Pages from my diary


I meant the suspense is too much… I want to read all of the story…


Due to popular demand, the concluding parts of this series would be available soon…


Yaaay :dancer::dancer:


Please continue it




We’re waiting o…


Natsu committed suicide the day the flower died. She was thirty five. I found out from the language exchange platform. A friend posted a requiem on her behalf.
We have been talking for a while, then she suddenly went radio silent.
I thought her phone service was cut off. She had eventually ask me to help her.
She texted me in the middle of the night.
“You asleep I know. I still feel bad. my feeling not change. Not good. no one can help me"
In the morning I replied " I know. I am sorry. I wish I know how to help you”
"I know you despise me. She said. “I talk only you about this talking. I can’t talk to my friends. I know they will despise me. Maybe you too. ”
It was increasingly difficult to understand her.
I said “despise you? For what? I don’t despise you. You are my friend. I am just asking what kind of help you need”
“today I thought too much . Got headache. I cannot live. Worst of my life.” She said.
“you should not think too much natsu. Too much worry would only make you sick and sad but not change anything. When you overcome it would make you stronger.” my response sounded like a cliche.
“But I don’t know what I should do. I am so bad. I told my friend. She blame me and she don’t help me.”
“Another friend?”
“Yes” she said.
“First I feel you need to get a job” I said.
“I know that already.” She said. I could feel her exasperation. “ you don’t understand. I went to find job two companies but not soon get. I would go next but I have to pay for credit card. municipal tax, insurance, phone bill. So I worst.
You hate me. I know. I’m in very big trouble.”
Like a flash of insight, I felt the urgency of her need. It reminded me of my friend in California. How he was always so tense at the end of each month.
The struggle is the same every where I thought.
“ Sorry too many talking. Because I have only three days to pay. I was thinking way that I would not harm you I do not bother you. Because I do not want to break our friendship. But I have no way. today I ask to mum and help me but she didn’t hear me and mad at me. My dad too. So for me there is only you who I trust. Trust? rely. thinking too much and cry… I am sorry. I don’t know what I have to do. Is it bad that I help my friend and people not?”
“Like how much would you need?” I asked.
“80,000 yen” she replied.
I thought the abortion must be pretty expensive.
I decide I would give her half of it But I didn’t tell her that. Instead I said “I see” and left it at that.


Committed suicide??? Kilode…

Bet why???


I meant to continue the conversation later on but the day took its toll and I did not. I got home late and crashed like a log. I woke up briefly in the middle of the night. I got a message from her that simple said “bye”.
I knew what it meant. My delayed response has made her self conscious.
I started to type a message but I dozed off while composing it.
In the morning I received my last message from her.
“You can’t understand me forever. That is good. People don’t help other people. Everyone same. I thought you are different but finally you same. Maybe you think about me crazy Japanese got trouble ownself. You same.”
Her words stung and I quickly defended my position.
“What are you talking about Natsu, I have already promised to help you. Now you are making me rethink. Sometimes I don’t understand you but I am patient because I think it is our language barrier so I try and understand. It does not matter what you think of me. If you think me good or bad person. I already promised to help you and I will. But if you keep doing this you are going to push me away.”
My messages did not deliver. None ever did again. In hindsight I realized that delayed action is no action. But the inactivity in itself is an action. A choice to put off what should be done immediately. Even though I resolved to give her 40,000 yen I did not communicate this to her when she was all ears. I did not know why I didn’t. I understood the imminence of her need. There was no language confusion about that yet I stalled. What was it with me? Ego? Pride? reluctance? I couldn’t place it.
So I sent more messages; telling how much I would give her, apologizing for my untimely response. That she is neither hated nor despised.
But none delivered. She has gone dark on me. Forever.


Uhnnn. This is deep and sad. Why do they go into depression so easily?.. These white folks. I thank God for this black hustling spirit in me o.


As in ehn, these white folks get depressed over the slightest little thing.Thank God for the resilient spirit every Nigeria’s got.


I hope she didn’t commit suicide…?


Hope ke? Abi we should buy you glasses ni? :stuck_out_tongue_winking_eye:





Strange as it is, most of the asian countries regard suicide as a virtuous act and it is often considered as one of the various alternative solution to a problem.




The woman struggled with the two police men as they dragged her violently towards the Black Maria parked in a corner down the road. She was crying and screaming “oga I beg. ejo, ejo. i beg you sir.” it was at Ojota. She had crossed the highway without using the overhead bridge. A squad of mobile policemen has been stealthily catching errant pedestrians all morning. People gathered to watch the scene.

I had my phone out and was recording the event when a voice from the crowd said "that MOPO don see you. He de come. Run! Run!"
Without thinking I put the phone in my pocket and began to make my way through the crowd. I saw the figure of a police approaching me and I thought “Oh my God!” And began to run.

It felt like a dramatic stage reversal. A spectator that suddenly becomes the main actor. My senses were that of an out of body experience. I saw myself discarding my backpack as I increased speed, The policeman in hot pursuit behind me. I saw People parting as I ran along the curb, jumping over stalls and knocking sales goods all over the floor. I saw my sandal fly off my left foot and that it was bleeding. And all along I was thinking "No no no. This cannot be happening!"
I ran towards the entrance of an office complex. The security guard Saw the MOPO behind me and swiftly shut the gate.
I turned around and let him catch up to me. I was breathing heavily. “So you be jackie chan abi?” He shouted and gave me a resounding slap followed by a kick in the leg. I lost my balance and fell hitting the back of my head on the cement. Even my disembodied self was disoriented and saw the stars.
“oya give me the phone!” He said.
I gave him the phone.

Everything was happening in slow motion like a scene from a dream. I couldn’t believe it.
I was suppose to be on my way to Akure to spend time with a Friend recuperating from Rectal surgery. I have been looking forward to the journey. In my bag I had books and movies I wanted to share with him and copies of my latest poems for him to critique. now I am being led towards the Black Maria and I struggled like the woman.
Like the many faces in the crowd, I saw myself from a distance kicking and screaming. "I am a citizen of this country. I have done nothing. I am a Nigerian! I am not a criminal!"
The other mobile policemen joined in reeling me in forcefully. Like jaws, The iron doors of the van opened and I was shoved into its belly.


Another story???


Yes another story. Abi you don’t like?


@Bobo Wehdone sir! Sorry to burst your bubble. Took quite some time to figure you’re our storyteller.

BTW, do you write the stories yourself or cull them from somewhere 'cause they are really nice