I wanted to give my mom a home, one befitting of her love and kindness, one that would resonate her love and generosity one not made of cheap bricks of clay
A home where no rent is paid cause she is the landlady, one that exude class and comfort at any given time of the day
A home whose roof isn't made with thatch and bamboo that is soon to be ready to tinder or poorly baked bricks whose cracks offer shelter to lizards and rodents as they grow older
I wanted to give my dad a house made only of the finest stones and building materials
One whose landscape when you see will take your breath away and with it's exquisite recreational area

I worked hard to make and save money. I toiled and toiled oblivious to when the nights turned to day
So the best architects for the plan and sketches upfront I'd pay, survey and purchase a piece of land without delay

The foundation was laid, the harder I worked the faster I watched as the builders beautifully the edifice raised
And when I took my mom one day so see the level of progress we had made, she wouldn't stop showering me with thanks and praise
For the hard work and struggled I had put in to see
A house so beautiful a home to them was soon to be

I smiled as I inspected the furnished house as I proudly said to myself surely "This would make the best home yet for mom and dad"

Sweetly I slept until a loud noise startled me as I was awakened to the sound of sophisticated guns and bombs
I feared for my life as I clutched my knees with my arms trembling, my eyes closed, too scared to pray
The uproar was replaced with a disturbing silence as morning came and still petrified by fear I knew I had to go check the place where the house I built for my parents stood even though my life I knew I would be risking. Well, if I didn't I'm certain curiosity would have killed me either way.
So I ran out and called out to an "Okada"
He asked where I was heading to and I said Farin Gada
"Farin Gada, yarinya? Ba ki jin tsoron rain ki?" He queried in Hausa
So I explained to him that indeed I feared for my life but just needed to check the new high rising estate around that area if it was lucky enough to go unscathed.
He stared at me with worry in his eyes and motioned that I hop on his bike.
It was still very early when I got there and I jumped off his bike before he even stopped it's engine and ran to the place where the newly built house once stood like a maniac looking around, wondering if maybe I had forgotten the address to the place I had visited regularly in the last two years or if someone had moved it to a more secure location for me. I broke down. My eyes rained as my voice thundered through the rubble.
"Tashi in Kai ki gida" I heard the Okada man call out in Hausa. "Is no sape por this flace yi hakuri"
Reluctantly I got up moving slowly through the remains of my parents newly demolished home staring back at the place even as we rode away. The place I invested years of hardwork in order to see my loved ones lay in comfort as they stay "secured".
I broke down again when I tried to tell mom and dad the news and all my dad said as he tapped my back softly was, "hmmm... Mu Seyil Nen Rit, for it could have been worse but for God"
I had a lot to say but I was tongue tied. Our rent was due the next month with no certainty of a means to raise the money to pay up cause we had finished "our own house" and I had resigned from my place of work to run the supermarket I had opened beside the new edifice.
We had stocked the house with provisions and resources that won't run dry for months to come, everything was smooth and perfect until the terrorists attacked..
We were back at zero with no deed or title to our family name.
I was back to sharing the toilet with the other room and our guests and had to share the compound with our lousy neighbor who claims to be a "Pastor"
Mom's warm and gentle arms jolted me back to reality as she held me and said " we appreciate the time, resources, love and effort you put into this project" I cried out and said " it wasn't just a mere project mama, it was your home! A token of my gratitude for your love and selflessness and all the sacrifices you and dad made to make me what I have become"
I heard her sigh as she lifted up my face so I'd look into her eyes as she gently whispered to me"home isn't where bur who" a home isn't broken by plenty or lack, rumors or wars...
So baby do you know who my home is?"
I shook my head side to side as she continued, "it is you, your dad, your siblings, my grandchildren and all whom I have come to love.
I frowned, a little confused with some many questions running through my mind then she kissed my forehead and said "Ritjimwa, Home isn't a place where your heart leaves even when your feet does; Home is where the heart is and my home, is right here in your heart...
26022014
17:45
r3d

Washingtonians, this Wednesday afternoon, come to the Starbucks on 1600 K Street to become acquainted with some young, interesting, average income level Asian American guys and gals. Instead of meeting Asian American doctors, lawyers, and consultants, you’ll meet Dr. Dre copycats, alcoholic paralegals, and T-Mobile wireless salespeople.

