Dear Diary: Nuptial Cogitation

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Dear Diary,

This is my first time of writing a piece of my mind to you right here, and I seriously hope this continues. I’m attempting to share thoughts through writing—or ranting, in similar word—to a John Doe that listens, or another version of Señor Joe in the alternate universe. Hopefully you will be of a better persona and have less propensity of becoming bald.

I can read through some thought processes right now bent on unofficially proclaiming me as a sexist, so please diary, feel free to be transgender. You can be a she, a Jane Doe, or a Señorita Josephine as the situation demands. I’ll remain myself.

Now to my very first.

The paradigm of marriage perplexes me. First time I listened to ‘Iyawo Mi’ by Timi Dakolo I was only drawn by the voice, rhythm, and other cool stuffs except the lyrics. Over time I got to listen properly to the content (great song that should may attract the adjective ‘evergreen’ from the sound of it), and my reflection shifted into gears.

Heaven and earth were promised his sweetheart (his newly wedded wife inspired the song, almost obviously. I think he confirmed that) and that got me thinking. Within a short time you leave your family/siblings with whom you’ve over what seems like ages shared lots, especially the most sacred of all connections—blood. You choose a woman, an hitherto complete stranger (from a very objective perspective) from across a distance, country or continent, and she eventually becomes your wife and dear; your closest and newest favourite.

She does the same to her family and starts a new life with you; an entire entirety under the umbrella of marriage. I’m not incestuous, neither am I advocating it. . . this is just a flummoxed bloke writing out his mind.

It is what I call necessary handing over, from the perspective of the erstwhile family of course. Ask the wife and husband’s parents and siblings and you will have a better grasp of what I mean. Little wonder many mother-in-laws in our very own nollywood—and typical realitywood—expands like fluted pumpkin and bloats like the amazon mega-frogs, becoming auto-rivals with the new ma’am that has the cookie. After all, she (new wife) was never there nor partook in the trouble when Le Boo spent nine months—or more, in the case of some special bigheads—in the womb forming as the to-be desired man, wet bed with urine shamelessly even till age ten, broke a leg or got hit by a near-death sickness. . . and a host of many troubles he put the family through.

In case you’ve taken my advice already, assuming a feminine existence at the moment and fanning the embers of activism in favour of the Jane species, I want you to understand that I can as well write the same for the wife, though I can do it better from the angle of the Le Boo, being a man and an aspiring husband myself.

As a religious individual marriage is, inter alia, purposeful union, obedience to the grand commandment; a convenient corroboration of the idea of a biologist: regeneration or procreation. To the chemist, an apt reaction—which I’d like to be (near) irreversible—of their choosing would fit. To the category I’m yet to brand a nomenclature, it is testing new waters; actualising fantasies; exploring sexuality; unrestricted experimenting with things. . . intimate things that birth the idea of the biologist. Please decrypt ‘waters’ your own way.

In case you’re wondering where this is actually leading to, don’t bother yourself about it. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere or add to the body of knowledge like some undergraduate thesis, I am just maniacally bewildered and letting it out.

If you’re satisfied with that, PLEASE stop here. If you however insist, it’s your call. The consequences will be borne by you. I’ll put the rest to you in the words of Hon. Patrick.

I’ll simply say, prestissimo (that is, as quickly as possible), that the marital crinkum-crankum, or if you like, the nuptial higgy-hagger, that has enveloped my mind for a period of aeon now, has all the trappings of an odoriferous saga cum gargantuan gaga.

This is because all the flashpoints of my preoccupation, that has transmogrified into bringing about a calamitous end, always have their fons et origo (the source of origin that is) in an adiabatic furore. I can see the ship of my cogitation hovering around the figurative Bermuda triangle, and if urgent and necessary steps are not taken, it has all the capacities and possibilities of berthing in a pestilential aqua. It is therefore crystal clear, like the biblical MENE MENE TEKEL UPHARSIN; audible to the deaf and visible to the blind, and thus leaves me with two conclusions:

1) The fons et origo of this topic is deep, and if not properly handled could lead me to a catastrophic caledomine—still bomb. Stop, I must.

2) This cachestomoboplutocratic contemplation changes nothing. It is therefore not a gesture of belligerence to result to no symposium, and without tension arrive at a conclusion that matrimony is fundamental and incontrovertibly germane, regardless of the non-egalitarian side turned to some microscopic, or if you like, macroscopic concerned Homo sapiens.

I know. I have not communicated. But I warned you. And I’m very satisfied.

I am @jossef69 on twitter

Adewoyin Joseph A.

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12 thoughts on “Dear Diary: Nuptial Cogitation

    HARD VOICES said:
    July 17, 2014 at 8:53 am

    Happy to be the first to comment on ur first diary post! I understand your fear about not sustaining it. It is normal, u feel the fear because you are human, you will continue the posts because you are writer.

