Moving Out


Now, what could it be that people claim the need to move out? Well, this week has resolved to not only pose a riposte to that conundrum but also implicated me on all mental, physical and economical (well, not quite) levels of moving out. I was not the one moving out, No, I am too settled plus I love my neighbors. There is this specific neighbor who I am very fond of, whenever she tries a new recipe she will come right at my door and knock, the kind of knocks you can tell mean;

I don’t mean to bother you but you need to open this door.

These kind of knocks are soft, unsure and usually done twice. Well, if you do not get your ass to open the door by the time the second knock is done then good bye new recipe, so your jump up and open the door fast, receive the dish and say a million thank you and promise to love the dish. It turns out that these dishes always turn out to be magnificent or perhaps I am always hungry, either way, please neighbor do not stop doing that, I know you are reading this.

I broke my banks, I was saying, this particular prevalence has come out as a premonition to me, moving out is an obligatory necessity. Not the physical moving of furniture and stuff, moving out has a more sentimental likeness than we entitle.

It could be walking away from an old life that has turned out horrendous. Where your body and mind are always hostilities, a conflict that always leave you in a foul mood of uncertainty and consistent dilemmas. So you resolute to commence from the genesis in a new environment and perhaps reach out to these two entities and incline them to working together like they once did on their own volition.

Better still, a bad relationship, with humans and the liquor or smoke alike. A relationship is supposed to bind you on mutual benefit so if the weed you are smoking is not giving you anything in return, that, my friend, is a bad relationship. If you do the laundry, dishes, scrub the entire day like he married a washing machine then this story has a twist and that is your life.

Or the fact that you have made a few paychecks after campus or in campus and now what you seek is sovereignty. A chance to throw your hands in the air, jump, open your shirt and just scream. A wonderful feeling of serenity. You have been enmeshed in your parents clutch for long enough and you mistook it for serving time.

Am not staging a revolution, am just saying discovery is fundamental and far from conventional. People do in their own way.

On Tuesday, Jay hits me up on my phone and tells me that they were moving to the block. At first am assailed but I act cool.

What you coming to do in my block, is your block on fire?

I inquired but Jay does not bother to explain to me.

Why do I need to explain? Are you the landlord? People are free to move in and out on their own damn time.

Jay must be saying but he definitely does not say it out loud because he needs my assistance. Not that I had any choice in the matter but I begin helping Jay to move in. That is when epiphany starts to dawn on me of the kind of expectations people have in a new life, that it will be nothing like the old. No more tag of wars inside you. In a new life the body feels to take a shower and the mind does precisely that.

A fresh kind of life like vegetables directly from the garden in a rainy season. Here a boyfriend bends to scrub the floor with you and does his own laundry. If he is smart and well-endowed with resources he will get you that washing machine itself and that scrubbing time can be used to watch a telenovella or something like that. He listens intently and reads your emotions avidly getting correct hints all along. The boyfriend can be eliminated from your life altogether in this life. Say alone, make your own money and buy yourself gifts. Feminists.

No more do you need to explain to anybody where you are going this weekend or why you got home late. You are your own person and in control of whatever happens to you and around you. Get a big car (bad investment) or save your new born paychecks that is you choice. The parents have done enough and perhaps a little too much. Mom will still call you every night but now here you are presented with the chance to ignore the call but you will not.

Sssssshhhhhh everyone shut up mom is calling I have to pick this, turn that music off.

Picks the call

Hi Mom… In fact am sleeping already can I call you tomorrow?

From an old life to a new life that ages fast to an old life all over again but like I said, I am not staging a revolution! Jay has been settling in since Tuesday. Moving out is a literal headache, I hope he finds my block, which is now our block, good enough. Of course he is my friend but I do not want him knocking on my door every now and then. My door is reserved for neighbors with new recipe outcomes in their hands and worse guys do not knock, they fist your door.

What’s taking you so long to open the door?

It is my door, I will get it whenever I want to or not, more like replying a Facebook message from a very distant relative. He happens to have liked all your Facebook photos and commented on most of your status and now messenger has a new message

Cousin you have grown handsome with time, I remember it like yesterday we used to change your diapers.

So you wonder whether to say thank you or ignore, but then you do not ignore family so you resolve to send a smiley face. I am not saying you should not like all my Facebook photos, in fact go to Instagram and like them too but do not make me hustle for words to reply to your message it is not cool. I know I used to put on diapers in the nineties but it is not a memory I am over anxious to revisit.

Meanwhile I will continue helping Jay to settle down showing him the Dos and Don’ts of my block like playing Davido’s music on those wanna-be Ampex home theatre woofers out loud. No body plays Davido’s music on my block, hear that Jay? Welcome to the block.

Happy 20th Birthday to Susan Njoki, I remember it like yesterday when you came to this world, so tiny, so pretty but now no longer tiny but so pretty. Have a blast.

The Writer:

Dennis Peters

Dennis Peters

3 thoughts on “Moving Out

  1. Pingback: Encounter with Afande | Dennis Peters

  2. Pingback: Men who do dishes | Dennis Peters

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