These guys and gals are looking to meet new friends that include: white, black, Hispanic, or any other race of people, just as long as you aren’t a F.O.B. Because after all, they don’t want to perpetuate the stereotype that Asians only hang out with other Asians. Just kidding, we love our F.O.B brothers and sisters! But **** stereotypes.

If you are a Washingtonian who likes drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana, stop by and make a new Asian American friend who will provide mixers and match you on a blunt. Please, do not ask these guys and gals for college study notes for Math or Bio, because all of them have dropped out of college to pursue their artistic passions, like: writing a novel about having a white group of friends and being the token who reads Tolkien and likes Toking; playing electric guitar in a grunge, punk, post-emo garage band with your black buddies who like Fugazi and bad brains but ******* hate Green day for selling out; and drawing sketches and painting portraits of the half-Asian girl you’re dating on a wide canvass, but really you’re secretly into selfies and taking photos of breakfast on Instagram.

We don’t discriminate against the kind of alcohol you drink, whether it be wine, beer, or liquor—within reason please don’t bring Franzia or Rolling rock, this isn’t college anymore. Yes, we get it, you’re highly considering attending this group because you’re a huge Haruki Murakami fan and you’re wondering two questions: are our Japanese American patrons also huge fans of the author, and do our patrons behave in a similar fashion to Murakami’s characters like Toru Watanabe and Toru Okada?

First, our Japanese American patrons are huge fans of Murakami and they own books like Sputnik Sweetheart and The Windup Bird Chronicle, but they also think the author often is obsessed with Western culture, in a way that possibly, and seriously possibly transforms him into a Brett Easton Ellis derivative based on Ellis’s American ****** and Glamorama.

Second, no these particular patrons do not behave like Murakami’s characters, because they’re real, living, breathing human beings, and not some fantasy figure or made-up person! But enough of the rant, please come though and let’s have conversations about jazz and talking cats.

While we respect Asian American actors like Ken Jeong and Randall Park, we really aren’t interested in having a lengthy dialogue about The Hangover’s Asian **** scene, or how Park was kinda offensively funny in The Interview. Although Park is awesome in Fresh Off The boat! All we really want is to just drink jack and cokes and smoke Marlboro lights and have conversations about the latest trends in indie rock and Hip Hop culture, and whether Citizen Kane was better than Casablanca, or vice versa.

At the meeting, we will have our guest speaker Jeremy Lin’s college roommate George Park answer questions about Lin, as well as a special appearance by Steve Yuen’s ex-girlfriend Marcy Abernathy who will give us an inside scoop to Yuen’s fetishes as well as his quirky habits. We will also be providing free snacks like LSD Pho noodle soup and Marijuana Mochi ice-cream. On a serious note, we’ll be giving out guilt-free Twinkies.

Before you arrive at the Starbucks, you’ll be getting a name tag and a free A.A.A T-shirt that wasn’t made by little children from China; instead, the shirts are made by Ronald Mai, our aspiring fashion designer whose twitter handle is @thatsmyshirtwhiteman! If you’re interested in coming out to the group our first meeting is this Wednesday at 6 p.m.

Leave your apprehension at the door and walk in with a warm smile, as you’re greeted by an expressionless face. And phoreal if your car is messed up and you require a ride, please call A.A.A’s number at (202) 576-2AAA (we know we’re phunny). Hope to see you there, and if you don’t come, you’re a ******* racist! But seriously come out and meet some cool *** people.

When I was eight I dream of becoming a medical doctor ,but I know those okada's riders had the same dream ,what resist them from not being?destiny !!

When I was fourteen, I intended to be a certified lawyer even SAN ,but I know those vulcanizers think more than I did ,why are they pumping tires by the sides of the road ? my mind says it is handwork of destiny.

When I was eighteen I had the mindset of becoming an accountant, but what of those that are living under bridge,have they not before think of the same thing ,my brain whispered into my ear and told me it's destiny .

When I was twenty I wished I become a lecturer, even professor,but the dead bodies told me they planned more than that, is this one their destinies too ?

I fought with the angels I mess with the devils, are you the one doing this, But the supreme being tells me he knows how everything went and how everything will be going to be, till the tomorrow of tomorrows.

I am the sonnet
        ©2019