SEE ME!
19TH June 1999
Dear diary,
I don’t know what to do, I’m
tired of people not seeing me, not knowing that there is more to me than they
think, yesterday my friends came over we sat in a circle; or rather they did.
As I looked at them sitting in a cicle laughing with each other I felt glad, my
heart was filled with joy as I laughed along with them , but yet, something was
missing, like in a way I’m the one being laughed at. I remember this one time
we travelled to asaba together from my school’s campus, before or after we
reached Azia village, the scenery was so fine, I think it was sometime in
febuary at the end of the harmattan season, the rains hadn’t washed away the
redish-gold dust blown unto the rooftops and tree leaves in the village, I
would forever remember the magnificence of the afternoon sun shining down. Oh
sweet nostalgia! Till today words can never truly descibe how I felt seeing
everywhere bathed in an orange so brilliant it put the fruit to shame, I think
I don’t connect with my friends as I would wish to because at times the world
is too dark for me, and I just have to disappear into a world of my creation,
but even in a world of my creation the gloom chases me still and I think of
things that shame me. Yet this world in my head is my only remaining lifeline
to sanity, sometimes I wonder if chimamanda has ever felt like this, I remember
her describing vividly the primary school in nsukka, I felt like I I knew a
primary school I never attended, is it possible she has once existed on the
same dimension as i? I describe this moment so well because when things get too
rough and I have to escape I find myself in a world so similar. In every group
of friends there is a cleaner, someone who’s job is to always take care of the
others, doing important things that are often always neglected; little things like, picking up
their phone chargers when they forget it somewhere out, waiting for the last
person to cross the road and meet you even after the rest have left her,
hanging around in the shadows should you see one with a guy you don’t
trust….just in case. Giving your all without making a fuss about it. In this
circle of friends I was the cleaner, but don’t get me wrong I’m not
complaining, they are more than friends they are family, all I ask for, all I
need is the littlest of gratitude, I just wnt them to see me when they look,
not who they think I am, not who they hope to see, but my in all my glory even
if it’s gory, because family ought accept you for whomever you are, or oughtn't they?.........
20th April 2007
Dear diary,
It’s been eight years since my last entry, I came to say bye. A
week ago obie and adah came to see me, they wanted to travel out of the country
since Nigeria seems to be getting worse by the hour, they needed some money to
complete the necessary funds needed, I thought it was a good idea to travel
together because I’d been wanting to travel too, so I told them I would love to
go with them, they seemed cool with it so I started making plans after I lent
them the necessary funds, yesterday I received a call from an international
number having no idea who it could be I picked the call, it was obie telling me
that she and adah traveled the day before, that “something came up asking if I
could be a darling” and bring one of their bags they forgot.
I really thought making enough money to take care of all of us
would make them connect with me more, that whatever was missing would be found,
would make them see me as someone more, I guess I thought wrong. I know if you
could read and understand hat I write you would call me a fool, but understand
that I have let them define me, they are now the core of me being whoever I am
right now. I have made them the reason for my existence yet they don’t
acknowledge me as I ought be, so tell me, oh diary! Why do I exist? It’s been
years now, we are all adults if by now they don’t see me even though I’m a
constant in their lives, maybe I need to not be there anymore, maybe in my
absence they would see me, and if they don’t well……
I’m tired of being the cleaner I want to be the one making all the
mess, I think it’s high time I created a mess soo big they might never clean it
up till their deaths. I have set it up all up, everything is ready, the camera
is up and running, I’m right in front of it, by the time I’m done I will never
write again but we have shared a bond like no other and I’m sure you would hear
my thoughts still.
Slowly and surely I pick the blade near
me looking to make sure the camera is set on record I slice my feet drawing a
thin line with my blood seeping out, I then slice my calf watching my blood
trail down lost to the pain, I slice my laps as the tiled floor begins to turn
red, I slice my stomach, then my face, the pain is killing me slowly with life,
I can’t bear it anymore I want to live, I see my blood soaking the covers of my
diary as I take the final slice and cut my wrists as I bleed I enter my world,
I realize whilst the scenery and feelings change the recurring theme
immortality and youth never change, I don’t know where I’ll go from here, maybe
I made a mistake letting them define my life, but it’s too late to go back now,
I feel fainter with each passing moment, and the smell of my blood is stifling,
I smile as I imagine their faces when they see this video. With everything
remaining in me I hope they are shown this video as I slip into my world, my
kaleidescope of vibrant colors of orange. I know now they see me, in their
dreams, in their waking hours, everyday till they die.. they’ll see me.
Author: sandra uwadi.
