Sprawled across my chest

As I kiss your dark chocolate skin—sweet as Dawa

Kwaheri, kwa nini?

Do I have to go?

Pole pole

Our tongues intertwine

Our limbs entwined

Our chemistry, sublime

Kwaheri, kwa nini?

Do I have to go?

Sasa, Poa

Poa, Sana

Your tongue slips into mine

Its rhythm—divine

I’ll unravel you in your mother’s tongue

We just need… time

Kwaheri, kwa nini?

Do I have to go?

Alarms go off

The cleaner’s at the door

This isn’t enough

Nairobi, I need more

kwa nini? kwa nini?

Do I really have to go?

Bonus

• Song of the day - Longer by Zawadi Mukami

He dillies, he dallies, but eventually the page scrolls no further.

He right clicks on a dark alley between two documents and a menu unfolds. The cursor turns into a pointer as his wrist slopes downwards.

Click.

A new tab opens: Untitled document. He stares blankly into the blinding white screen as the cursor blinks continuously, as if to say: Well, what now?

Eyes locked on the screen, back straight and motionless; Palms splayed on keys, fingers up and hovering.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

He hears the cursor now, but its timbre slowly morphs into something else.

Blink. Blik. Tik…

Tik. Tok.

It was as though the clock was mocking her, -20 degrees and yet sweat trickled down the side of her face. Her underarm uncomfortably moist and her fingers stiff as she rapidly worked her phone. It was the fifth Uber that had canceled on her.

It had snowed the day before, and so the city was covered in heaps of white with very little light and the winds wouldn’t let up. The city usually peaked with noise at this hour, but now it almost felt ghostly. The sounds of sirens, car horns and the distant shouts of road rage, were now replaced by the whistling sounds of wind. She pressed forward on foot—eyes squinted, fists balled, and forehead threatening to split in two from the cold—hoping against all odds to catch the one-one-four.

Why now? Why her? These and other thoughts stirred in her mind as mounds of snow crushed beneath her feet. She almost ran into a man walking east, only swaying at the very last minute, contorting her body awkwardly so she was only on her right foot as their coats barely grazed each other. Eventually she regained her balance and pressed forward.

At the bus shelter her shoulders relaxed a bit. There was no heat, but the glass frame shielded her from the harsh wind and the relentless snow. Her mind raced as her feet paced, but all she could do was wait.

Motionless his fingers are again, as the cursor continues to taunt him.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Random Notes:

• A few weeks ago I stumbled onto a podcast that goes into the lore of Fela—Fela Kuti: Fear No Man. It’s definitely worth a listen.

• And because the universe can be persuasive a-times, I came across a really cool graphic novel that compliments this perfectly—FELA: MUSIC IS THE WEAPON.

On Love

“What is love?” — Emma, age 6:

On Intimacy & Connection

When someone asks, “How are you doing?” and you respond with, “Oh, I’m good!” but the truth is that you are not good at that moment, you will inevitably feel lonely. This discomfort arises from a lack of genuine connection and intimacy. There are many ways people react to feeling lonely, but there are two primary responses I observe among the men I work with: A) Isolate/Withdraw and B) Achieve/Perform.

I have also come to believe that my loneliness is a sacred experience, not something I need to evade or ignore. Instead, it can be an invitation to move closer to connection and intimacy within the presence of safe others—an experience that can be difficult to articulate. I wish for that same deep connection for you and for the men in your life.

Think about who in your life could benefit from a deeper conversation, a shared moment of vulnerability, or even just a simple check-in. There is profound strength in opening up, both for you and for those in your circle, as it fosters a sense of belonging that we all crave.

There’s an Epidemic Among Men

On Self-Discovery & Identity

“The things you think about determine the quality of your mind,” said Marcus Aurelius. “Your soul takes on the color of your thoughts.”

How to Live a Quite Life, in 2025

One of the hardest things to admit is that we are sometimes addicted to suffering that feels familiar. That we prefer the ache we know to the freedom we don’t.

Why We Stay in Rooms We Should Leave

If you don’t spend enough time getting to know yourself, you’ll end up absorbing everyone else’s definition of you.

So, I’m asking you, right here and now: When was the last time you spent time getting to know yourself? When was the last time you asked yourself, “What do I really want? What makes me happy? What do I believe in?”

If you don’t have the answers yet, that’s okay. But start asking. Start paying attention to the things that light you up and the things that drain you. Start saying no to what doesn’t feel right, even if it disappoints others. Start saying yes to the parts of yourself you’ve ignored for too long.

if you don’t spend enough time getting to know yourself, you’ll end up absorbing everyone else’s definition of you

On Becoming

A man achieves happiness in life by delivering on his responsibilities. You have no idea how important this one thing will be to your mental health, your sense of self-worth, your relationships, and your ability to find meaning and purpose in your life.

I’m talking about your responsibilities to your family, your colleagues, your teammates, your friends, your communities and groups, your country—and even to total strangers. (Yes, you have responsibilities to them, too.)

But above all I’m talking about your responsibility to yourself. And when I say you owe something to yourself, I mean your higher image of who you should be.

How James Bond Can Fix the Crisis in Masculinity

Courage without kindness is arrogance. But kindness without courage is appeasement… and appeasement, dressed up as virtue, is the fastest way to become unrecognizable to yourself.

…

Better, far better, to be misunderstood for who you are than loved for who you are not.

The Likability Trap

Self-imposed rules aren’t constraints, they’re good decisions made in batches—they’re behavioral boundary markers you get to position yourself, through your own experience and wisdom. A good personal standard clarifies and simplifies, eliminating what would be countless painful decision points. You’re free from having to stop and negotiate with yourself for the hundredth time on the same issues. Should I have a third drink? Should I quit early and work Saturday instead? Should I lie and say I’m sick?

Wise People Have Rules For Themselves

We often chase freedom as a goal—the ability to do nothing, answer to no one, and move through life unencumbered. But more freedom doesn’t necessarily bring more fulfillment or happiness. Intentionally chosen responsibilities and constraints, on the other hand, promise adventure, direction, purpose, and perhaps happiness itself.

On Art & Meaning

Art is more powerful than pundits or politicians, or even the most brutal dictator. It survives the longest. It has an authority that comes from a higher source.

The Parable of Anna Akhmatova

On Craft

I don’t want to discourage people from doing stuff fast, and putting it into the world, even if it kinda sucks. What bums me out is people then saying that the bad stuff is good. Are they lying? Can they not tell? Either way it’s depressing. Acting as if crappy stuff is great is soul-rotting on a personal level, and a sure-fire recipe for ongoing mediocrity on a community level.

Stop Pretending Toronto is More than It Is

Calling something a hobby is an excuse for it to be mediocre.

It’s Absolutely Pointless to Start Anything Unless You’ll Do It Daily

Sir, please allow people have hobbies lol. But like most things, there’s nuance.

If something is to become more than a hobby, it has to graduate from that label to invite growth. And with growth comes growing pains. It’s no longer “oh that’s cute.“ Your work will now be compared to that of professionals, which can’t always be fun, but can be good in the long run—as it forces you to improve your craft.

That’s why the last two quotes stood out to me.

You can’t fix what you can’t measure.

How to waste your career, one comfortable year at a time

On Relationships

If you’re thinking ahead, you can do the work to figure out who you are, what you like, what you’re prepared to give, what you’re hoping to get, and how a great relationship for you would actually function. You can bring that information with you as you meet new people and date them. You can choose whether to deepen a relationship, back it off, or end it, based on what you learn while you date.

How Relationships Actually Work

If I like somebody, they will have very little choice about the matter.

Want more friends? A better social life? Be like my 85-year-old buddy Gerry

If you think this a threat, it is! If you believe I consider you a friend, you have no choice in the matter good sir/ma, your fate has been sealed. But for real, I like this because its easy to drop people off at the slightest hint of rejection or annoyance. Sometimes, willful ignorance is okay too, aka grace.

