Walking without company is always the most boring thing ever. Climbing with company is the most riskiest venture ever, because every man is his own support. You don’t have to put your lifeline on someone’s. I am flighty and dreamy. I see one thing and it fascinates me, the next moment I am in love with something else. Father says that I am still a child and I will only stop acting like one when I am twenty. He says it is because of the way I am restless; every time my eyes rove to find something and every moment my hands itch to touch something. The crone who sells by my hostel gate says it’s because I am searching for something,  which appears to be missing and it is happening because I haven’t walked this earth. But my exes say a different thing; they say my emotions are fleeting and they don’t stay in a place. They say it is because I am always searching for love.

Now I am saddled with a job, a boring job it is. I just climb the windy staircase to the top floor everyday, sit long hours on a black foamy chair and type my finger muscles away on my laptop. It vexes me more because my nose perceives against its will; lifting up my nostrils like a lamb sniffing its mother’s breast— I do that everyday because my boss has an insecticide for perfume. Sometimes it smells like maggi, other times it smells like a carton of insecticides. I don’t know if he uses maggi cubes to make his own perfume.

I hate writing topics about ICT and Social Media. I hate it when my boss snoops on my laptop screen. It is boring because I can’t feel the pearly rains on my skins. I can’t feel the winds blow. I can’t see people’s faces. I hate this job but I cling to it.

I have dreams of being rich, not necessarily rich with money but with people. Maya says that the greatest legacy you will ever leave is the life you’ve touched. I want to touch lives. I want to love. I want to hurt if I can. I want to cry, we can’t dodge that part as humans. I want to laugh. I want to help someone up.

Most times these dreams are epiphanies. Sometimes it appears as if I am walking into some dead end, without knowing where to stop or turn. It makes me cry— I cry, muffling my sobs with my people. The tears often flow sidewards because I lie down to cry. These dreams keep me awake, making my heart thump in anticipation for the morrow. But Farrell says I should be happy and not worry.

I want to walk this walk with people by my sides. I don’t care if the road is long but it won’t appear that boring if we chattered and laughed as we walked. I have searched for strange beautiful things in corners but I find it in places I least expected. I have searched for stories on the faces of people I see everyday, some amuse me and some make me sad, others send me on flights of thrifty imaginations; making me wonder the why, who, where, what, and how.

I want to walk this earth with my two feet,  and my hands holding tightly onto Abasi Enyong. I am collecting these memories into a pouch slung across my heart. I want to walk this earth, climbing hills and crossing rivers. But I dare not linger for my walk as just begun. I will climb some hills with humility but I will climb others with rudeness. But then I need to have the strength of being soft and strong, of silence and talking. I will not grow weary. Even though I will, I shall not stop until my climb is made, for around me are people who want to hold my hands to make this walk. And if I don’t put out my feet to walk, they will only be dragging me along.

One day I will walk this earth and my stories will need not be told, for these lines across my face will tell the stories. One day I will walk this earth and walk and walk. And I shall find what I seek. One day I will, I will walk this earth.

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