    Great post u have written my good friend. But if u must be Jane and John in the same breath, oga, consult ur transplant doctor.

    Like

      Adewoyin Joseph responded:
      July 17, 2014 at 9:13 am

      I’m elated having you here, you read my mind through and through. Thanks for the encouragement.

      Funny enough, the only transplant Doctor I know is my imagination. . . but I’m having the feeling that my help has finally arrived. Yes you! 🙂

      Chief, I appreciate the comment.

      Like

    Sandra said:
    July 17, 2014 at 9:29 am

    This grammar mehnnnn…still thinking! Jo how cum am just noticing d grammarian in U?

    Like

      Adewoyin Joseph responded:
      July 17, 2014 at 10:05 am

      Babe, I was erm… (what are the words now o), habatically cocooned too. Let’s blame the honourable, not me. 🙂

      Thanks Sandie.

      Like

    Walt Shakes said:
    July 17, 2014 at 9:49 am

    Truthfully I’m not even a fan of the institution of marriage.

    Like

      Adewoyin Joseph responded:
      July 17, 2014 at 10:31 am

      Hehehehe. Now I’m officially shocked. Petrified. LOL.

      Thanks Sir Walter.

      Like

    atinuke said:
    July 17, 2014 at 9:49 am

    Whew! Oops!! Chai!!!…what other exclamation again o?…..Ogaju!. At first,I was thinkin I was going to see a wedding invite at the end of the write-up BUT…………anyways,dis article got me pondering on the ‘leaving-the-families’ aspect,hmm Dairis God. Senor Joe! those oyinbos though,na very ghenghencious somthin. Eku ise opolo o. Hoping to get dat invite soonest o.

    Like

      Adewoyin Joseph responded:
      July 17, 2014 at 10:35 am

      LOL. You should try ‘yee-paripa!’

      The invite will sure pop up soon. . . or later, depending on your speed of providing the bride, and a robust means of taking care of her. E ti get? 🙂

      Thanks a lot ma’am.

      Like

    Yemie said:
    July 17, 2014 at 11:46 am

    OHK! This is gonna be a very long day! *yawns* #draws seat in true Senor Joe fashion# Senor, I take it you’re in a rare form, yes?! #scoops a spoonful of hot Akamu into mouth, then launches into rants of my own# What’s this?! What were you thinking?! Who does this?! What does ‘this’ even mean?! Yeah I saw the disclaimer, and so bloody what?! *takes a chill pill and calms down*. I’m done with my ramblings and demonstrations! *eyelashes* LMAO

    Now, back to the matter! Well, marriage takes a lotta getting used to but once you invite The One who instituted it into yours, He’d make it alright and smooth sailing. Time and experience has taught me the ropes of this divine calling and I’m still pretty much learning new things each and everyday. I’m a work in progress! Plus, its a very beautiful thing too, so quit worrying already lest your bad hair days will be so much so that you might just end up totally bald before you attain the age of 30. Oops! That didn’t come out right, or did it?! *shrugs* LOOL.

    Like

      Adewoyin Joseph responded:
      July 17, 2014 at 3:28 pm

      Chai! LOL.

      From the moment I saw Akamu I knew it’s not gon’ be about my anathema alone. Thank God I’m not bald. Yet. *rme*

      Well, I’m sure you had your reservations before you started sailing proper. This then, must be the pre-sailing moment. I know it’ll be beautiful. . . plus I’ll tap from your well of experience, ceteris paribus. I have no phobia for it (before Ms right will come and go and pick madt race now), I’m just “maniacally bewildered” by it’s nature.

      Thanks ma’am. And yes, I forgive you. *rubs fine head*

      Like

    Heedriz Depearl said:
    July 18, 2014 at 8:57 pm

    Wheew. This is outrightly a tough act to follow. Uhmm, marriage? Well, I’m outta my depths here but I’m sure when we get to that river, we’ll all make a bridge and cross over. With the help of the supreme being of course. The idea of “testing new waters” is cool though, especially as you get to do it legally ;). Anyways, I still need to read this again.

    Like

      Adewoyin Joseph responded:
      July 18, 2014 at 10:50 pm

      I think we just found the best person to give us the elusive nomenclature to the last category, seeing that someone would love to test new waters. Test new waters legally I mean. I seriously hope you’ll explain what waters mean though. LOL

      Building that long bridge over the “pestilential aqua” is definitely inevitable. And like you’ve implied, there’s no better Julius Berger than the Most Gracious Himself; building lives way before 1905.

      Now I’m wondering why the chief wants to read again. Should we blame Monsieur Patrick or the scribbler? I vote the former. 🙂

      Thanks a lot!

      Like

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