Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Sunday, December 21, 2014

8 Things I'm Grateful For

Source: http://goo.gl/bBxywq
So I'm grateful for a billion and three things. Most of which, I typically overlook. So, at this end of this topsy-turvy year, i'm listing, as much as I can, the 8 top things I am grateful for.

1. I'm grateful for God's love. It's immense and unfathomable. This isn't spiritual. It's factual. I believe out of all of God's creations, He loves me the most. I'm deeply grateful for that.

2. I'm grateful for my family. I believe every family is unique, like a thumbprint. Mine is as unique as can be. I'm grateful for my parents, as their idiosyncrasies go a long way in making me me. I'm grateful for my twin who is getting married soon. I'm grateful for the success of the preparations, and for his beautiful bride, Folusayo. I'm grateful for my other siblings, and for learning each day how to be a big brother and a role model. I'm grateful for Uncle Remi, who I learn from on a daily basis, for Aunty Jite, who I love very dearly, and who probably wouldn't believe it (lol), for Uncle Tope, who always removes the haughty clouds from my head and verbally reminds of the family I come from, and for Aunty Foluke, who always gives me work that I never get to doing :( (Lol! e jòó, e má bínú)

I'm grateful for my grandma. For my first decade+ on earth, she was unarguable my bestest friend. (Yeye, I'm prepping a separate and special piece for you)

3. I'm grateful for my boo. My friend and arm candy, she brings colour, fun and beauty to my life.

4. I'm grateful for my friends and colleagues. I have the coolest friends in the world. Starting with my two best friends, Belema (who is voting for GEJ in Feb 2015. We're so different, it's amazing how we get along so well. Me thinks it tells of my high degree of love and patience. hehe) and Kelechi (whose love for me is perhaps, next to God's. Lol! I'm grateful for that love. And I pray someday, I'll match and beat it :D). I'm grateful for my other friends too. They are too numerous to count. My colleagues from UNILAG and LBS...those from work, my crazy IT team in the office, my church goons I grew up with... I couldn't ask for better friends. Believe me. I'm grateful for where God has taken us, and the infinitesimal nature of where we are now, compared to where we will be. I'm grateful for those of you who read my blog too, from all over the world. Yes, I also call ye friends. (lol) I'm grateful for allowing me take a piece of your time with my thoughts. I'm also grateful for the feedback that makes this blog and my writing better.

5. I'm grateful for my mentors. For Becky, for George, for Attila, for Dr. Bakare, for Femi Ekujumi, for Dr. Ebun Fasina, for Dr. Adeleye, for Uncle Remi, those who I have had touchpoints with this year (thank you!), and those who I'm yet to have (forgive me!). You guys make me a better me. I'm grateful for that. I'm also grateful for Mummy T and Mrs. Agunbiade. For no special reason. I'm just grateful. Still.

Also to Sam Adeyemi and Tony Robbins, my mentors who don't know I exist...yet (lol), but whose words and teachings inspire me in no small measure...I'm grateful.

6. I'm grateful for knowledge. I learn new things almost on a daily basis! From my family, to my workplace, to church, to the books I read, to the videos I watch, to what my mentors say, the knowledge is just...well, plenty!

7. I'm grateful for action. On my side, there has been very little of this, this year. I'm grateful for the wisdom to see this, the humility to accept this, and the will to make a change in 2015.

8. Lastly, I'm grateful for 2014. Wasn't the best year. If I were to do it again, I'll do a lot of things different. But still, I'm grateful. This reminds me of 2007, the year I dubbed 'My Worst Year Ever'. Lool! (Long story, to be told some other time) 2007 ended poorly to be honest, but 2008 overcompensated for it. So, inspite of 2014, I'm still grateful. Cos I have learnt. And I'm looking forward, with keenness, to applying those learnings and making 2015 the best year I have ever had.

