LONESOME DREAMS - BELINDA

You see, the heart works in mysterious ways. It can be a hard nut to crack, then suddenly it is such a sponge cake, that anything can slice through. When hard, everyone wonders why. And when it goes soft, everyone makes you regret why. It sure gets lonesome this matter of the heart, yeah?

I love how the heart inks memories into time. The waft of laughter filling the air, the soft caress of the hands down the body in the heat of passion, or the time stamp that is good music. Good, in the sense that, the lyrics might not be so cool, but the tone is befitting of the moment which is being inked in to memory. Thus, you might be in a cab or bus, relaxing at home  or simply bumping away to it in your car or your stereo, and its memories come flooding over you.

It can be exciting and nostalgic when the memories bring that feel good drag, especially if you're in love, worst off, were in love. Oh, time and time again, I find a crop of people who use music as time stamps to a place, an event, an anniversary, a date, an occurence... something which must bring goosebumps over them. Good for them. But, it's not the same for those who once were in love, and are now heartbroken.

For, the nostalgia that comes with the waft of the same music, sweeps hate, anger and rage. You still love the song, but hate the memories that tail along. You're caught between the song you love so much, and memory you wished was binned already.

It can't get worse than that, as I've come to learn. You hate the memory with the song, then listen to it more, and begin to banish the memories away from the song, until your love for the song is rekindled. But, would you ever see the song in the same light?

Today bumped into Ojhey's "Belinda", and it brought nostalgia even though I was a first time listener. From the off, I knew  I would be making memories with the music. No wonder, while I lay in wait for strength to go bathe, my right eye kept tearing, because deep down, I knew "Belinda" was time stamp worthy, but would it be for good?

LONESOME DREAMS - I'LL FIX YOU

It is not uncommon to meet amazing women for whom your admiration and flirtations ache to run to, for a tango. You know.., those dashing damsels you keep wondering where they've been all that while, you were busy being encumbered with a lady, heavily yoked with emotional baggage. The one you're happy to have left, but have left you hurting so bad because you suddenly woke up to happiness deferred.

So, these damsels... you pick out similarities, and find places where they compliment you, but that's where it stops. Mentally, you are not seeing anything beyond there, so when the damsel begins to poke demands for commitment, you stutter, not because your life doesn't say "I'm ready", but because your emotional resource is spent, you are even guilty of not loving yourself enough.

Sadly, it is you who has lost something you can not replace. A word, a smirk, a smell, an action, a reaction or lack of it, brings you back to a time when you overlooked something because...you were already on overdrive. Like being overdosed on drugs till you run into coma and give up. Then every now and then, you meet people who bring their bitter luggage with them to the table — a flashback, and you flee.

You begin to ask yourself hard questions, like whether you are ever capable of love again, if you are ever going to trust someone else again, even though in truth, it is whether you can trust yourself to be vulnerable with another person again. Often times, it is very complicated for these hearts. As complicated as the governance architecture of Bosnia & Herzegovina.

I'm here, unbundling my favorite Coldplay  songs which are seemingly still laced with demons from times past, timestamps to an event, a quote, a happy or sad moment, the beginning or end of something, or the truth, that i really need fixing!

Lonesome Dreams - Let Her Go

You know how it's a freaking sunny day in March and you miss the rainy season; or on a wet day in September, you wished the dry season was upon you? Passenger's "Let Her Go" hits me with that feeling all the time. And the flashbacks are nostalgic enough to leave me in tears, barring whether they are for joy or sadness.

I remember them days when my only companions were my laptop and my phone. The laptop which saved me from insanity. She which filled my every moment with work, letting me caress her with ten all the time. She was petite and light, that she could pass for a damsel with a lithe frame. Easy to carry, with a lasting battery. And then the phone which connected me with the all-time love of my life, my momma. There were days when waking up in Monrovia amounted to self-hate. Like, why couldn't I just wake up to the aroma of mummy's akara or puff puff? And indeed like Passenger said, I hated the roads -- whenever I had to up and travel to work through the crevices and arteries of some of West Africa's pristine and uncharted forests, because I missed home.

There were days also, when the rains would not stop falling and I would first bask in the warmth of my bed, sneak out to the varenda with the lads to crack old wily jokes, listen to BBC works service, talk about Liberia and our various futures which were punctuated here and there with near misses and triumphs. Days of orange sunsets by the sea, brought caresses from the sands that washed up recaptives who came to colonize a people, termed barbarians by distant cousins who had tasted the bile and guile of America.

And so, when Passenger says "...know you love her when you let her go", I giggle at the prospects of returning to Monrovia soon, to bask in the beauty that are her beaches and the shenanigans that glorify her slums, business districts and her living quarters of Congotown, Old Road and the Red Lights of Paynesville. Oh, and of the times when I planned and thought I would fall in love with you all over again on the beach. Because, yeah, I admit it that now and then, I think of when we were together. When for reasons I can't explain now, we had undiluted banter, chatter and laughter. You weren't all bad afterall. And I wasn't a saint either. But to treat me like a stranger surely feels so rough. No?

I thought I loved you so much, because what I thought you were, would not let me breathe. And I was cool with intoxicating me with you.

Ah, I told myself you were right for me, but you screwed me over and I can't even count how many times you did that with whomever you chose for the ritual. But being in love with my idea of you, was such an ache, and I still remember. Now, I am addicted to a certain kind of sadness, one which reeks of how I let myself down, how I could have stopped us both from hurting as much as we did, and how I have built a high hedge.

Like I have always done when love gets sour, I build friendships or acquaintances. But, you cut me off. I really wanted us to make out like it never happened and that we were nothing; because we got to that point where we didn't need each others' love no more. Alas, you were eager to move on and heal that pain, by running to the same things which had brought hurt in the first place. Now, you're just somebody that I used to know.

But, I know that in letting you go, I love you enough. Enough to let you find what brings you happyness. Sail on, I've gotta catch up with Monrovia now!