I sat in cool of the evening, chewing my roasted corn. I was more concerned with picking the seeds off the corn that I forgot to actually enjoy it. While I was caught in the reverie of the million questions I ask myself daily, my subconscious was tasked with the reflexive romance of the cob. I was in a quest to philosophically determine the most underrated thing in the world besides Mama’s slap, and nothing came to mind, until I checked my wristwatch to know ‘the time.’
Something we are aware that we are not aware of, yet aware that we should be aware of. They say time changes everything, and really it does. It comes off to me as a dictator, a just dictator: one that needs no arm of government or public opinion; one that does its job without compromise; one that is without emotion and is as nice as it is blunt. It is absolutely overt, yet it sneaks up on us and gets us almost every time.
We hate it so much yet want it just as much.
Regardless of how we see it, we are all married to time, a marriage with fully pronounced vows; for better or for worse.
Time holds the uncertainty of our thoughts and the crux of our nightmares: death, decay and decline. My friend Lanre was ignorant about his impending death. If only he knew the S10 with or without the pouch would mean little to him now.
Still, time gives us time, time enough to realise our purpose on earth, or so they say. Then you ask yourself about the children that end up being victims of circumstance, you ask what their purpose was. Perhaps, there is no fair share principle with time. Perhaps, it’s the orchestration of a higher power, same higher power which is the orthodox explanation for every natural phenomena.
Time is borrowed. The contract itself is vague, seeing that we do not know how much deficit there is. There is no guarantee. Time is what it is.