Oluwaseun.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Ad Heckle Ultimo


I know I said I wouldn't do this
I promised myself I'd wean
But here I am, still going through this
Kinda like a battle I cannot win
It's an impossible task trying to avoid you
Or how do I run from where my heart leads?
How do I know when my time's due?
How would I stop listening? How would I heed?
How do I erase all the memories?
How do I even begin to breathe?
How do I stop the fantasies?
I don't want, but damn, I so need!

Your scent lingers on my nostrils
Tugging. Taunting. Torturing.
Your face seared on my mind, still
How I get by is simply beyond me
The sad part is you don't see what I see, how I see it
The hard part is you don't feel what I feel, how I feel it
I'm left with faded whispers and distant echoes, broken blisters and tumbled legos
Clay dessert, a tuneless song,
My wounded heart, my silent tongue.

(c) 2012 Jide Olatunbode


Thursday, December 15, 2011

How to Love - A True Story



"Adele sweet, would you play me another tune?" I asked softly.

"Sure my love," she replied, as she lifted her guitar from where it stood and immediately started stroking it. I recognised the tune immediately. I loved that song! I loved all her songs in fact. Her deep lyrics and melancholic tunes were what made me fall in love with this skinny, dark-skinned beauty. I wonder what goes on in that braid-covered head of hers when she writes.

Hmm...The opening tune was to end in a few beats, and she was just about to open her mouth to sing in her sonorous and uplifting voice. My face inched closer to hers slowly as if proximity would enhance the intensity of the song. Suddenly, the unexpected happened. My face couldn't have been any closer when she turned her face away from mine and promptly threw up!

What?! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Or was I seeing it? She threw up again! And again! Brown bits of goo were hurling out of her mouth at light speed. All of a sudden the lights began to grow dim...

Wait a minute...I was on my bed all of a sudden. Where is Adele? I couldn't see anything, but the puking sounds continued somewhere in the background. Then it hit me: I was dreaming. Adele doesn't even know I exist (the real Adele and my own version). Life could be full of shit sometimes.

But someone threw up yet again! The puking sounds were real! I sat up abruptly and looked at Tobi who sat by the edge of the bed. He kept on puking and puking and puking and puking.

The thought of slimy puke all over my room was repulsive.

"Go into the bathroom nah," I yelled. Tobi obediently went to the bathroom, and resumed puking. By now the stench was so much, I had to step out of the room.

I entered the living room, where I met my Uncle working on his laptop.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Tobi is vomiting again," I said.

"Again?" he asked, as he got up and went into the room to check up on Tobi.

I winced! I expected my uncle to rush out any second, overpowered by the stench in the room. You see, my uncle has a legendary sense of smell; one that rivals the likes of Marvel's Daredevil. Legend has it that whenever he comes home from work, his driver jokingly asks him what's cooking in the kitchen. And inside a locked, air-conditioned vehicle, he accurately tells what the food is by the smell he percieves!

Yet, amazingly, he didnt rush out of the room crying foul.

Anyways, warreva! This puking kid just disturbed the most beautiful dream ever. Adele and I were just about to set fire to the rain. As I leaned back on the sofa in the living room, my mind tried to recreate the scene of the dream again. The thought of thinking about the dream was as stimulating as the dream itself. Ah, yes, i remember. She was playing me a song. For those few minutes, music was the food of our love, and reality just became our hemlock. Why tonight of all nights did Tobi's gut decide to rebel? Couldn't they occupy somewhere in the multiple folds of his bowels? Let's hope he finishes spilling his gut (trust me, not even in the mood for puns), and cleans up the shit on the floor and everywhere else in the room. I have a sweet dream to dream.

My uncle strolled out of the crime scene looking perplexed and walking towards the kitchen.

"Didn't you perceive the smell?" I asked.

"What smell?"

"The smell of vomit all over the room." Wait oh, abi someone dosed my uncle with Kriptonite ni?? (or whatever was Daredevil's weakness)

"Oh, yes I did."

I looked at him incredulously.

"So, how come you were able to stay in the room for so long??"

