To Find a Point…

A story is told of a preacher whose church would best be described as a mobile one. He is never in one place for more than one week. His next location is never disclosed until the very last minute. But for some reason, his church (wherever it is during that week) is always full. No one has his photo, for there is a strict ‘No photography or videography allowed’ caution in all his sanctuaries. How strict is this? Should you attempt to record or take a photo, you will be found. Every single time. No one knows what happens to those who are found.

The preacher, it is said, does not walk to his pulpit. No. When the songs have been sung and there is just enough worship left in people for the gospel, he shows up. Just like that. One second he is not there and in the next, he is right in front of everyone. He also does not stay for more than ten seconds after his sermon, he disappears. Quite literally, it is said. It is also said that there is never a moment to collect offertory in his services, however during the service should you feel touched, you are allowed to throw your contribution on the floor of the church. No one knows who collects it, or even when, but it is how things are done. So it is said.

This story is an absurdity, but when narrated by Makena (a friend), it is a hilarious absurdity.

But that is not even the point of this post today.

Is there really a point though? I don’t think so. This is just a collection of random stories and thoughts that I have had in the past. Some were already draft posts; others were safely stored in my mind.

The other day I was listening to music while cleaning my house. You know random songs, allowing YouTube to do its thing. Then the song ‘The one that got away’ by Katy Perry blasted through and for the first time, I found myself listening to the lyrics. Well, not the whole song, but just a few lines.

The song took me back to when I was a young seventeen-year-old. I had just met the first guy who made my heart flutter. Fresh out of high school, our connection was instantaneous. We were drawn to each other, and our young love sparked like a wildfire. I still remember spending a blissful night at his house, laughing, and just bonding as with the siblings. It was an interesting one that one, because while we both didn’t acknowledge how our hearts flattered, we shared enough to know it was not unrequited. We talked about everything and nothing, never really thinking or allowing ourselves to dream beyond the then. I think even for our young age, we knew.

Ours ended as any normal friendship does. It has served its course. We both reached points in our lives when there wasn’t a flame, and it made no sense trying to rekindle it. We drifted apart. Once in a while I miss that friendship. It was so pure, no expectations. No drama. Just pure innocence and curiosity. Katy Pery’s lyrics seemed to echo our story, reminding us that sometimes, the timing just isn’t right.

You would think that is the point of this post again, but like I have mentioned before, if there is a point here, I hope you find it. I don’t think I have a point. I’m just writing things down.

As a writer, I often find solace in pouring my heart onto the pages of my stories. This would mean going back and forth in time and moments. When these tales intertwine with personal and present experiences, misunderstandings arise. But these are stories I have lived, and experienced, and sometimes I want to shout them from the rooftops, but I am not a loud person. So I write them, but then I become shy and end up sharing them months later or never. Oh how I wish you could see the many folders with random thoughts and stories on my OneDrive.

These stories hold fragments of my past, fragments of love, loss, and growth. They remind me that life is a tapestry of connections, and sometimes, the one that got away is simply a part of the symphony that shapes who we are.

This was me digressing. This is not even the point in this post. Anyway, we continue.

‘Full of thoughts of you.’

The other day I was doing absolutely nothing in the house when a friend sent me this message in response to a WhatsApp status. I usually don’t know how to respond to messages like these, so instead, I tried to shift the focus from me to anything else. We went on to talk about the evolution of friendship and in relation, ours. The conversation took a turn into how we met. Ghana.

Africa: My Home. My Future. This was the theme for a youth congress that took me to Ghana late last year. Starting from a myriad of colours, the beauty of Africa, the diversity, the congress was everything I expected it to be. The brightness, joy, hopefulness that was among us as we talked about our future as young people in Africa was immense. Great music, food, fashion, ideas, dreams, pain, joy, happiness, friendships, fun. Oh so much fun. This was Ghana.

I think I will talk about Ghana in more detail in another post. Each day was a whole story on its own.

Let’s wrap this up.

As I write my narratives, I continue to embrace the emotions and the melodies that resonate with my soul, cherishing the memories of those who have touched my heart, even if they ultimately slipped through my grasp. For it is through these encounters that I have discovered the true essence of love and life, in all its multifaceted forms.

And with each passing moment, I strive to create my own harmonious melody, knowing that somewhere in the cadence of life, my own love story awaits its perfect moment to unfold.

I guess I can say the point here is I needed to write something down. Just anything.

Next time, we’ll talk about a tall man with a guitar. Interesting story.

Until next time.