LuSea Bee | New Beginnings
A true story - bra(h).
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T. Truly Yours Pt. 1

I love my comedians smart.

Pause.

I love my comedians, smart as shit!

Been little over 6 years I got hooked on comedy. Stand-up comedy. Phuck that. Been little over 4 years I knew being a clown could be televised and people even made money (or lack thereof. Listen Linda! I don’t know y’all or your lives, don’t pressure me fam!) out of it! I remember how it started, I think. I was on the artsy side of YouTube – Def Jam Poetry – I was enjoying and watching Shihan’sType of Love” for like what the umpteenth time? Then on the right hand side came a recommendation. I don’t know who it was. Can’t even remember. Must have sucked. But then it began, I’d start laughing at my device like a mad kid who’d just discovered weed “I don’t do weed mum, chillllll. Issa metaphor. Before you start calling me “upandan”. I recognised Bernie Mac, doing lewd jokes and shit. Loved it, OBV! Then came that other guy, then the other short one who is very ripped now, until I “jammed” (Nigerian pidgin, get familiar or nah..whatevs) one of my favourite humans.

God! Dave Chappelle!

He looked stupid af! I didn’t even know what I was looking at. But literally few minutes in, I loved him! I remembered laughing at something he had just said and right after I said to myself: “Did this motherphucker just drop facts?? Where they do that???“. I mean, I thought it was all about stupid stuff. I wasn’t ready for reality check whilst ugly laughing. TF?? Then I discovered Donald Glover too. Phucking guy. Should come up with another special already!

Then I remember, one very gloomy day, couple of years later, I was completely, totally, utterly out of it. I had not left my bed in days, wouldn’t talk to my roommate who thought I hated her for some reason and I’d try to have NO verbal exchange with person(s) and see no one (not even my roomie, who was almost like inches away from my bed). It was a challenge. The less I talked, the less I despised myself and all I’d do was wait and wait and wait..till whatever was happening to me got bored and melted away. “Boy I’m tired, everyone should just stop breathing already!” I’d tell myself, “Is this how folks usually start by cutting themselves, no?“. Didn’t know what it was. Couldn’t give it a name. I mean, how do you give a name to whatever is bothering you, If you don’t know and can’t handle your emotions properly? So, I’d wait, till whatever was suffocating me, from within, unseen and unknown creature, would leave. Butttttt, that’s not why we are here!

That day, while watching re-runs of Dave Chappelle’s show and closing up on his “Block Party”, I remember this light skin dude popped up on my recommendations “Oh! BTW YouTube? I kinda love and cherish you, If you are reading this, let’s get married, love you. buh bye x”.

God! Trevor Noah!

I. watched. the phuck. outta. all. he. had. done!

“Ohhhh, you want a medicine. They say laughter is the best medicine eh? Yaa. So why don’t you make a joke and fix that?” as he mimicked that South African nurse, boy, I lost my shit!! I was fixed! Boy! I was.

Then after that, I just simply stalked his ass, down to when he started out as a contribuitor on “The Daily Show” with Jon Stewart. I mean, why do you think I even watch “The Daily Show” now. Never. missed. an. episode. “Thank you online streaming, let’s get married too. love you. buh bye x”.

There, I discovered this brown, hot, wonderful married man.

God! Hasan Minhaj!

So, his comedy special finally came out the other day. Not really one to cheat on Dave or Kev (he’s stupid, sometimes you need stupid, shut up, argue with yourself) or Trevor. But I’d had an hectic day and nothing could fix that than shamelessly hitting my uncomfortable bed and laughter. And skeptically, I gave the “Homecoming King” a play. “Don’t let me down b. I’m outchea rooting for you!”.

So much swagger when he got on stage. Then he started talking. So sweet and eloquent and furthermore, I understood every word he said. When you are not used to certain accents, you try to strain your ears to.catch.all.’em.words. Naahhhmean? Anyways, he starts storytelling, quite engaging. As an immigrant, I related hard as phuck to all he said! Yeah, he’s Indian and I’m Nigerian. But you’d be surprised how humans have so much more in common on the inside (experiences and what not) than what is plain to eyesight on the outside (Skin, fam. Skin).

