The Uyo breeze sashays into my nostrils, minty, and earthy. Beyonce Knowles Rise up blares from my black ear piece. Her soprano is like piano keys. Soft, crying, and moaning. I am typing my keyboard like a master pianist. Typing the keys with the music tunes. Softly. Shaking my head to the beats of the music. I am in an imaginary concert in front of the ocean. The wind blows my Afro like a flapping wrapper. My large hoops earrings dangling lightly from my ear holes. Dreamy. Closing my eyes to the call of her melody. This is how to fly-putting fears behind while knowing that somehow it would spring up. I have changed my office seat to the chagrin of my snooping boss. No more side looks at the screen of my laptop.
I like this new office seat. It is by the window. I hear the call of the wind. Soft. Pithy. Succinct. Crisp. Fleeting as it races with the speeding cars on the tarmac. This is how to fly- seeing the black block letters on the white background of MS WORD. Adjusting your pupils to follow the sideways dance of the letters, from line to line. I am breathing in terse puffs, knowing that today is the call of happiness.
I don’t like suits. That European burlap sack is death for me. It is Monday. This Monday like every other Mondays , I wear a kente cloth. The arms large and puffy like butterfly wings. Large, so large that my slim frame is lost in its envelope. This is how to fly- breaking normalcy and doing your own thing. Not twisting into desired shapes by the people around you is the budding of wings. Those tiny unseen fins of your personality.
This is how to fly- gathering your wings of flight and prepared to billow with the storms. Flying in altitudes not yet undertaken by an eagle. How to fly is being a bird, a bird not yet in existence. This is how to fly- smiling at time while going through life’s hot bellows.
This is how to fly- being forged by anger and not by fire.