On Introspection

Some Books I Enjoyed

This year I read more genres, and I was better for it—exploring the world through several authors. If I had to pick my author of the year, It’ll have to be Pierce Brown, for making me start and stay interested in a Seven book series. A seven, book, series people. It was an excellent introduction into Scifi and Fantasy. Without further delay, here are some of the books I enjoyed this year

• Fiction

  • Red Rising by Pierce Brown - An excellent introduction into Scifi and Fantasy. A story about freedom, purpose and perseverance.

  • Home Going by Yaa Gyasi - An incredibly well researched and written book. It was interesting to follow two branches of the same family over a few centuries, and observing how both were affected by slavery.

  • Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir - A lovely heartfelt book on the exploration of space and the question: is anyone out there?

  • Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabriella Zevin - An exploration of love in all its different forms, and how it evolves over time.

• Non Fiction

  • The Courage to be Disliked by Ichiro Kimshi, Fumitake Koga - An illuminating conversation between a Philosopher and a young student. And by the end, offers some insight into what it means to live a purpose filled and happy life.

  • The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel - Provides useful insights on how we view money, some historical context, and some healthy financial habits.
    

Lessons Learned

I can’t quite put in neat boxes what I’ve learned this year. Some things carried over from last year, like being intentional, being curious etc. But here’s a phrase I like, that kind of sums things up:

As long as you’re dancing you’ll get somewhere

—The Courage to be Disliked by Ichiro Kimshi, Fumitake Koga

Thanks for stopping by, wishing you happy holidays and a awesome new year!

It’s one of those mornings, I’m feeling rather melancholic. Still between sheets, I reach back for my phone, open Spotify, and just before I press play… I put the phone down. I let the feeling sit on the tip of my tongue, moving its melancholic taste from side to side, trying to decipher its ingredients. I mull over it for a while, ever so often shifting to a different side of the bed, as though each side revealed a little something different, adding to my understanding.

Understanding did little to regulate how I felt. And for no particular reason at all, I chose not to do the one thing that usually helped: playing music. I was, as some might say, rawdogging my emotions.

On Emotions

It’s rather fascinating how much of our emotions are dependent, or regulated by music. The calming sounds of a meditative playlist to alleviate anxiety, uncertainty, and ward off melancholy; just enough to stay focused on a task.

Or the bolstering sounds of an Afrobeat playlist, used to prime oneself before heading out to a social event—to make a person feel indulgent, when they’d rather be left alone on a couch.

It’s fascinating, but not surprising.

After all, long before I was born, King Saul’s rage was said to be tempered by the sounds that reverberated from David’s Harp.

But it begs the question. Have we grown dependent on music? Unable to function properly without it?

And so each morning after the first, I’d reach for my phone like a recently sober alcoholic swinging open the refrigerator, only to be reminded by its empty shelves that all the booze had been thrown out. The first thing I noticed was how long I sat with my thoughts, especially the ones that bothered me. Unable to drown them out, I’m forced to pay attention, choosing whether or not to address them. And for anything I chose not to address, its neglect was more conscious. And so I was rarely in doubt about what plagued me, because I could hear how often I spoke about these things, both in my head and out loud.

Soothing alone isn’t what we use music for. Even in moments of excitement, we reach for it. You catch a little crush and you suddenly have Ayra Star and Kotrell on repeat. You need a little push, and you turn to Watch The Throne for the extra boost during a workout.

But what if we all simply stayed whelmed, not going over, or under?

When you’re happy, be happy. Be as happy as your natural state allows, and when you’re sad, be as sad as you can be, and then keep it moving. No need to fuel things beyond their natural state.

My main problem with this though, is that it inches way too close to stoicism for my comfort. And it downplays the role of music to a mere catalyst, when often it doesn’t heighten an emotion, but guides it instead. It’s why we find solace in sad songs, when we’re sad.

On Space

While the day had started out without music, I also chose not to have any sort of sounds in the background as well, meaning no podcasts, TV, Youtube and so on. Everything came through with a piercing kind of clarity and force. The sounds of my heavy steps as I walked around, the thundering rush of tap water as I filled the kettle, the snap of the toothpaste cap as I opened and closed it, and the shower, like a marching band as its members drummed against my skin. It was a bit odd.

The amplified sounds that now filled my apartment only emphasized its emptiness, making me keenly aware of my aloneness. Not loneliness, but rather a stronger awareness that I was the only one here—as though sound had been an evicted roommate whose absence now glared back at me.

The same awareness carried on to third spaces like the gym, sidewalks, and coffee shops. This wasn’t particularly jarring: the grunting of the guy trying to crush his PR, the side conversations of the gym influencers, the clanking of equipment, or the waking sounds of Toronto as she starts her day. What I however found curious, was my keen sense of self in these spaces and how I interact with them.

No longer mindlessly lost in a podcast or playlist, new thoughts begin to break through. Thoughts like, When was the last time you tried this workout?, Maybe let’s take a different walking path today or Isn’t that the guy you saw the other day? We should say hi—questioning established patterns and proposing new ones.

On Attention

At the corner of one of the walls in my living room, leans an art print. The illustration is of a man with a gun and an aesthetic similar to that of a Niger Delta militant. The curious thing about this man, is that he has no pupils. A third eye rests on his forehead instead. On this particular morning, unencumbered by the ambience of my now evicted roommate, I was drawn to it. And upon closer inspection, I noticed that the spot where his pupils were meant to be, was a different shade of white than the rest of his eyes. I had always thought the whole thing was just white. Am I just noticing this?

Needless to say, I noticed a lot more about myself and my environment, as they no longer had to fight too hard to garner my attention. But what I found more interesting, is how much my mind needed to latch on to something else. This was most evident while I worked, as I oscillated between doing a task and jumping on Instagram. It’s not that I didn’t do this before, but I believe its frequency had increased, as though it were methadone and I needed to temper my withdrawal.

Away from the methadone, I found my mind had no choice but to make whatever I focused on more engaging, pulling me in and propping up ideas like: What if we try this new thing? Or that? Or maybe we should reach out to that team? and so on.

Perhaps ambient sound is better suited to mindless work, not in a bad way, but in a way that allows you to do repetitive tasks with focus. You’re locked in. But this focus could stop you from pivoting to something else of equal importance, or taking a pause to ponder a different idea. For instance, I might be halfway through a task when the thought hits: Wait—maybe there’s a better way to do this? Or worse, maybe I shouldn’t be doing this at all. It’s a different kind of attention to detail, the sort I might have blown past before, fueled by the dopamine hum of ambient sound.

On Time

As hours turned into days and days into weeks, I found that time stretched further. Often I caught myself thinking, Isn’t today Thursday?—when in fact it was still Wednesday. Time moved a bit slower. This meant I had a little more time to get through daily tasks and commitments. But also, when I was bored, I was bored.

In periods of inactivity my mind scrambled frantically for something to do:

Let’s watch TV.

No! I don’t want to start a new show.

Let’s go for a walk.

How about a book?

Let’s do something, anything!

Music, perhaps to some extent, had suppressed this hunger. And these moments seemed to stretch on forever.

Did my perception of time change? Or did the absence of ambient sound change my pace in the world? The answer likely lies somewhere in between.

On Randoms

Some things couldn’t quite fit neatly into a box, like how I felt a bit lighter mentally after work—having more bandwidth for social activities than before. Who knew playing lofi-girl in the background for eight hours could take a mental toll? Clearly not me.

I also wonder how the lack of ambient sound affects other activities. Take sex for instance. When you have sex, are you lost in the euphoria of the music, or your lover? When the record stops, and all you have are sounds of heavy breathing, wet kisses, and ta-ta-tas, do you find you’re still into them, repulsed by them, or worse, indifferent?

Conclusion

It’s been about a month since that faithful morning. Save for social gatherings and situations beyond my control, I’ve gone without having podcasts, TV, or music playing in the background, while I did something else. This is not to say I haven’t listened to music, I have. If I really wanted to check out a music video, I turned on the TV and gave it my full attention. But the moment it was done, I stopped it before Youtube went on a never ending playlist.

So is this my life now? A man who rawdoggs his emotions, is always attentive, moves through life with time to spare, and possibly has coitus without a playlist on.

No. I happen to like nice things.