“[…]It’s crazy, ’cause we know nothing about our parents and our parents know nothing about us […]”.

I was still chuckling at everything when all of a sudden I stopped and I asked the same question I’d asked before like: “Yo! Did this motherphucker just drop facts??“.

In my household, we really don’t know much about each other. Like, yeah, somehow, some bad had certainly been revealed on both sides and so has some good transpired too. If I were asked: “Bee, do you know your mama? Do you know how your dada really is?” I’d be taken aback, so farrrrrrr aback, I would, there and there, curl up in a fetal position and rock myself back and forth to schleep! It might seem I’m airing my dirty laundry but it’s really something that has been circling in my mind.

Do I really know this people? Do I want to? Do they even know me? Sure they do. But what about the other versions of myself? The 0.01 version. The outdated version. The cracked version. The OA update. The soft bricked and the “Oh my God, what have I done to it!!? Please, restore, restore, restore to manifacturer’s version, my phone won’t work again, I might need to start saving up for a new phone version.” Furthermore, do I even want them to? I’ve heard and seen surreal instances of people being very open to their family members without fear of being judged or silenced. I grew up asking for as little as possible. I grew up knowing which day I could go back and ask for a refill and which other day I knew I needed to just watch TV to make the hunger go away. I knew. I knew her “don’t you dare take that cake” stare. I recognised the “let us get home, no one is gonna save you from this ass whooping” stare. I never really understood the “are they in a good mood today or nah” days. But I knew and respected it. I respected and feared them. It’s the african way. A no brainer. But do I even know these people? Do they know who they are? Do they know there parents? What about siblings? It’s a vicious circle, you know? Can’t really say much, ’cause when you do “you are spoilt and rude” and when you don’t “you have join bad gand abi? I will beat that evil spirit out of you.” Sometimes, the father says “you should talk to me, I know stuff, call me, ask me stuff“. I will regret it but all I can say is “Nah fam, pass“. We don’t “open up” where I come from, someone, somewhere, took that away from us, parents or children alike.

 

 

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b. Black Rain [pt. 2]

La prima volta che sentì la canzone di India Arie – I am not my hair ero probabilmente troppo giovane per capire l’importanza del perchè una donna nera, famosa, bellissima con i suoi capelli afro dovesse sentire il bisogno di fare “addirittura” una canzone per inneggiare dei cazzutissimi capelli! Sono capelli, chi se ne frega, i miei capelli tanto facevano schifo, pur mettendo creme liscianti per debellare la mostruosità che erano.  Ricordo che per ore insostenibili, mia madre,  mia sorella, e chiperloro mi dicevano “aspetta”! “ASPETTA CAZZO!“. E comprendevo il disagio, ste creme costano, si doveva aspettare che facessero il loro lavoro, che la natura prenda il suo corso. E prontamente credevo di poter finalmente avere capelli da sogno, che fanno “SWISH”, come le ragazze in tivì, come le ragazze in classe, come… BUGIA! Finivo con la scapola bruciacchiata e capelli “nonesense”. Non mi pesava, non troppo insomma. Ero spesso annoiata, mi lamentavo della monotonia che avvolgeva la mia esistenza, finché non sono arrivati loro.

PC & INTERNET A CASA BEE!

Ormai sì può dire che ero nata imparata. Ero su ogni social network (Netlog, Badoo, Hi5, stocazzo), cominciai a scaricarmi musica illegalmente, iniziai ad usare eMule, mi avventurai nel mondo del p2p, a controllare la veridicità dei files scaricati da Limewire. Postavo musica su eSnips. Mettevo musica su 4Shared e Megashare. Facevo CD per amici di mio padre. La musica, la musica mi salvò. Non mi interessavo più dei miei capelli – insomma, relativamente, tanto non potevo farci nulla. Finché non arrivarono loro.

LE PRIME VLOGGERS Youtube PER CAPELLI NATURALI!

E lì capii – basta accontentarsi, ecchecazzo. Guardai un video su YT e capiì che potevo avere molto di più, aspirare a molto di più. Sì, sono solo capelli, ma i miei spezzavano pettini! Cazzo! Basta! Si ricomincia, da zero!

