LuSea Bee | T. Truly Yours Pt. 1
A true story - bra(h).
personal, blog
41203
post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-41203,single-format-standard,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,select-theme-ver-2.1,smooth_scroll,fade_text_scaledown,paspartu_enabled,paspartu_on_top_fixed,paspartu_on_bottom_fixed,transparent_content,overlapping_content,small_grid,tpp-masonry-enabled,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-5.0.1,vc_responsive

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.

 

 

No Comments

Post a Comment