That said, I’d be remiss if I didn’t recognize the benefits that came from this experiment—and to some degree, to hold on to them. I’m now a bit more aware of my reliance on ambient sound, and so perhaps a reasonable solution is to form habits that strike a balance between indulgence and auditory solitude.

So how about you? How much do you rely on background sound—and how long do you think you could go without it?

The first time she left, he felt it—the quiet echoes of her absence, but he shrugged it off. It can’t be that deep. I barely know her, that's what he told himself. But the ache persisted. So when the three dots flickered under her name on iMessage that night, he saw a way back in—and he took it.

A simple decision that led to one of the best summers he's had in years.

But now, marching down Queens Quay West, nearly a month after she left, the ache was back—tenfold. His knuckles tightened around Peter’s bag, his heart raced with uncertainty, and he walked like a man on a doomed mission—with precision, rigour and a blank stare.

Crossing over to York street, his familiar irritation flared as he walked by Love Park. What sort of love lives in the middle of the road with all this noise? If anything, the Music Garden should be called the Love Garden, he muttered.

This led to more memories of her.

Like the time she casually mentioned the Amachree dynasty, like it was weather banter. Like it was nothing to bat an eye at. She had taken the time to get to know him—his history—and he felt seen.

It wasn’t just her smarts or undeniable beauty that pulled him in, but the way she found joy in the mundane—shrieking and squealing at the sight of fish in the harbour, or keeping count of how long a goose stayed under water (56 seconds, her record). “Can you see? Do you see that!” She’d say with so much zeal. Her excitement fuelled his, which fuelled hers, until they spun themselves into an endless loop of unrestrained excitement.

With her, they didn’t just pass through the city, the city passed through them. With each moment—extraordinary or mundane—leaving its mark, just as they left theirs.

Fuelled by these moments, his feelings for her grew beyond his control.

He was scared shitless—scared because he knew if she asked for the moon, his only response would be: Which one?

This loss of sensibility rattled him. And so in an act of defiance or self preservation he let her go. He needed proof of his sanity, he needed to know he was still in control.

A decision he now regrets.

Fast approaching Front Street West, his pace quickened. He wasn’t at risk of missing his train—he had time. The journey to Kingston would also take a little over two hours, yet he moved with senseless urgency, as though what he felt came with a ticking clock.

Finally on Front Street West; patches of sweat on his face, his feet weighing a ton, he breaks through the anime crowd to get to the station. He’d normally stick around for the fan fare, but not today. He passes a man in a Joker costume—a clown he thought. That's what he must look like. With nothing but a brown bag of matcha and pureé, he hopes to win her back. Not much of a plan, is it?

Funmi had time to kill after her Tim Hortons stop, so she wandered the hall with the glass exhibitions behind Gate 17. At the far west end, a display with fun facts caught her attention, and she stopped to read.

This is Toronto’s third Union Station.

The previous structures were located on Front Street

Between York and Simcoe.

Just west of today’s building

Done reading, she looked towards Gate 17 for any signs of boarding—there was none. Instead, she saw something else or rather someone.

No. It can’t be. There's no way, she muttered.

She debated whether or not to investigate, unsure she wanted to see him—if it was him. But in the end, her curiosity won.

She took quick, quiet steps towards him, careful to stay out of his line of sight. With each stride, the red shirt, baggy trousers, bald head, and broad shoulders came into focus. It was undeniably him. What was he doing here? Her heart raced, her legs stiffened. She stood behind him, silent, as he read the display.

…Canadian writer and historian Pierre Berton estimated that Union Station welcomed more than half a million immigrants during its heyday. He called the Station the ‘soul and heartbeat of Toronto’...

“It’s fascinating isn’t it? The number of people that came through this very place.”

Sokari turned almost immediately, his face pale, as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” Sokari blurted.

“Going home. What are you doing here?” She asked in return, her tone carefully indifferent.

“I thought you left yesterday.”

“No. I had some things to take care of. So I pushed my trip by a day.”

“Oh… okay.” he said, looking out of sorts. Then added, “…You look really good.”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly.

A cold silence slithered between them, lasting longer than either appreciated.

“Listen… last time, about what I said…”

“It’s okay.” Sokari replied.

“No it’s not. I’m sorry.”

He nodded in response.

“So, you didn’t answer my question earlier. Where are you going?”

“Going to Kingston… To see you.”

“Okay… Why? Also, what if I wasn’t home or didn’t want to see you?” She asked.

Sokari shrugged, then half-smiled. “I got you your favourite, from Peter’s.” Holding up the brown bag, as though it held the answers to her queries.

Amused and a little confused, she laughed. “What?”

“Yeah. I mean, not the whole thing but parts of it, see.” He opened the bag up, showing her the pureé and matcha. “My plan was to mix it up on arrival.”

The gesture warmed her heart; her eyes glistened. This was what she liked about him, she thought—his sweet, thoughtful gestures. But why this one? She wondered.

“Thanks? But again, why?” She asked.

“I thought about what you said. I’d like to explore something more… serious.” His face tightened, his eyes intent, “I’d like you to be my person.”

Taken aback, she stayed silent, letting the words sink in. A month ago, she would’ve said yes without hesitation. But now, despite wanting to, she doubted its sincerity, or what the point was. She leaves for Kingston in a few minutes.

“Your P.A? Your shroom guy? Your masseuse? What does person mean? She asked, feigning confusion.

Sokari half-smiled. “My girlfriend.” He stepped closer, held her gaze and rested his hand on her lower back. “Be my girlfriend,” he said.

Caught in his stare, her legs refusing to move; she stood frozen. She knew what he meant earlier, but hearing the actual words out loud, left her stuck in indecision.

Eventually she broke free, and walked quietly towards the glass display titled REVITALIZATION PROJECT, where she paused.

“That’s wild” She said, to no one in particular.

“What?” Sokari asked after catching up with her.

“Adding a whole new level to the station without shutting it down, that's crazy.”

“Did you hear what I said earlier?” Sokari asked, his voice edged with expectation.

“270,000 square feet of digging! And Union station remained open.”

He half-sighed, then replied “Yeah… that’s crazy.”

The ground beneath them began to vibrate—they could feel it in their spine: the arrival of a train.

“Why now? Why the change of heart? Also… I’ll be in Kingston, what’s the point?”

He could tell her how much clearer the world felt with her beside him, how their conversations were the best parts of his day. That he preferred the version of himself he was with her, or that her presence alone left him content. But instead, he replied, “Because… Because I fuck with you.”

For a bit, Funmi stood quietly, then blurted, “What does that even mean??” She was equal parts amused and frustrated—torn by the indecision it stirred in her.

The arrivals from Gate 12 flooded the hallway, it was getting rowdy. A queue was beginning to form at Gate 17.

“I honestly don’t know what else to say… except, I fuck with you.” He held her again, as though the repeated words came with new meaning.

Train 64 was boarding.

She hesitated a bit, still unsure, but eventually broke his hold, and walked quickly towards Gate 17. Leaving Sokari behind without a word.

As she walked down the hall and through the gate, she told herself to keep it moving, but his words loomed in her mind: Be my person. Girlfriend. I fuck with you. With each replayed word her resolve softened, her legs stiffened. And soon, without warning, her legs betrayed her, she stopped abruptly, caught between the world of sense and desire.

Jesu, she muttered, because she knew sense never stood a chance when it came to him. And so heart racing, heels turned backwards, she doubled back.

Back in the hallway and not slowing down, Funmi bumped into Sokari as she passed, neither turning or saying a word.

Sokari, ready to unleash his frustrations on whoever the fool was, steadied himself, looked up, and saw Funmi near the exit, half-smiling.

“Where are you going?” He yelled, heart racing, confused.

“It’s 11!” Funmi shot back.

“So?”

“I’m going to Peter’s!”

“Why?”

She grinned, spun, then yelled, “Because I fuck with you too!”

With a wide smile, he ran to her without hesitation.

She laughed as he swept her off the ground in a warm embrace. Midair and breathless with joy, she blurted, “You’re getting us new tickets.”

Epilogue

I had a lot of fun exploring my favourite parts of Toronto through fiction. And while Sokari and Funmi are fictional characters, Peter’s not. He’s very much as lovely as Sokari describes, and so is his place—Cuckoo Cakery.