Quindi mi tagliai i capelli. Sembravo un uomo. Brüt diaól!

“Ma stai bene..” “Ma perchè ti sei tagliata i capelli?” “Ricresceranno…” bla, bla e più bla. Ora, mentre metto nero su bianco, comincio a rendermi conto di quanto sia (stata talmente) fragile come persona. “Non mi importa quello che pensa la gente, avrò capelli lunghissimi come la tipa su YT! Vedrete infami!”

Quei capelli non arrivarono mai o meglio, non ero mai contenta e i miei ricciolini se ne accorsero. Non mi cagavano. Facevano di testa loro. (LOL).

Passaranno quasi 5 anni, vari commenti da persone a cui tenevo (negative e positive eh) lasciati alle spalle e uno delle annate più brutte della mia esistenza per capire quale fosse veramente quella mancanza che mi pesava e mi soffocava dal “didentro”.  A quasi ventisei anni, sta cosa dell’accettarsi e amarsi veramente è una vera rogna. È un percorso lungo e tortuoso. Neanche la Nellina è stata capace a prepararmi a sta vita quando mi aveva mollato con quella bomba “Tu da grande sarai una bellissima donna” in classe.

A parer mio è metafora per: “Un giorno sarai (in)cazz(ata)uta e ne avrai abbastanza delle varie situazioni che fanno della tua vita la realtà che conosci. Prima di arrivare a questo punto della tua vita, potrai cominciare ad allontanarti da tutte le cose e persone ed ambienti a cui ti eri abituata. Forse vorrai anzì esigerai cambiamenti drastici. La mediocrità non ti andrà più a genio. Ti guarderai allo specchio e ti farai schifo. Si, schifo. Ogni cosa, ogni persona entrata o che vorrà entrare nella tua vita verrà scrutinata minuziosamente. Ogni evento dovrà servire da monito e lezione. Proverai a piangere certe sere e lacrime non scenderanno e ti incazzerai perché “la natura non sta prendendo il suo corso”! Fallirai, ti dispererai ma col passare del tempo – comincerai ad accettare anche i vari fallimenti per quello che sono. Saprai assaporare al meglio rivincite e prese di coscienza. Dio vuole, ti sveglierai una mattina, sveglierai anche tua sorella e di tua spontanea volontà, vorrai darci un taglio! Vorrai ricominciare da zero. Ma per davvero sta volta. Non per il tuo moroso, non per quel ragazzo per cui hai una cotta, non per seguire una moda, non perchè tu ti sia sentita obbligata di farlo, non per quella YTber di qualche anno fa. Ma perchè ti piacciono veramente tanto le metafore cazzo.”

Da un anno a questa parte, sono felice. Sono veramente felice. E quasi ne ho paura. “Cosa ho fatto per meritarmelo?” è la domanda che mi frulla spesso per la mente. “Qualcuno me la farà pagare in futuro? Il fatto che sia talmente in pace con me stessa?“.

Mi tagliai i capelli quel giorno a Giugno, ero fottutamente decisa. Guardavo il parrucchiere, super entusiasto con l’armatura attaccata in vita – che mi guardava ora titubante, ora eccitato dallo specchio del locale.

“Sei sicura? Sono un sacco di capelli.”  mi chiese. “Sì, taglia tutto!” dissi. Mi sorrise compiaciuto. Credo che quando un/a cliente si rivolge al parruchiere dicendo di “tagliare tutto” sia quasi comparabile a quell’orgasmo fantomatico tanto desiderato per certe donne.

Fu liberatoria. Non l’orgasmo. Non per il parrucchiere. Per me. Tagliarmi tutti i capelli dico. Vedere ogni ciocca cadere al suolo mi fece venire una nostalgia improvvisa. Volevo dirgli di fermarsi ma proprio prima di cacciar parola, sentii una certa leggerezza che ragazzi…che ve lo dico a fà! Finì di tagliarmi i capelli e mi misi a ridere come un’idiota. Si preoccupò il tipo. Si preoccuparono alcune ragazze del salone. Mi preoccupai. Mia sorella mi fissò.

Spacchiu ci sarà stato da ridere?

Capii. Capii e continuai a sorridere.