"He needs help na," said my uncle, as he walked into the kitchen.

Pause.

Pause.

Think.

Think.

Reflect.

Reflect.

Regret.

"He needs help na."

Those simple words got me thinking. Here was someone whose sense of smell was easily 5 times the power of mine; who would definitely be assaulted incessantly by the reeking room. Yet all that didnt matter. It wasn't even a consideration, all because a young boy needed help. This could only be what love truly is.

Interestingly, my Uncle was on his way to the room, with a bucket and mop, in the bid to help the lad clean up the mess. With all these thoughts swarming in my head, I stood up and went to help. I guess I could start learning how to love from this moment. When you put your mind to it, cleaning up vomit isn't so bad afterall. All I needed was a huge towel dipped in washing liquid and spread on the floor covering the vomit (lol! I'm about to go gross!). Then turning the towel this way and that until the vomit is all wrapped inside the cloth, I lift the heavy towel off the floor and take it out straight to the big bin. See! All that was left was me mopping a semi-dirty floor and removing every form of cloth away to be washed. Shikenan.

Afterwards I felt happy with myself (my uncle had taken Tobi to the hospital). First of all, I learnt an innovative way of cleaning vomit without it touching my hands :D, but more importantly, I learnt an important lesson on love. You see, it's easy for people to claim to love you in the good times. But when you're down, dirty and helpless, when you've committed that heinous crime, when you've failed miserably, when you've puked all over yourself in the middle of the ballroom; it's those who stay behind, those who are sincere, yet comforting, those who won't allow you to stew in your puke or roll in your grime, those are the ones who truly love you. Those are the ones who truly know how to love.

I'm learning how to love.

Need to go back to sleep now. Adele needs to know about my new found insights on love ;)

Bon nuit.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Crazy Photo Stories

When I'm not listening to lectures in class, or rewatching Supernatural or...well...some other movie clips, I'm taking photographs, and in my mind i'm really good at it. Lemme show you a couple of the darnest pictures I took recently....


This first one is the boring-est of them all, but quite interesting. I wonder if this is a millipede or centipede? I hear centipedes are predatory...so since this crawling darling didnt attempt to eat me up, i guess it's a sweet millipede.

Moving on...



This one's for Segun Olomofe :p

This next one is a snail on my front porch. Interestingly, when I put this photo up on my bb, Segun Olomofe said I didnt have a front porch, cos front porches belong to the Bill Gates and Warren Buffets of this world! Can you freaking imagine! She needs a dictionary I tell you. And then someone else said I should catch and eat the damn snail! Sheesh!! No comment :p I allowed the snail go...needless to say.


Hmm...therez a whole story in this picture. I was seating in the front seat of this danfo and noticed that his gas pedal was connected to his gear by a metal cord! What's worse, we were speeding on Lekki expressway when all of a sudden his brake snapped! He started stepping vigorously on his brakes, yet the bus never stopped!! I brought out my fone and began to tweet...at least I will have last words. The amazing thing was that this stupid driver kept moving on to Ajah, without brakes!. He deserved an award for crass brashness. What was more amazing was me waiting in the bus till he got to Ajah. I either had blind faith, or utmost stupidity. Or both.


This next photo is a very colourful dragonfly. It's at moments like this I wish I had Chioma's camera. I couldn't adequately capture the beauty of this creature with my blackberry camera (which was what I used for all the others). Compare this with the very next photo...a glowing spider! An exquisite beauty if you ask me. You can trace out its connected legs and the small tip at the end of them...kinda like little toes. lol!



Isn't that a mosquito?? I'm damn sure it is. So what the hell is it doing on a tree? Maybe the poor thing is blind? Or maybe it has decided to stop drinking human blood. Is there some form of mosquito Sookie Stackhouse converting all mosquitos into vegetarians??? 


