I am pleased to post this piece by Tunji Andrews. I think he is a great writer. But you don't have to believe me. Read for yourself.
Many thoughts have bedevilled me of late, pouring in torrents, and even though guided by reason, I still cannot seem to wrap my head around them. My failure this day, is my inability to comprehend how the mind can grasp complex theories and concepts, yet be absolutely clueless to the logic of a woman’s ways. I have tried all the textbook manoeuvres and even studied the ancient scripts of the sages, yet continue to face massive turbulence in my relationships. I’ve practiced tough love, permission, yielding, even submission, but nothing just seems to work and I sincerely have lost all hope of finding that one whom together our hearts can find peace and love, each day for the rest of our lives.
Now, growing up, I never really thought I would have such issues, for even though I’m no Brad Pit, I am certainly not that bad looking, Six feet and pretty well spoken, even if I say so myself. Yes, the cash does not flow as I would want it to (a key issue for the ladies), but all who know me, know I am a man on a quest and its only a matter of time before Dangote has my number on speed dial (Surulere). I’m quite Melancholy with a strong choleric strain, which means I’m not entirely romantic, but very loyal and devoted to fault, don’t have too many friends and pretty much a loner. Not one for too much drama and would do anything to avoid it; even as far as waving aside hurts, leaving them unresolved, just to avoid the issues. You can say I am a man with plenty of he-motions, strong yet touchy, driven yet complicated, loving yet sometimes cold. I am sure you now see why I’m still single, even though on the surface, I posses some level of charm and wit. Very few women would resist my intelligent demeanour, that almost arrogant look, those deep knowing and piercing eyes, bursting from within the sockets fitted right above my boyish smile (Beep! Beep!), I was made this way.
You see, it’s not all terrible though, as even though the ones I’m crazy about seem to never stay; there are those who I care very little for, that never want to leave; it’s a bitter irony, as I feel the karma for those I never loved hunt me with those I do. I return every night to an empty apartment, cheap takeout in hand, to the cold embrace of silence, wishing, yearning, wanting, but at the end conceding to the whims of loneliness, letting it take me, ravaging my mind in pure lust, remote control in hand, rocking me to sleep. The stirring of my exhausted body, does not occur until about 3am, when PHCN restores power and the Fan powers intensely, sending chills down my spine. I roll over in anticipation to hold, to wrap around, to cuddle, but there’s nothing than the emptiness I felt earlier, the pillow doesn’t help either, so in irritation, I get up, switch off the fan and go back to bed, this isn’t the life I signed up for.
I had thought I would have the issue of marriage done and dusted by the time I hit 29, but here I am, way into my thirties, still single. I must confess though that some of the not so great experiences of being taken for granted by the very women I loved, has left me a little phobic, manifesting intensely whenever I get close to anyone. I recall Seun, just from two nights ago, we’d only spoken just once before that night and she did impress me with how well she remembered every detail of our last conversation. It was just after a church midweek service, while I waited for Jane (a not so new friend), we chatted for a bit and then we got to that point where we should have exchanged numbers; sensing that neither party was psycho. It seemed pretty ‘next step’ really, plus she appeared a bit hesitant to leave, even as I tried to wind down our conversation; but I just couldn’t see myself going through it all over again and instead, I said “good night” and walked away. So, here I am, on one hand completely tired of being single, but at the same time very relationship-hurt phobic; with my heart seeming to lack the ability to take anymore. Some might be tempted to feel sorry for me at this point, but I don’t share in that sentiment, as I have practically been sowing my royal oats for the last 2 decades plus.
I lost count of the ‘relations’ I have had after number 40, and that was 4 years ago; looking back now, I’m not really sure what I was thinking in all that juvenile time, skipping from girl to girl, but, It however left me with a deeper understanding of what I needed from my would-be spouse. Whilst, I hear most men go on and on about how pretty their women had to be or how fun their backsides should look, I realised that somehow I had come to lose all respect for externals; and I do not say this lightly. I found it a bit ironic that the less pretty women I’ve interacted with, had rather excellent personalities, compared to the overtly beautiful ones, men can’t seem keep their eyes away from. You see, I am big on personality and nothing works more for me more than a great after-sex conversation; it’s completely mind blowing (you should try it). And whilst all the pretty girl’s intellectual ejaculations are simply ‘sea-shore’, commensurate with her not so great IQ (factors of having had an easier life), the more intelligent and less pretty lady could keep you engaged for hours non-stop in a super-orgasmic symphony of words, on about everything from philosophy to politics. It is however true that some men find this intimidating and would rather hang with the types men refer to as ‘FISH-BRAIN’, but not me, and here-in lies my woe.
The truth is that whilst the FISH-BRAIN (permit me to borrow this expression), waits for a man or a relationship to complete her, the intelligent woman is already complete lacking nothing. She has a great career and does not really need your money; even though she would love to have it. She is confident, articulate, and often knows what she is worth; and when all these virtues mix with the highly volatile emotional being of a woman, you create a hybrid, an entirely new species, one we know almost nothing about. She can be petty like the next woman but she does it in a rather amazingly constructive way and with a lot of intellect to back it up. She nags in bullet-points, too smart to buy the text book lies, employs emotional blackmail skilfully and sees every argument as a test of wit; she may be a descendant of Eve, but she’s light years ahead of Adam’s beloved, and she knows it.
This 21stcentury woman has become my opium and subsequently my curse, as though she is the only one I can be married to, the volatility of her ways are somewhat too much for my poor beating heart. They say you cannot make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and even though this may be true; I am just not sure I can take anymore breaking.