And so, if you’re in the neighbourhood, check it out. I hear the Strawberry Matcha Latte slaps.

The amazing photos are by Stefan Aganbi. Checkout his instagram and VSCO.

For updates and activities on the waterfront, checkout:

• https://harbourfrontcentre.com/

• https://www.waterfrontbia.com/

And of course, I made a playlist - Spotify and Youtube.

If to love a thing is to know it,

then to be loved by it, is to open oneself to being known.

To my city, for as long as it remains that—my city.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, “What are we doing?” I said softly, breaking the silence.

Turning slightly, he replied in a hoarse voice “Having a good time? ”

“Maybe… Look, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything.” My voice shaking, “I’m not saying I want anything from you either. But I would like to know what this is.”

He sat up straight, his fingers dancing on my belly, he turned and fixed his gaze on me. “I like you. I really do. The last few weeks with you have been…” He tilted his head, his eyes searched the sheets, his mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. I could hear the thumping of my heart increase with each second that passed. “It’s been beautiful, awesome really.” He said finally.

“But…”

“But, I’m not looking to get into anything serious right now.”

“I see.” I said, disappointed.

“I hope it’s not a problem?” His fingers that twirled suddenly laid motionless as his eyes stayed fixed on me. “I hope it’s not the last time we hangout.”

What is this Femi-esque behaviour?

I sat up straight, held his face close to mine, leaned in and kissed him for what felt like too long.

“I don’t do ambiguous,” I said, pulling away. “But this was lovely. And it was really nice getting to know you.” I got off his bed, and as I reached for my clothes, I added “But this is probably the last time we’ll hangout.”

I could see the disappointment spread across his face like wildfire. That makes two of us. The weight of the silence between us was heavy and it was crushing.

“I understand.” He eventually said.

The whole thing was foolish, but understandable, it was sad, but bearable. And despite everything, it was a perfect end. And it should've stayed that way. Why wasn’t I strong enough to hold my ground? Why?

I. DON’T. DO. AMBIGUOUS.

The phrase that plagues me whenever that day comes to mind—which has been every other day lately.

A few weeks went by without a text or call. His absence, palpable. But the girls kept me busy; with trips to the mall, coffee shop dates and day trips to Niagara to see the rapids. “Don’t mind these Toronto men, they don’t have sense!” they’d say sometimes, just to cheer me up. I was fortunate to have them.

One evening, alone on my couch and re-watching Good Will Hunting, the scene where Robin Williams talks about his wife farting in her sleep comes up, and I burst out laughing. But soon and out of nowhere, a wave of sadness washes over me. Because all I wanted to do in that moment was share that laugh with him, and I couldn’t. I reached for my phone, started typing, but decided against it. And just as I tried to put my phone down, the text came in.

Hey.

And that’s all it took to bring down my carefully built walls. That was the event that planted the seeds for the nonsense I’m feeling right now.

It was fine I thought. I’m going back to Kingston anyway, what’s the harm in a little fun along the way. I’ll set boundaries, it’s just vibes. I can keep my emotions out of it. That lasted for all of two weeks.

In my defence, I could easily have stuck to my boundaries, but Sokari's like a star pulling everything nearby into orbit; without thought, without effort, without regard. I hate him for it. The way he held my gaze, the way he listened—like his entire world depended on the next word I uttered. I let myself be engulfed by it, it was impossible not to.

Every Saturday morning we walked the Water’s Edge Promenade, enjoying the view of the calm waters that stretched out like fine wrapper splayed on green fields. We would walk all the way to the new Aqualuna Condos, which Sokari insisted only drug Lords could afford. Then we’d walk back to Aitken Place Park, sit on one of those swiveling chairs and talk for hours; about work, life, and about anything really. Sometimes we’d just sit there and people watch—the Chinese woman doing her stretches, the guy with dreads passing by and screaming words neither of us could make sense of. At 11:00 am we’d go over to Peter’s to get our fix of strawberry matcha, bringing the stroll to an end.

On one those strolls, when we got close to Aitken Place Park, we walked towards the edge of the water instead, sat on the cobblestone floor, our legs behind the metal railing, my head leaning on his shoulder and my body wrapped in his warm embrace, we sat in silence watching the still waters. It all felt really zen.

Then out of the corner of my eyes, I saw something beneath the water move. My shoulders perked up and I leaned away from him to get a better look.

“Oh My God!” I blurted.

“What?” He said with concern.

“Are those fishes?!” I squealed in excitement.

“Yep.” He said leaning in. And then stared at me in confusion.

I couldn’t stop grinning. “I know I know, it’s just fish. But somehow I don’t expect them to be here.” I said. “And they’re so big!” I felt like a kid again, I was giddy.

He shook his head and half-laughed.

This led to talk about childhood memories, which spiralled into: what inspires us, what keeps us up at night, and so on. Eventually I asked “What makes you want to be better?”

For him, he explained, it's his siblings. He sees the way parts of their lives are shaped by the decisions he makes and wants to leave a solid blueprint for them. “If I’m better, then maybe their starting point won’t be so bad.” He said.

We continued to talk, laugh, and admire the view for another hour or so. Each exchange left me feeling closer to him than before—maybe beneath the playboy and bravado, there was something more.

For whatever reason, that date sticks with me, but honestly, It's a lot of little things that held me in his orbit. For one, I ate good. God I ate good. And I don’t mean fancy restaurants, I mean this man put on an apron whenever I visited on the weekends and would proceed to make meals that slowly strips you of your conviction with each bite. “A Kalabari man woos you with his cooking” he’d say. Yeah, I didn’t stand a chance. Especially when he made that fisherman’s soup with half the Atlantic Ocean on my plate. God…

It was mostly smooth sailing after we got back together, no quarrel lasting more than 48 hours, nothing a kiss, a hug or an epistle couldn’t fix; until that day.

It was a fine Saturday morning and we decided to bike across the Toronto Islands. We started out really early to beat the crowds. Rented bikes using the bike share service on Centre Island, and started our journey east, towards Ward’s Island.

We had the Centre Island bridge almost entirely to ourselves, a rarity. This allowed us to really appreciate the scene. And as we weaved our way through the park, passed the water fountain, I saw a little snake slither across the road into the bushes to the right, I nearly fell from shock and fear. Meanwhile, Sokari staying true to form chased it down with no regard for self preservation, just to take a video.

“How are you still alive?” I asked.

“By the special grace of God” He smirked.

I shook my head.

We continued our trip east, zipping past greens upon greens and tall greens on either side of the road, making the path feel serene and reminiscent of the hiking trails in Gatineau. At one point, we came across a couple on the side of the road going through a proposal and we both joined random bystanders in cheering them on, with whistlings and woohoos. It was really nice.

On getting to Ward’s Island, we briefly stopped at the viewpoint to take in the Toronto Skyline and take some goofy photos. Then we rode through the neighbourhood with narrow paths and uninspired street names, like First, Second and Third Street. When we finished exploring the Island, we made our way West, for Hanlan’s Point Beach.

The ride down to Hanlan's Island was just as pleasant. On arriving, we docked our bikes and walked towards the Beach. At the entrance we were greeted by a sign post.

Nude Area.

This is a body positive space. Be respectful.

You will encounter naked people beyond this point.

The entire beach is clothing optional. You may wear clothes or be nude.

“So this is where you bring all your women?” I said as we walked down the narrow wooden path that led to the beach.

“Nah, only the really cute ones.” He said with an ominous look.

I glared. He snickered.

On the beach we set up a little spot with our blanket, ate snacks and people watched.

I don’t know what I expected, but the atmosphere was quite pleasant. Everyone looked free and seemed to be having a good time. Lots of men with their man parts swinging loose as they strut around unrestrained. There was a healthy mix of both men and women, young and old, mostly caucasians, but once in a while, I’d see a black person walk by. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the view.

Thank God for sunglasses.

Just then, I saw what could only be described as the perfect pair of tits—a neat right-angled triangle, with nipples as precise as the tips of a biro. Show off. I glanced over to Sokari and he too was fixated on them.

“Wow! No respect.” I playfully shoved my leg into his.