Now this is just the clincher. Fly sex! #okbye.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Depth

I always wonder what exists inside a person. What else typifies or personifies the usual flesh and blood that we sight each day. I tend to believe that we are much more than the organic materials that covers our essence, much more than our eyes can see, more than our minds can comprehend. And today, I proved it yet again.

There's this hawt lil' Phd student in the Lagos Business School, who recently posted a note on facebook (who does that these days? RME). She's beautiful yeah...but beauty, sometimes, isn't enough. Depth is an uncommon essence, and such is reflected in this piece. I shouldn't say much. Lemme know what you think.

But before you do, remember the morale: we are more than what we think we are.Always remember who the next person really is. Not what he does, or how he does it, nor his mistake or frailties. Open your mind and look. And see.

Enjoy it!

PS: She's also my friend. My very good friend. Lol!

Miss Match

In a man’s world with a man’s drive and a man’s name
In a woman’s body with a woman’s heart and a woman’s pain
I need to fit in and I want to stand out
I must conquer the world and yet, my victory must not corrupt my humility

Miss Guided

Life is a game whose rules can depend on Grace or on tact
And love; a curveball, an illusion – only clear after the fact
The world is meant to be understood, says the philosopher
The world is meant to be left behind, says the believer

Miss Represent

There’s more to me if you’d only look within
But you cannot see past the clothes that I wear, my smile, or my hair...
I am a wealth of knowledge, a sea of curiosity, a lover of wisdom...
But then I distract you with my very need to appeal to you

Miss Conclusion

I know what you’re thinking; your eyes give you away
Your actions, they tell me you don’t mean what you say
But wait...I accused you, and then did the same to you
I didn’t look past that which I could see
I didn’t think twice about the things that I heard
I am the Judge and I am the jury.
And you are guilty because you are guilty.
You lost the case based on my conclusions –
I made my conclusions based on my preconceptions.
Fini.
(c) Segun Olomofe

Sunday, February 6, 2011

A Song


I've always wanted to write you a song
Through the years I've had many things to say
But all along, I'd form busy, as time sails away
seconds turn to minutes, to hours, to days.
But here i stand, just me and my thoughts
As I attempt to pen the notions swirling in my head
my past prowess ever before my eyes
So why then, why do I seem to falter?

It seems a colossal task
Cos how do I explain the immense love, and deep frailty I feel
How do I describe an extraordinary God with trite words
How do I transcribe a profound idea with simple thoughts?

You're Magnificent. Astounding. Incredible
The earth trembles at the hint of your smile
You're my Love, my Dear, my Friend
Your arms ever open, even when I stray for a while
Cos Lord, I'm naked without you
Yes Lord, I'm helpless without you
Without You, I'm blind, I cant see the grand view
You're the light. Without you Lord, I'm who?

You make my life brand new.

I've always wanted to write you a song
Here it is
It may not be a hit
It may not top the list
It may not even beat the charts
But it's a song Lord,
It's a start
It's a song from me to You
It's praise straight from my heart

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Marian

The last thing I remembered, just before I felt the heat, was thinking that I would never get to reply her message.

Then the heat came. Where am I? I tried to open my eyes, but they were already open. I couldn’t see anything. Everywhere was black. Pitch black. The air was smelly and thick. The ground felt rocky, uneven, and hot. I wondered if the heat was emanating from a furnace beneath. I tried to take a tentative step forward but couldn’t - something was hindering my stride. The attempted movement caused a bit of scraping sound on the ground. As seeing was close to impossible, I stooped to feel what was causing the impediment. That’s when I realized my feet were bound in chains! Big and rusty metallic shackles encircled my ankles, with the chains leading into the ground! I started to panic. My heart was beating so fast, I could feel the palpitations in my throat! How did I get here? Who has held me against my will? Where on earth is this place? I began to sweat profusely. Subconsciously, my lips began to move in a voiceless prayer, as my hands periodically wiped off huge balls of sweat from my face.

Sensing the hopelessness of my situation and the need for some rational thought, I begged my senses to calm down. By now, my eyes had adjusted to the palpable darkness surrounding me. I stared forward, trying to bring together, bit by bit, pieces of my surroundings.