 

Le persone che scegliamo di far entrare nelle nostre vite, le vastissime scelte, inavvertitamente, trascinano anche le loro vibrazioni dentro di esse. Siate tutti sulla stessa frequenza d’onda. Per me erano capelli, ma questi, come la vita stessa, erano/sono una metafora da districare, come nodi che dovrebbero venire al pettine.

Ps: Fatalità su Spotify, Love Yourself di Mary J. Blige è venuto su. Grazie Universo. Ci sto provando.

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c. Clustercuss

Few days to the end of 2016 and I had to be bed ridden with the worse fever of all times, “afterall It’s 2016” I thought “of course it had to be ended with a fever”.

When I was younger, I got ill fast, easy and almost at all times. I had them all, the allergies, the poxes and what nots, some thought I wouldn’t make it, God said otherwise. Growing up, I was finally cut some slack, I’d simply just kick back and watch as other kids got sick and shots too.  “Must be nice” I thought “I can’t relate, soz cuz”. Kids would look at me, jealousy and awe behind their innocent yet inquisitive eyes and they’d ask me “Why are you not getting these too?” I’d reply, as cockily ever possible “I done did it already, chile, I done did it.”

On the 2nd day of 2017, I took my L – threw it to the curb and bounced back. Ain’t about to take off the year in bed.

To start my new year, I’d love to kick it all the way back with a track I’m still not sure about, even after all these years, simply put, in Nigeria I never really knew if I liked it and I didn’t know what the dealie was with its artist.

 

Dr. Alban‘s Halleluyah Day.

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m. Magna Carta, Lonely Grail

“I’m getting married!” – My heart sunk.

That week was going great. I’d passed an exam on a Monday. Got reconfirmed for my summer job on a Tuesday. Found a place to stay in my Uni’s city on a Wednesday. So it only seemed right I had a shameless intake of chocolate for the rest of the week – I binge watched Luther, heavy Idris Elba oogling duties for the culture.

“Do you wanna come?” – My heart did a 180°.

I was turning 25 and the need to be more than what I’d been kept me up at night.  Few months later, lots has changed but that feeling is still as strong. The need for ideas and taking territories, like Pastor Sam Adeyemi had preached months before, was intense…still is. Growth is a force to reckon with, a no holds barred moving locomotive, a necessary ride you need to hop on in life.

“So? I’m not joking, I’m really getting married.” – What? How niccuh? Why??!

So, when he told me via Messenger video call “I’m getting married, do you want to come?”, I really didn’t know what to say. I thought the shitty Wi-fi at the library was playing pranks.

We’ve known each other for 8 years but we’d never met. It was one of those friendships that simply worked, regardless of the others’ absence, you know?  We’d talk for hours about everything and anything and nothing. The sun would rise bright in his country whilst I was fast approaching the heart of the night in mine, still, it felt like we were in the same room. Lovers. Friends. Partners. Foes. When we kinda fell apart and tried to get back to talking terms, the bond still managed to stay intact…ish.

When he repeated for the umpteenth time: “I’m getting married”, I blacked out. I don’t know, It wasn’t jealousy, now I know.  It was just weird ‘cause I hadn’t realised how much growing we’d been doing at every “ode ni e” “you don chop today?” and “pele o” “happy birthday” and “good morning/night jare”. I was pissed that when our weird relationship came to an abrupt halt (my fault), life had continued and he’d moved on to an interesting phase in his life and I wasn’t there. Things had switched up so fast, blink and you will miss it kinda situation. When it finally dawned on me that my bestie had found his supposed “missing rib”, I made sure I didn’t fuck up the one glorious impromptu homework he gave me on his wedding day – a playlist for the reception. I’m sure I did a shite work but I’d never been so proud to pick out tracks, be proud of someone and honoured to be part of such a thing of beauty like their union – all at once.

I’m 25 now and every other night I debate what I should have for dinner and how I should put together my study plan for the next day while loads of my friends are doing different things in their lives. I need more, not a marriage (hi mom, sorry mom!), just more and I just don’t know how to get there.

Don’t blink. Don’t..

PSA:  Shaggy’s “Hot Shot” album, still 3 dynamites and a mine.

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