“What? You were looking too.” He smirked.

“So?”

“Sorry Ma.” He tittered. “I will avert my eyes.”

Later on, while I read and people-watched, he joined a group of naked people playing some version of squash near the shoreline and in typical Sokari fashion he too was nude.

“Aren’t you concerned your friends or someone you know might see you?”

He laughed.

“Sorry to break it to you, but uh, all my friends have seen a penis. They’ll be fine.” He kissed my forehead and scurried away.

Again, no sense of self preservation.

But in that moment, I realized I liked it. I liked him. All 5’8” of him—six feet if anyone’s asking. I like the way he moves through the world, like it’s his for the taking. The way he looks at me. That goofy smile. The way the sun glistens on his bald head and lush beard. I liked him.

Shit.

When we got back to his apartment, beach clothes tossed in the laundry, soft jazz playing in the background, he stood in the kitchen making us something to eat; I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Sokari,” I said softly.

“Ahh!” he exclaimed. “What did I do now?” He said chuckling without turning away from the hot top.

“Nothing.” I said, then sighed. “Don’t you think we should try?” I walked closer to him. “Try for something more serious?”

Half laughing and still not turning back, “Ahh… We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

I said nothing.

“But we talked about this.” He said more seriously.

“Yeah we did.” Once again disappointed. Why did I think things would change? People DON’T change. “And did you have one?” I said, trying hard to stay calm. “A good time I mean.”

“See… the way you’re saying that, it doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s a valid question.” I said. “Did. You. Have. A good time?”

Nothing but the sound of jazz and the sizzling pan filled the air.

“I’m going home.”

“Wait. Don’t be like this. Don’t leave this way.” He stepped closer to hold me.

I shrugged his arm off. “Don’t be like what? Don’t be like what Sokari?” I couldn’t hold back anymore. ”What’s the point of all the dates? What’s the point of all the late night texts and early morning calls? The pillow talks, the shared dreams and goals like we’re in this together but we’re not?” I could feel tears coming but I fought them. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“You’re a coward!” I said loudly with a stern look. “Your words, your actions—all empty calories.” My voice shook as I suppressed the lump in my throat. “You’re too scared to give any of it meaning.” I finally said.

His face creased. His broad shoulders slouched. His mouth slightly opened, but no words followed. I had hurt him. I shouldn’t have said that. But whatever.

With no other words said, I grabbed my things and left.

The sound of my name snaps me out of thought. I grab my Tim Hortons order and wait to board. I thought we had something, really thought we did.

We move.

“I don’t have Daddy issues!” Funmi scoffed as she struggled to keep her balance.

I laughed.

“Alright, alright. Shake your waist for Zaddy,” I chuckled. She scowled. A scowl that threatened to chop my head off. But I loved it anyway. She looks cute when she pretends to be furious.

“Sokari!” feigning anger, “Be serious,” she says.

“I’m being serious. I need you to shake your waist. Okay, more accurately, move your hips from side to side, so you calibrate your balance and get used to being on water.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Also, stretch your hands forward, away from your kayak”. With my left hand, I guided her arms—slowly—towards my chest. And with my right hand, I gently placed the paddle in her palms.

It had been the perfect evening to be on the water: 25 degrees, calm waves on the Inner Harbour, and the perfect person by my side.

Even now, I smile whenever memories of that day come to mind. It wasn’t our first date, but teaching her how to kayak is one of my fondest memories. Her smile, her scowl, the way she tipped over and blamed me for it—despite having nothing to do with it.

“What can I do for you today S.K.? The Usual?” Peter smiles as he finishes up with the customer in front of me.

“Yeah. But with a caveat.” I say, smiling in return.

“Oh? Go on”.

“Can I have it all packed in its raw state?”, another customer walks in, I take my voice down a notch, “The matcha and strawberry puree, packed separately. I have milk, I’ll mix the final thing myself.” With a pleading look I add, “I can pay more for the inconvenience.”

“Hmm… I don’t really do that.” Sorting out the cash register, he adds, “Why do you want it like that?”

“It’s for my… it’s for my friend“. The words taste wrong as they roll off my tongue—Friend. “She’s out of town. She really loves your Strawberry Matcha. And I want to take it to her.”

“Funmi?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s sweet. I don’t do that. But for you, this one time. I got you.”

“You sir, are a good man.” Peter smiles and heads to the back to grab everything he’ll need.

He’s such a sweet soul. And his bakery—or cafe—is simply the best on Toronto’s waterfront. I’ve become a regular ever since he set up shop. The white walls, ceramic counters, and gold-accented counter tops give the shop a clean chic look. Baked goods all properly packaged and on display behind a glass shelf, with chairs that face a large window to encourage people watching. His place is effortlessly classy and cozy—kinda like Funmi.

I remember the day we met. Not unlike today, a beautiful summer Thursday. That evening, myself, some other locals and a few tourists alike, were gathered around the weeping willow at the music garden, waiting in anticipation for the pianist to begin his performance. I sat on one of the ledges, a little to the back—with a good view—facing the willow tree.

As I munched on my snacks and my eyes roamed the garden, I nearly choked when I saw her. A cute face and a round nose with a gold ring that glistened in the sun. Her hair’s a perfect 90s throwback—full puffy afro wrapped in a white bandana with green floral motifs. I took my airpods off my ears, just so I could see her clearly.

Like her nose, her lips glistened, revealing the perfect structure; her mini skirt hanging low on broad hips, revealing beautiful abs beneath her white crop top.

Dear God!

She’s way in front of me, closer to the pianist; she glides towards her friends and laughs when she trips on something and falls into their embrace. What’s that laugh? And can I get more of it?

All through the performance, all I could think of was her. I simply must have her.

As the performance drew to a close, the weather changed. It threatened to rain. And once the show ended, there was a standing ovation, but almost immediately, people started filling out the garden to escape the rain. A light drizzle had started. And in the mist of the chaos, I lost track of both her and her friends—Fuck.

I looked in every corner my eyes could reach, but no luck. So I started walking west, heading home. The rain intensified, there’s no getting home without being drenched. So I took brisk steps towards Amsterdam Brewhouse for shelter.

Inside the pub, I sat at the bar, sipping a Virgin Patio Punch while waiting for the rain to stop. Then it happened—She walked in. She fucking walked in! Her once puffy afro had shrunk a bit from the rain, but her lips still glistened under the large neon sign—#ABH. She couldn’t look any cuter if she tried.

“Here you go S.K.” Peter hands me a bag containing all the things I asked for, in properly sealed plastic cups.

“Thanks! Thanks so much. You're a life saver!” I tap my card, and leave a generous tip. “In fact, more Jollof for you.”

“Aee! Be careful now. I might just hold you to that.”

We both laugh. I exit the cafe. And start my walk towards Union.

Walking towards the station, Queens Quay hits me with its usual sensory assault—the sound of traffic from the Gardiner, planes overhead making their way to Billy Bishop, birds chirping on Sugar Beach, and the massive Federal Welland Vessel unloading sugar into the Redpath factory.

It’s almost always a lively scene at the waterfront. A running club—or dating club as Funmi calls them—jogs past me, most of them looking like fitness influencers whose philosophy seems to be: suns out, guns out, bums out!

But despite the chaos, I love it.

It’s crazy how much sensory overload becomes normal after prolonged exposure.

Getting close to Young Street, I see the NBA Courtside Restaurant, one of my favourite bars.

I smile. And just like that, I’m back to that night.

In no time she walked up to the bar and sat two stools away from me—to my left.

No crew, just her, a few meters away from me. If this isn’t a gift from the universe, I don’t know what is. It’s like—

“You should take a picture. It’ll last longer”, she says, stirring her drink with a look I couldn't quite read.

Shit. I didn’t realize I was gawking. Go big or go home then, I thought.

“Naa… I was thinking we make a video instead.” I could feel her stare dig holes into my head, from shock, disbelief or pure hate. Then she shook her head, half laughed and half sighed.

“Does that ever work for you?”

“Aee… you caught me off guard, I had to think quick. Admittedly not my best work.”