I was in a very big and wide space. The ground stretched as far as my eyes could see. As I stood in the middle of this large expanse of nothingness, my semi-tranquil thoughts wondered to how I got here. Then I remembered.

Marian.

As a child, I grew up having the best of morals. My father taught me the essence of right and wrong, and brought to my awareness that all my actions, good or bad, inevitably spawned consequences. I followed his teachings diligently, being careful to do what he considered good, and abstaining from what he considered evil. It was no coincidence that I went to private schools all my life. My primary school was a Catholic Private School close to home. My secondary school was a Baptist Boys’ school. My university ‘happened’ to be one of all these private Christian universities being used a dump site by parents who have resigned from their God-given full time jobs. Therefore, all my life was lived in deference to the teachings of my father, until I met her.

I met her on my first day in postgraduate school. I had just secured admission into the prestigious Lagoon Business School, and we were being given a tour of the facilities. We had just been ushered into the dining room, and while everyone was rushing to get into the hall so as to get ahead in the food queue, I waited patiently at the door for the hustling to die down. It was at that moment I spotted her. She walked right past me as she moved towards the door. I held my breath. Time seemed to slow down to a mindless drag, the noise whistling down to a reverberating silence. As she gracefully glided through the metal frames supporting the wooden door, I could spot every element of her facial features: her wine-colored braided hair resting on her shoulders; her delicate nose; her ebony cheeks; her steady heartbeat (I swear I could hear it!). Did she just look my way? I realized I was still holding my breath. I reminded myself to breathe.

We got talking during one of our class sessions. She told me her name was Marian. She studied Accounting. We were both holding blackberry devices so we exchanged blackberry PINs. In retrospect, this turned out to be the greatest mistake of my very short life.

The instant messaging began. We were sending messages to each other in class, out of class, at home, in school, from dusk till dawn. And what did we talk about? Everything, yet nothing. At the initial phase when boy meets girl, almost all of their thoughts, words and actions are geared towards the physical. Ours was no exception. Our eyes were constantly meeting in class, often ending in stifled giggles. We were high school teenagers all over again.

The first time we kissed was right in front of her house immediately after classes. I brought her home in my car, and after a little bit of small talk, she reached over and kissed me. I was startled; my world was spinning. It felt like air was sucked out of my lungs. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity and felt so potent, I had to steady my breathing afterwards. We said goodnight as she alighted from my car, and I drove home.

As I drove, different thoughts hammered in my head. Jide what did you just do? Don’t you know that you just went against everything your father stood for? Everything he told you? Kai. But is it supposed to be so pleasurable? How could something so sinful be so sweet? Little wonder Brother Adam couldn’t resist the juicy fruit. Who made me any better than my brother?

From that day on, I made it my personal duty to drop Marian at her house. And, of course, we always did the usual; until one day Marian said to me,

‘Jide, don’t you want to come in?’

What?! I was speechless.

“Er…em…yes, er… of course,’ I stuttered.

And so with hands clasped around each other’s waists, heads fused side by side, we walked into her apartment, and closed the door.

Next morning was a school day. I had to quickly rush home, freshen up, and come to school. It was 8:00 AM. The first session starts by 9:30 AM and I did not want to be late. So I said a quick goodbye to Marian, who was in the bathroom, rushed into my car and sped off, without bothering to buckle my seatbelt.

On the road, with the gas pedal pressed to the floor, I could not help thinking about the activities of last night. I knew I had passed the point of no return. My Blackberry beeped. Holding the steering wheel with one hand, I tried to access my Blackberry message. “I miss you already”, it said. I decided to punch in a quick response with my free right hand. That was when it happened. The driver of the car in front of me, for no apparent reason, decided to apply his brakes. I was still on my blackberry, in between words, when I noticed the stop. But it was too late. I jammed my foot on the brakes, swerving sharply to the right to avoid a collision. My tires screeched loudly, the car still moving, obviously out of my control. The impact came when I least expected it. I hit a concrete NEPA pole by the side of the road. I found myself hurling towards my windscreen, head first. I heard my blackberry smash into the NEPA pole, just before my head collided with it too.

