook had passed on. I left thoughts and memories, holding onto a slither of anything that as in fact nothing. I was in the thrall of the love I lost, I was still loving someone who I could never reach anymore.

Writing a new chapter

Finding new and meaningful love has given me the opportunity to close a chapter, which was written for more a time of sadness than there were occasional blips of happiness. Everything in between then and now never held a candle to that loss.

This new person who on the first touch felt like Chris because that burden followed me wherever I went, gave me a perspective beyond Chris like I found a new life. This was not Chris, in the light, in the mind, in the heart, this person had me, held me, sustained me, supported me and left Chris in the dust, both proverbially and literally. This was a better bidder for me.

A new chapter had begun, and with it has come a daring devoid of any fears, a boldness to act and do without equivocation, a kind of fulfilment is finding a gem that brings more value to one than the quest for more treasure. The treasure of the heart is inestimable, I have through loss, pain, grief, and bitterness come out learning anew that this little heart of mine can find something that dreams and hopes in the passage of time had forgotten to aspire to.

When I pinch myself wondering if this is really happening to me, I realise at the same time that I am ready for this, ready to live, ready to love and ready to escape completely from the past that kept me from finding true love.

Thought Picnic: Of character building moments

As I walk

Building character is an evolutionary activity that is under constant review, assessment, reflection and adjustment. At least, that is how I think about it.

One episode this morning caused me to reflect on some of my attitudes to certain situations. It had snowed in Reading and as the pavements had not been gritted, one had to be careful as one walked from the hotel to the railway station.

As I walk briskly, albeit, with a walking cane, I am careful and usually do not expect to have to manoeuvre run more able-bodied people on the street. I would tend to walk close to buildings as well as follow the crowd.

Don’t talk back

I turned the corner and almost walked into someone coming up against me, I made my excuses and he walked around me. The next person simply ignored what had happened in front of him and made to stand in my way when I swung my cane directing him to walk to the right of me as there was no space to the left of me.

He followed my guidance, but as he passed me, he said, “Don’t use your stick at me.”, I then looked back at him as said, “You’re being an idiot.” As the words came out of my mouth, I was both agitated and deflated. I regretted it.

The situation made me reflect on why I had to answer back because there was no reason to. Once he had followed my directions, whatever way he felt about it should have been left to him as I had achieved my goal of, standing my ground and keeping my lane.

Tackle and leave

I felt diminished by the unnecessary outburst and promised myself to do better. I have on many occasions set in motion an act with the aim of attaining a goal and left at that. Engagement beyond having instigated my action simply develops into unhealthy interactions one can do without.

It reminded me of one instance where travelling in the 1^st Class compartment of an international train, I could neither relax nor nap because a child was completely implacable and an unruly disturbance. I got up and loudly addressed the parent to see to their ward then sat down.

For 5 minutes the father abused and railed, cursed and vituperated vitriol to the point of exhaustion. I ignored him. By that time, the child was quiet, we all could relax and the journey ended peacefully. From the little intervention, I had achieved what everyone wanted, peace and quiet. I don't dislike kids, but where parents are not embarrassed enough for their kid's behaviour to be seen to do something about it. They do have to be called out.

Achieve the prize

My not engaging the father at all meant the situation did not escalate or degenerate into a breach of the peace. Yes, I took brickbats for it, it was completely worth it.

I can be a better man even if people cannot be reasonable or considerate when they encounter me. I do not have to revel in the uncouth just to impact them. Silence is golden and worth its weight in gold. That is the building of character, only engage when your aim is about to be defeated, else, leave, your aim achieved and your dignity intact.

A February of love

Moments are what we have to share,
In those, we found to really care,
Whether they are near or far,
We sought ways beyond the bar.

The world for us became small,
Like we see each other down the hall,
In Skype, we chat, we laugh, we smile,
As conversation goes on for a while.

Soon after, a promise I made,
In my mind, so many plans laid,
We agreed on time and place,
To meet at Easter, face to face.

The craze that drew us close,
How it comes one never knows,
To sweep you off your feet,
This feeling is just so sweet.

A love that dare not speak its name,
That one must not bear in shame,
Cannot be denied of a heart that beats,
We must be bold with no retreats.

For in life, what is your normal?
In some places, we can make it formal,
Some people are just unconventional,
Even you might be exceptional.

For love, let us make no apology,
Or seek strange terminology,
Whether others accept your choices,
Determines where they will have voices.

South Africa: I was caught in up the rapture

[]

A mystery

I probably have not had the time to reflect on my trip to South Africa as I have been caught up in the rapture of something indescribable, yet so amazing.

One on an outing before the year closed, unexpecting of anything and anticipating nothing, my gaze fell upon a mystery of nature exuding beauty impossible to process as neuron bombarded synapse trying to make sense of what my vision and perception gifted my senses.

My rational self concluded, like the Mona Lisa, this work of exquisite genius and art belonged to where it was seen and nothing else. I could not aspire to fulfil a desire that I had judged to be completely out of the league of what was observed.

A wonder

Yet, fortitude works in ways to birth opportunity and for what you could never have planned, the substance of dreams creates a reality that blows you away. That was the gust of wind that blew me off my feet that night and in its wake was my heart enfeebled by an emotion stronger than love.

Never in my thinking had such a thing occurred in my subconscious for me to dare that in my wildest prognostications, the situation that presented was ever possible, but if we are such deterministic creatures, surprise and accident, luck and fortune, experience and reminiscence, love and adventure, would not feature in the stories we get to tell of life.

A dream

The crazy thing is, in a hopeless place, love turned an ace and gave me a jackpot of the person I wish, and hope would be a companion for the journey called life. This was something I had given up on from the time that one I did really care for suddenly departed this mortal coil almost a decade ago.

Not for once would one have thought there was a hope for the heart in unison with another for a future of dreams and excitement, but here we are – caught up in the rapture of love.

South Africa beckons again to reunite with one who has stolen my heart away. In due course, there would be an unveiling of what makes my heart race like a gazelle hopping in delight in the savanna plains of Africa.

The look of love is crazy

[]

We concluded on one basic fact,
We found love in a hopeless place,
Yet, love is rarely a creature of tact,
What it needs for expression is space.

Tall, light, handsome and imposing,
A wary eye caught the body and the frame,
To which one concluded whilst supposing,
One is not anywhere in his game.

Fate works in mysterious ways,
Occupied by thoughts in one corner,
This masterful creature strays,
It was a bit dark, but he was a stunner.

I dared to dream that he was interested,
Yet, I could not hope that in the slightest,
As he sat beside me quite invested,
His plan to have me in arrest.

He was not a baby for he could walk,
Seconds and minutes passed on,
Then with some courage, to me did he talk,
From then the look of love did come.