“Uh huh. So… why’ve you been staring at me like I stole something from you?” She took a sip of her drink, “I’m pretty sure you did the same thing at the garden.”

“Ahh. Sorry.” Wait a minute, “But how’d you notice me noticing you?” I chuckled. “So you too were staring eh?”

With a look that screamed guilty, she looked away from me and stared into her drink, “No,” she replied unconvincingly; her right hand cleaning off a rain drop that had slid down the side of her right cheek, from her now shrunken hair; revealing a cute blush.

“Anyways,” I said, with renewed confidence, “ You did steal something from me.”

“Oh? Pray tell. What did I steal?”

“My gaze. You’ve got my undivided attention.” I smirked. She laughed—A win!

“You’re funny.”

“Too cheesy?” I smile. “Also, the book you’ve got there, is it a paid actor?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got the white bandana with green patterns; a white and green pair of Jordans; and now a green book to compliment the look. I love it.” She tittered.

“Well, thank you! And no, it’s not a paid actor. It’s just a book I’m reading right now.”

“By who?”

“It’s ‘Other Worlds’ by André Alexis.”

Okay, she just got hotter.

“Oh nice! That’s the new book yeah? I haven’t read it yet. Is it any good?” Her brows furrowed in suspicion of my knowledge of André, or that I read fiction, not sure which.

“It’s really good actually. You a fan?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love the way he writes.”

“Say more,” she said, taking a long sip of her drink.

“His writing is very peculiar.” I tilted my head to the right, staring at nothing in particular, trying to find the right words. “He doesn’t just write to get a point across. He has fun with it. Grammatical gymnastics sprinkled around, they’re not redundant or filler words, but you can tell he’s having fun.”

“Wow. Okay. That’s, that’s apt! I couldn’t agree more.” Her eyes lit up in excitement. “But honestly though, the man stresses me out sometimes,” she said with an exhausted look. “Not just with the gymnastics, but with the plot. Especially with this one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a collection of short stories. Some of them weird, a lot of them leave you with more questions than answers. It’s stressful honestly.” She sighed. “And yet, I’m still reading it.”

I chuckled.

“Well, now I definitely have to get it.” I grin. Then suddenly remembering something important, I blurted out. “Shit.”

“What?” She dropped her drink, her eyes with concern, now fixed on me.

“I realize we've been chatting for a bit and I don’t even know your name. I’m S.K. You?”

She shook her head and half smiled.

“Was wondering when you’d ask. I’m Funmi. Is S.K short for something?”

“Yeah. Sokari.”

We would go on to chat for another hour or so, time sliding by like a movie montage. The rain had long stopped and neither of us noticed. We kept waving the waitress away who kept asking if we wanted to order food yet. I’d learn she was just spending the summer in Toronto, then back to Kingston for school. We talked about books, movies, and hobbies. We both agreed The Office is simply the greatest show of all time.

We talked about F1 and how we both like Hamilton of course, but she started out by saying “Vesterpan’s my guy sha”, just to rile me up. And she did, just a little. We talked about where we both were during the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, its final moments, and how we both felt. Our excitement, palpable.

“I was in pain,” she exclaimed.

“Michael Masi, that bastard,” I sighed.

“I know! We were so close.” Her face creased in pain, as if reliving those moments.

I like her, I really really like her.

“I could kiss you right now,” I said without realizing I’d said it out loud.

Her facial expression changed—a little taken aback, unsure, maybe a little embarrassed.

Like before, she looked away from me, hesitated, “Oh yeah?” she half grinned, “What’s stopping you?” her voice uncertain.

“Say less.”

My left hand behind her hair, my thumb grazing her right cheek, my face drawn close to hers. I planted one. Then another. And by the third I didn’t know who was kissing who. Her lips tasted like summer—an explosion of colors. I wanted more.

“Come home with me,” I whispered.

“Sir,” she said, her lips still locked in mine.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to my house.” She pulled away.

“Wait… What? Why?” I said, confused.

“Because I pay rent.”

“So people who pay rent don’t go visiting?” I pleaded.

“Visiting?” she said, making air quotes. “Sokari. I don’t know you.” She made a show of packing her things and got off her stool.

“I beg to differ.” I got off my stool too. “We’ve spent the better part of an hour getting acquainted.”

“And that’s enough time for you to shag me?” she said with a stern look.

“I mean, when you put it that way…” I scratched my head, “Yes. Absolutely! Yes!”

She smiled and walked towards the exit. I joined her, but the only thing I’d be getting that night was her number.

The weeks that followed were full of more dates—watching plays at Soulpepper, bike rides along Cherry street, hang outs at Biidaasige Park, visits to the Powerplant Contemporary Art Gallery, and so on. Each one of them left me longing for more. And perhaps that’s what made the kayaking date so memorable.

By the time we left the shores of Toronto Island Sailing Club, she was more comfortable on the water. So we started our expedition to circumnavigate Muggs Island in our kayaks.

“Can you swim?” she said, as she took short rapid strokes.

“Me? Can I swim?” I slowed down a bit, “Me? An original son of the soil. Amayanabo one. First of his kind, can I swim?”

“Jesus. Simple question oo.” She rolled her eyes. “Simple question. Yes or no.”

“Well, if you must know, I can in fact swim.” I grinned.

She giggled.

“What does Ama—, Amaha—”

“Amayanabo?” I said smiling.

“Yes. What does it mean?” She says as she cuts through the water with her paddle.

“It means kingship. Royalty in Kalabri.”

“So… like an Oba?”

“Yeah. Exactly like that.”

“Mmm… So you’re royalty, with the big compound, and servants always within earshot?”

I laughed, as we got close to the south west corner of Muggs Island.

“I mean. Only if a Three bedroom bungalow somewhere in Buguma, with five other siblings who double as servants counts.” I grinned. “But no. I’m not. Only in spirit.”

“You should’ve stuck with it. I might’ve believed you.”

“Really?”, I said, turning my head to the right to look at her.

“Maybe. I guess we’ll never know.”

“Damit!” I said, feigning frustration as I slammed my paddle to the right, and a bit of water splashed on her.

“Oh, so that’s what we’re doing?” She slowed down, leaned to her left, angled her paddle, made a brisk sweep, and in no time there was water in my face.

It became a water fight.

I responded right back. Soaking her cute crop top and PFD in the process. She braced herself, went for a long left sweep, she leaned too hard to the left, and within seconds it happened.

She tipped over—fuck.

When we got back to the Harbourfront, she was soaked from head to toe and freezing. She also had no change of clothes.

“My place is just a stone stroll from here.” I said gently, “You can clean up and get into something warm.”

“I’m not going to your house!” She frowned.

“You can’t go home like this.” I pleaded, getting her out of her PFD. “You’re soaked. Even if you call an Uber, you'll soak their seats too.”

She sighed in frustration.

“This is all your fault!”

I didn’t argue, I couldn’t argue.

She eventually gave in, and we walked to mine. As soon as we made it up the elevator and into my apartment, I pointed to the shower and everything else she needed.

In the living room while I waited, I connected my phone to the speakers and queued Tuff Times Never Last by Kororoko. Never Lost started playing.

Thirty minutes later she walked out; wrapped up in one of my plush towels.

“This is a really good band.” She was drying her hair with a smaller towel. “Who are they?”

At this point I was lost in a trance.

Jesus….This woman is beautiful. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t hear shit. Not with all of that standing in front of me.

“Sokari” her voice up a decibel, “Who are they?”

I stood up, walked towards her, saying nothing but keeping my focus on her.

“What?” she said, her eyes questioning my every step.

I said nothing.

A few meters from her, my face in her space, I stared into her eyes. She knew. I could see it in those beautiful eyes. I could see her brain working overtime, trying to stop the inevitable, trying to fight it. But a kiss sealed her fate.

Her towel dropped—there was no going back now.

What had started in the living room had made its way to the study, backs and palms smashing piano keys as body parts collided. Each keystroke accented with a pelvic thrust.

Like two feral ferrets going at it. It was primal. It was chaos. It was sweet. And when we crescendoed, a sweet crescendo, she coiled up on my chest.

“Fuck…” she gasped, “me…”, her voice uneven, under heavy breathing.