The last thing I remembered, just before I felt the heat, was thinking that I would never get to reply her message.

But all that happened just a few moments ago, or so it seemed. Where am I now? Have I been kidnapped by some ritual killers? Where are they? Why can’t I see anyone now? As these thoughts flew through my mind, I noticed a movement behind me. I turned, and I saw a figure emerge out of nowhere. It was tall and dark, with certain human and animal features I could not immediately make out because of the absence of light. Two long horn-like protrusions grew from the top of a head which housed two fiery eyes. A long and pointed tail followed it like an unwanted shadow. One hand was stretched towards my direction, while the other one gripped a long pitchfork. There was something familiar about the figure. I couldn’t lay a finger on it. The humanoid took a step towards me and smiled, revealing pincer-like dentition. Then it laughed – a loud and blood-curling shriek. It suddenly dawned on me: I knew where I was! With the revelation came a feeling of total despair; the darkness finally assuming corporeality, closed in on me. I was going to be here a very, very long time.

Marian.

Damn.

Lucifer’s laughter echoed through the abyss.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Letters

16-09-2009 0335hrs
Where do I begin? Should I start from the beginning where you were calling me incessantly, and though I was initially wary, I began to love every moment of it? Or should I start from the middle where the love became mutual and we began looking forward to seeing each other first the first time? Or should I start from the end - yes there's an end - where an undisclosed and therefore an unfulfilled expectation resulted in bitter disappointments? Where do I begin?

Usually, endings create an atmosphere for retrospective thinking. So I've had more than enough time to think about what happened to us; what went wrong. I've analyzed, I've scrutinized, and I've thoroughly evaluated. And even though I make it a matter  of deliberate policy not to point the blaming finger at anybody, I'll have to take an exception here, and you'll have to pardon me upfront. Also, forgive me for the blunders that may exist in my words. I don't intend making this any literary masterpiece. I'm just going to tell it as it is...

23-05-2010 1743hrs
I wrote those words last year in my jotter. Then I was filled with indignation and was slightly peeved at the way you were behaving, and the distance you were bringing between us. I wanted to mail it to you, but, somehow, I never got around to completing it. Thank God I didn't, cos it would have simply complicated things further. I know there's a lot of things that has happened between us. Can we just let it go? Can we move on? Can we forget the past, the hurts, the pain, and move on?

Whats the point of being friends and loving if we don't get to forgive? Some times people mess up, and most times they make up. Please don't be a past chapter in my life. I want you perpetually at the forefront. It's too late to think of letting you go. You're already a part of me. Letting you go will hurt many times as much as this break you've put us in.

I desperately want my friend back, Sue Loom*. I need my friend back.

Please.

Me.

20-08-2010 0257hrs
Once again, I read my words, but this time I'm filled with joy. I'm filled with a variety of exhilarating feelings because you understood; because you took me back; because you accepted me. For this, I'm eternally grateful. Words cannot begin to tell the extent of the emotions flooding my heart. I'm like the luckiest man alive: I have you. Thanks for being there. Thanks for being you. Thanks for understanding the errancy of the human nature, and the clemency of the divine one. Thanks for putting the past behind. Thanks for sharing my present. Thanks for the existence of an anticipated future. I know you know I'll still mess up; thanks for sticking your heart out all the same. Thanks for being the greater person, better than I'd ever be. Thanks for loving me; even though you don't say it, because sometimes the words don't count, especially when the deeds are screaming loudly against your ears.

I love you back, for now that's all to be said. And I'll always love you, from now, even till my death bed.

Me.

*alias

Monday, July 26, 2010

Where is home?

