My View

Its that time of the week. I should be reviewing the past 7 days. Comparing my performance with the targets I set for the 6 goals I’m currently chasing. Since the week law school resumption was announced, I’ve been underperforming. It’s like law school sapped my zest for everything. So I take solace in memes and WandaVision.

I should be reviewing this past week, but I know that I’ve been punching weakly. Today is Valentine’s Day. One of those days when the conflict in me refuses to be ignored.

You see, I am simultaneously the hard, unfeeling guy, stoic, contemptuous of emotional displays and the weakness that comes with love. This is the face I show the world.

I am a tortoise, slow to react, quick to retreat into the safety of my cold stare.



But underneath this hard, discoloured shell, I am a hopeless romantic. I avoid romantic books and movies because they make me cry. That wedding scene in ‘Crazy Rich Asians’, the rooftop dinner in ‘Royal Hibiscus Hotel’, don’t get me started on ‘Think Like A Man’. I’m the guy that occasionally writes love poems that never get read just to get it out of my system.

Passenger songs sink me into depths of melancholic wanting. Simi’s voice is softens me. Adekunle makes me want to take a beautiful red-haired woman in a fast convertible down the German autobahn.

There’s a constant tug of war between both. I desire to be open, warm, caring, but I am wary. I forgive, but I don’t forget. I remember every rejection, every slight, every time I was ignored, every time I wasn’t enough, every time I wasn’t worthy.

So I’ve learnt to hold back. Once in a blue moon, I allow some glimpse the Akin that could give King Solomon a run for his money.



I ramble. I should be reviewing the past 7 days. I hate emotions. I hate the concept of love. I hate how overwhelming it is. I hate how distracting it is. I hate the power it wields. I hate how society pressures you to have it and discourages you from chasing it. So I’m stuck between longing and disdain.

But I love love. I like it when my Yellow Chicken tells me about her love life. The things her boyfriend does for her. The joy and excitement in her voice and her disorganised chats tell me this is something beautiful. This seems like a fair compromise. I’ll love through others. Feel their joy like it’s mine.



But it’s not mine. It will never be mine. The voice in my head says stinging words. I have nothing to say in reply. So I stop viewing your status updates. I throw my phone to the side, pick up the other phone and deceive myself by checking stats on the Fit & Proper Podcast or browsing on the most out of place topics, like the economy of Somaliland.

I should play some Eminem. I’m probably writing this because I have Alessia Cara’s 'My Song' on repeat. No one hardens me like Eminem. He’s good for my productivity. He’s my solace when the world gets too fast. When I’m falling behind. Lately that happens a lot.



I should go. I have to review the last 7 days, and plan the next 7 days. Tomorrow is Feb. 15th. It will be all over then.