What is Wrong with this World?

I was inside a busy coffeeshop, in the recliner, when a woman cried, “Oh, the world isn’t natural! It’s a cage.”
The man to whom she talked gulped coffee, while I coughed, and wiped my mouth with the white handkerchief.
The man glanced at me, “But what is the world doing to you, mom?”
“I hate these Feminist Theories.”

What instantly prompted me to cogitate were dog-eared Feminist Novels I read 30 years back, in High School, which were written out of anger due to what our ancient culture held, against women, that, ‘when a man offers his opinion, he’s a man. When a woman offers her’s, she’s a bitch.’

The man wiped his mouth with the brown handkerchief, dropped it down beside his brown breadtray, and listened to her.
“Someone said feminism is the radical notion that women are human beings, although it’s highly beyond that. I can only believe Gloria Stein, who said, a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.”
“Most women that benefit those lucky theories are preponderantly lesbians.”
“They are, but they still need husbands, because the society cackles at them, that, if they are good enough, men would have become crazy. These days many places of work also make things rare by preferring married women to all those flashy girls out there.”
“They practice this for security purpose, and for gaining high respect from their clients.”
“Including Banks?”

The coffee man now intruded,
“These days, mom, most guys are gay like me, while women are running the world, and You don’t have to feel depressed. But why are you?”
“Please, don’t call me mom. Shit! Do I have any child to deserve this? I thought guys would go gaga for me after my university, but I reach 30s, 40s and, now, 50s…”
“You can’t get anyone to date, woman, if you’re looking for the specific.”
“I hate this! I’d rather commit suicide than to scout for a man.
This, her sudden outburst, made me apathetic.

Women were in trouble!
This predicament had sprouted out dated early 16 century when French women began holding Salons where educated women could interact equally with men. And in the 18 century, women began fighting harder to attain equal rights.
The word feminism came to the United States from France in 1910, and the Feminist Movement started off from suffrage-oriented Groups after U.S. Women were granted the right to vote under the 19th Amendment in 1920.

So going out, I saw a lot of guys doing nothing having got well paid by their wives who were using their names; going from one coffeeshop to the other, from one bar to the other, from one country to the other, up to continents.

Advertisements

Coming Home

‘Where is your real home? Do you believe you have a permanent home?’ an old man asked his grand-son.

‘I believe I have a permanent home, Kaka’, Karma, replied.

‘Where is it?’

‘Here.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it is where my father is born, where his father owns.’

The grand-father chewed his coalanut for a minute, and asked, ‘Why if your grand-father has nothing, living in a rented house?

Karma confused and scratched his head. Then he replied,
‘That house will remain as a temporary home.’

The old man laughed and chewed his coalanut.
‘If you don’t know something’, he said, ‘just say you don’t know, but don’t show your ignorance by searching for luck.’

The boy nodded.

‘Your people, not only your parents or siblings, even trusted friends are your home. Once you meet them, you are at your real home, because you trust in only them, and feel happy whenever you are with them. But your permanent home is death!’

‘Death? Kaka’ Karma asked frighteningly.

‘Yes, your permanent home is death. Where Osama and Sadam Husein are right now. They will never return.’

Link

I fought Stress with my Limbs

Miss Glassgod was my Facebook friend for a year, before she liked to witness my face which she admitted was a fervently masculine ilk.
She came from Halifax with her white cat, and said Halifax was forever watching the sea.
She shared me dozens of messages on how to cope with stress, including breathe in deeply and out. This could also, she added, fight lugubriousness.
I told Glassgod one day I had fought stress with my limbs, and she didn’t laugh, she sent me a sad character-you-don’t-appreciate-my-effort, my care for you, dude.

I remembered Glassgod was saying nothing attracted her than my blue profile picture on Facebook on which I was on a rock, watching the city of the Blackworld.
One night, on a desktop, I wrote her, ‘Send me your picture you picked in a blueroom.’
‘Please, gimme two days’, she replied,
‘What!’
‘Kwat?’
I shut down my desktop, and went to bed.

-Maren John Mafuyai