I had a little argument at work today. The minor dispute was between me and some of my colleagues and the issue was about the concept of home. Diran, who is one of the most verbally constructive person I've ever known, was of the opinion that home is a psychological phenomenon. Using his quick command of the English language, he put it straight forward that where you call your home doesn't have to do with who or what is in there, but how you feel. And I totally agreed with him.

Arinze on the other hand, who is one very brilliant chap and who calls everybody 'fellow' ("Why is this fellow parking here??", "When is this fellow coming?") objected vehemently. He said, "How on earth can your home be a thing of the mind? That's not possible!"

Odunsi, also, who is my boss, joined the Arinze train. He said that there's no where on earth that can be compared to his village, in spite of any dearth of social amenities. "I feel totally at home in my village", he said.

The argument spanned our entire break period, and even spilled into our work time. Arinze was busy spilling words like 'roots', 'origin', 'family' etc. "Your home is your connections to your roots," he argued. "It has nothing to do with the mind". In fact he gave a very funny analogy. He said when one goes to the toilet and feels at peace, does that make the toilet your home? I couldn't help laughing, in spite of the jab towards my argument. In a little while the row subsided, and we went back to work.

On my way home, I had to reflect further on our heated conversations. Who exactly had the right definition of home? Was I wrong? Or was Arinze just bamboozling everybody?

Having looked at both sides critically and objectively, I came up with one conclusion: we were both right! The home has both concrete and abstract elements. Concrete in the sense that a proper home, in the ideal sense of the word, must consist of your parents (or children), or other memorable elements. It could be your favourite tree in the centre of the garden, or the smile on your grandmothers face when she sees you - something tangible should be part of what we call home.

But on the other hand, if we isolate these physical components, on their own, they'll mean nothing! What is there in a bloody tree surrounded by weeds?? Or in a crooked old smile with brown dentition having one or two teeth missing?? These by themselves don't have any special meaning, except those we give to them. In other words it's the feelings we associate with these things and people that make them special. It's the artifacts, and the emotions they effuse in us, that make a home a home.

Having established that both reasoning are sound, there is now the question of superior argument. Which of these two logically sound arguments is superior to the other? Two arguments may make sense, but one has to make more sense. To me the one which makes more sense is...(yes, you guessed it!)... Diran's argument - what i'd like to call the psychological logic!

It would be severely limiting, not to talk of unfair, to link the word home with family, or roots, or origin, or any of those other sentimental phrases my friend Arinze was touting. What about those with no family or no clear discernible roots? What happens to the orphan whose first conscious moments were in arms of an angry and dissatisfied social worker? Where would the orphan call home? Under the bridge where he was born and discarded? Or should the poor thing, in his quest for home, go looking for his parents who abandoned him?

Why am I even going too far sef? What happens to the regular kid who has strong roots, and origin, but who is grossly maltreated, or simply misunderstood 'at home'? The only place he would likely call home is the little corner of his room where he retreats to each day.

Or consider someone like me who has never been to his village before. I'm Ekiti, and proud; but if I get Arinze and Odunsi right, when my parents dies, then there's no where I can call home again. Kai.

Odunsi said whenever he goes to his village, he is thrilled, happy, content, in short, he feels 'at home'. But if I dare venture into my village square, I'd feel lost, confused, dejected and severely unhappy. What's missing from these two seemingly similar experience??

Let's look from another perspective: If home is about ancestral roots and origin, then half the population of the free world would come and celebrate Christmas in Africa, just because their great-great-great-great-(perhaps, even another great)-grand parent was an African slave. In fact, Malcolm Gladwell, the bestselling author of Outliers traced his ancestry through his Jamaican mother, through his slave grandmother, down to his 'roots' to some certain Ibo tribe of West Africa. I wonder why I don't see him carrying his backpack and mosquito net every winter on his way to Naija looking for home.

I think I've written enough. And I'm sure you catch my drift. Home is where your family is; the place where your fondest memories exist. But more importantly, home is just where and what you make of it!