“I’m pretty sure I just did,” I smirked. “But we can go again”, I turned to her, “in like Ten minutes.” I snickered. She blushed. I kissed her forehead.

We didn’t know it then, but this would be the start of something neither of us had planned.

I remember going home after several years away—the smiles, the hugs, the dancing.

I remember my first trip outside Canada—Vegas. I remember thinking: What fun is there to have under all this heat?

I remember my first car. It took all of my savings to get it. I remember how proud I was.

I remember queuing up in front of BestBuy on a cold morning for the PlayStation 4 release.

I remember the “Drunk in Love” concert—my first concert. I worked in parking while Jay and Bey did their thing at the Winnipeg Bombers Stadium.

I remember my first Tim Hortons. I remember thinking: sweet nectar of the gods.

I remember my first day in Canada. Minus 32 degrees. I remember wondering: why does anyone live here?

I remember when calls were charged by the minute. Every call intentional and terse. But at night lovers lay awake burning the midnight oil, professing their love—because the calls were free.

I remember how much I used to look forward to midterm breaks.

I remember when being cool meant acting oblivious to excruciating pain; from belts, pelts, whips, kicks, konks, trunks, brass and cutlass.

I remember pant creases being all the rave.

I remember inspection day. And the angst that came with it.

I remember Biology. The hot biology teacher.

I remember English. I remember it for the same reason.

I remember social nights. Music (Love is Wicked - Brick & Lace) bouncing across hall speakers. Awkward lists and dares being read. Juniors glad to be there; Seniors in dimly lit corners, practicing biology behind stacked plastic white chairs.

I remember peddling contraband in the dorms. Half cup of garri, two cubes of sugar—50 Naira. A packet of Indomie noodles—30 Naira.

I remember calamine lotion. I remember being drenched in it, after being afflicted with chicken pox. I remember having to go home. I remember being happy to do so.

I remember Agege bread—soft, sumptuous, buttered Agege bread.

I remember food deals. “My Sunday night rice and chicken for your Friday night beans and garri”.

I remember computer lessons. I remember CorelDraw. I remember Marvis Beacon.

I remember Yahoo Messenger, the thrill of logging on to a new message.

I remember teaching my baby sister how to clap.

I remember when 30 Naira was a lot of money. A pack of biscuits, a sharpener, sweets, and there’ll still be leftover change.

I remember feeling sad when we had to kill the chicken. I remember eating said chicken despite my sadness.

I remember bedtime stories on hard mats under starry nights. Stories of tortoise and his many escapades. I always wanted more.

I remember when all it took was holding hands; not kisses, not coitus, but the warmth of another’s hands mangled awkwardly with mine to say, “I fuck with you”.

I remember Saturday morning cartoons.

I remember my first crush. Puff-puff hair, a beautiful smile and phenomenal handwriting.

I remember Ali and Simbi.

I remember running in circles. Running round the school building a few times before tossing my fallen tooth on the zinc roof.

I remember when Mum and Dad stood like giants.

I remember running the sewing machine needle across my finger, just to see what would happen.

I remember riding Okada(bike) through the sandstorms of Kaduna. Save for my eyes, everything was covered in sand.

I remember.

I remember.

I remember.

Shibuya: Loafers, Lunch, Ghibli & Good Records

Black trouser and unbuttoned shacket from Oak and Fort, layered over a not so crisp white T-shirt. A silver chain watch on one wrist, a gold pendant on my chest, I step into a pair of black penny loafers. I look and feel… exquisite.

Should I wear something warmer? Yes. Would I? No. Today, today I choose fashion over function. Bad weather be damned!

The last two days have been whelming—not overwhelming, or underwhelming, just whelming. From a walking tour in Asakusa under bad weather, to an unsuccessful attempt—because of said weather—to see mount fuji. But It wasn’t all bad, I got to experience my very first tea ceremony and fresh cup of warm grass—matcha. I also tried out bloodied street Wagyu and it changed my inclination towards well-done meat.

Today I’m optimistic, I’m starting off my day with fine dining. So, I make my way to Cé La Vi for lunch. The group tour has started, but it has almost no group activities planned—my preference, I prefer the flexibility.

Exiting the elevator, I’m offered the terrace because there’s an event inside the restaurant. This would normally be awesome because of its view of Shibuya’s skyline, but the chilly breeze threaten’s to put a damper on things. And as I walk further into the mostly empty terrace, my outfit provides very little insulation, shocker.

Now seated, shivering and snickering at what is my first of a five course meal—slices of raw black fish frothing at the top. My friend and I via FaceTime make fun of me for eating things I wouldn’t normally touch. But hey, when in Rome, Rome. As we laugh and make jest, that’s when I notice her.

The woman at the table in front of me, drinking alone. We’re both on our own little islands. Perhaps we could both benefit from the warmth of the other’s company. So I end the call.

—“Hi, would you like to join me?”

— “Sure, why not?” She replies as she gathers her things and moves over to my table.

Pale green eyes, gold threaded hair, a smooth face, soft voice and a blue cast in one hand. She exudes the vibe of an eat, pray, love type of gal, in her late 40s or early 50s. The conversation’s easy flowing. I learn she’s only been in Japan for about 48 hours, a long layover before leaving for her final destination: Vietnam. Her flight’s in a couple hours and she’s spent most of the day exploring Tokyo by foot.

Unsurprisingly, she mentions she’s an avid traveler. And as it turns out, she’s also Canadian, something else we bond over. Curious how she funds her lifestyle, I ask what she does for work.

— “I’m a hairstylist,”

A hairstylist?

— “That’s cool! Hairstylist must make a shit ton of money then?”

— “Yeah. I make a good amount. In a week I could make about a thousand dollars on tips alone.”

— “A thousand dollars! On tips? That’s wild!”

— “Yeah. And I get to take time off whenever I want to. My clients often say I’m living the fairy tale life they wish they had when I tell them about my trips.”

Huh, perhaps I’m in the wrong profession. But then again, these things are rarely as simple as they sound. Nevertheless, unconventional ways of moving through life always intrigue me.

— “That’s pretty cool,”

Time flies as we chit chat, talking about our favourite cities, our lives back home, dating, and so on. Eventually, we bid our farewell. She’s been good company, providing the much needed warmth that the terrace had lacked.

Back down on the ground, I’m facing what is easily an apt symbol of organized chaos: The Shibuya crossing.

Sprawling streets surrounded by high-rise buildings, the roads unnaturally wide with no physical demarcators, and pedestrian crossings at weird angles. The air’s filled with rumblings of crowds on either side of the sidewalks, accompanied by the sound of car engines and a busker rapping in Japanese. The pedestrian sign turns green. And the real chaos ensues.

Like a noodle caught between two chopsticks, I wiggle through the crowd as everyone crosses to the opposite side at once, some stopping to take photos, others dallying to video the moment.

It’s a lot.

But in its own way, it’s beautiful. Beautiful chaos.

Walking through the streets, I feel the youth and excitement in every corner of Shibuya—the Mario Kart drivers, the influencers, the effortlessly stylish locals—it’s easy to get a sense of missing out on something. I eventually stumble into a Studio Ghibli merch store in Miyashita Park, and like a kid, I want everything. But as an adult, I settle for whatever fits in my carry-on.

Back on the street, amongst the high-rise buildings, one stands out—bright yellow with bold red letters: TOWER RECORDS. I’m intrigued and decide to check it out.

It’s a 9-floor building, with each floor dedicated to a genre of records—Vinyls or CDs—all neatly organized into racks, some of which have headsets to quickly sample tracks. It’s like Spotify discovery in real life. Love it. I come across some cool shit too, like Afro Bach by Joachim Horsley—a vibe! There’s something about seeing everything laid out in front of you that sparks curiosity, and an openness to try out new genres.

It’s so easy to lose track of time here, and I almost do! But after an hour, I pull myself away. I have a cabaret show to catch in Asakusa.

Asakusa: Cabaret, Kimonos & Curious Conversations

I arrive on time, quickly drop my bag on my seat—right behind the main stage—and walk back to the photo area; my ticket includes the option to take photos in a Kimono before the show starts.

I’m presented with a few Kimonos to choose from, and of course I pick the red one. It isn’t elaborate, just a top, paired with a green hand fan. The photos are then taken with my phone, this I find a bit disappointing. I’d expected something a bit more professional.

Back at my seat, my eyes glaze around as I wait for the show to start. I’d seen a bag and jacket a few meters away from me when I first arrived. But they’ve since been replaced by a girl—gold slender hair wrapped around an oval face with a straight nose. She’s cute, petite, and sitting alone.

— “Hi, my name’s Edmond…”

— “Hi…”

She says her name. It’s beautiful, I let her know. She’s Russian, here on vacation and when she’s not traveling, she’s modelling.

— “So where are you from?” she asks.

— “Canada,”

— “Oh c’est cool. Alors, le Canada c’est comment?” (Or whatever she says)

It’s a bit hard to hear her over the buzz of the crowd, chatting in anticipation of the show.

— “Is that French?”

— “Yeah,”

— “Yeah... I don’t speak any. But it’s pretty cool that you do!”

She chuckles and explains that her French isn’t that great, but whenever she gets the chance to, she uses it. We have some more small talk and then decide to sit next to each other before the show begins.

Laser lights, immersive Japanese scores, good looking performers in colourful Kimonos, and a great story—about a girl separated from her lover and forced to work in a geisha house—carries the whole thing. There’s little to no dialogue, but the dancing and acting brings the characters to life. The show’s absolutely worth it, and we’re all happy at the end when the girl makes it back to her lover.

After the show, we both take photos with the performers and decide to go for a stroll, since neither of us has anything else planned.

As we walk, we talk about the show. It’s not quite what either of us expected.

—“A lot more clothes on than I imagined,” she says.

I laugh.

—“Exactly!”

We both chuckle.

— “I like your shoes. You look really put together,”

Yes! My suffering has not been in vain. Who needs insulation?

— “Why, thank you. “

— “Have you always been this way? Put together I mean,”

— “I guess, maybe, I don’t know. It’s not something I really think about,”

As we walk past the temples and shrines, looking especially beautiful at night, the conversation drifts towards dating, lovers and everything in between.

— “I’m really into guys with trauma. Like really deep trauma. The deeper the issues, the better,” she says, barely laughing.

Ahh. Pele oo. I haven’t unlocked that level of trauma yet.

— “Interesting,”

Perhaps the comment about my “togetherness” had not been a compliment at all—Damn it!

On the train back to my hostel, moments from the trip bubble to the top of my mind. The immersive experience at TeamLabs, my fall and the Karaoke bar at Golden Gai, the museum, my trip to Mount Fuji, and the people I got to meet and spend time with.

I leave for Takayama tomorrow, and despite all the things I’ve done and experienced, I can’t help but think about all the things I didn’t—Mario Karting through the streets of Tokyo, taking in the city’s skyline from Tokyo Skytree, watching a sumo wrestling match, visiting Studio Ghibli Park, and so on.

Then, I remember the inscription on the exit walls at TeamLabs:

To have seen something, is to not have seen something else

何かを見たということは、何かを見られなかったということだ

Cé La Vi—This is Life.

Thanks for looking in. Until next time.

Notes:

• For finding activities, GetYourGuide and Klook were pretty handy.

• Cherry blossom season’s cool, so pack warm.

• A song that captures my experience in Tokyo: Kid Again - Jon Bellion

Ethereal music, lights, captivating images—still and moving. I feel like a kid again. With a tank filled with hope, endless curiosity and a sense of wonder. I’m lost in a place that to my senses, feels very much like a world architected and designed by Hayao Miyazaki.

I’m in awe as I make my way through TeamLabs Borderless.

I struggle to find the words to describe how I feel, but that’s what good art does to you. It’s absolutely immersive, with the walls and floors covered in digital interactive art. Even the waterfalls part when I touch them. The art in each room varies and changes overtime and there are no explicit instructions on how to explore the museum. This is by design.

I’m giddy. Its been less than 24 hours and the only thought that runs through my mind in a never-ending loop is…

I need to come back to Japan.

I walk through each room slowly, taking it all in: the art, the music, and how they all interact. Sometimes it feels like rooms flow into each other, like a wave from one room seamlessly blending into another. Other times, It feels like I’ve stepped into another universe entirely.

As I walk through a dimly lit passage, I barely notice an entrance to my right. I’m unsure it leads anywhere, but walk towards it anyway. I push past the rubber-plastic drapes—and stop.

Are those, are those ghosts?

Floating images of what look like people, some playing instruments, and others dancing. The room is filled with artificial fog and there’s no projection on any solid object. The images are being projected on the fog…

ON THE FOG! What in the name of Mystery Incorporated is going on?

I’m awestruck at the ingenuity of it. So I linger in the room a while.

The previous day…

After a 14 hour flight, I’m finally in Tokyo. It didn’t feel as long as I had expected, perhaps because I was prepared for it. And prepared I was. More prepared than I’ve ever been for any trip. I went through Reddit, TikTok, YouTube, Instagram and TripAdvisor. Read The Convenience Store Woman, The House Keeper And The Professor, and Lonely Planet: Japan. I watched The Memoir of a Geisha, binged watched Studio Ghibli movies and even tried to listen to Spotify’s Top 100 Japanese songs.

I was read-ready!

anyways…

Walking through the airport, I keep waiting to get into what I assumed would be the main arrival area. This doesn’t happen. It turns out this is it—underwhelming.

Nevertheless, my excitement isn’t derailed. I’ve heard and read enough to know that Japan’s awesome, even if its airport says very little to support that. And so I unburden myself of any negative thoughts and make my way through customs. This is relatively painless. I had filled out all the necessary forms online the day before.

It’s not until I get to the carousel heading towards the baggage area with Japanese signage above my head that it hits me…

I’m in Japan…what the hell am I doing here?

Ok, back to the present…

I spend the next 3 hours exploring the TeamLabs Museum, and every minute of it is absolutely worth it!

On my way out, I take a quick photo of an inscription on the exit wall—something to ponder on later. But right now, right now I need sustenance. The building housing TeamLabs has other establishments, so I drop into a nearby restaurant and order a rice curry dish. And boy does it slap! What sorcery is this? It’s the perfect level of spice: enough heat to get me going without causing concern, wonderfully flavoured, and as far as I can tell, there’s not an Indian in sight responsible for this. Even the orange juice is juicing. This must be what they serve in heaven’s waiting area. Grinning ear-to-ear, I call my friend…

Me: “Konnichiwa”

Him: “Konnichi-Fuckin-Wa!”

We both laugh hard and excitement fills my voice as I catch him up on the last 24 hours in the land of the rising sun—or perhaps the land of milk and honey.

I find Tokyo appealing in a peculiar way. The houses, pathways, and the roads linking them—like the airport—feel unremarkable, at first glance. But what stands out to me is how well maintained and clean everything is. It’s so ridiculously clean, you’d hear a voice scream in your head if you drop anything out of place.

The streets are filled with boxy little cars, convenience stores on almost every corner, and pedestrian crossing signals that chirp like birds. I’m in a new city, and all I want to do is get acquainted with every last corner of it.

Tokyo is divided into several smaller neighbourhoods. I’m interested in visiting Shinjuku for the nightlife, Ueno for the cherry blossoms, Shibuya for the iconic crossing, and Asakusa for the temples. The plan’s simple, spend the next few days exploring the city at my own pace, while recovering from a jet lag. Then, join a group tour to see the rest of Japan. Let’s get to it.

Shinjuku: Bars, Bumps, and Ballads

In the evening, I head to Golden Gai in Shinjuku and wander its narrow alleyways, each lined with little Izakayas (bars). Walking through it feels like navigating a maze and discovering little pockets of wonder here and there. I’m amazed at how little these bars are; some can barely seat 5-8 people. Despite that, lots of tourists are bar hopping and soaking it all in. I step into one of the bars, and have a beef curry—shocker, it slaps! This isn’t a restaurant, it’s just bar food, and yet my mouth rejoices in triumph.

I keep exploring the area, when I find what looks like a Jazz bar with a narrow wet staircase leading to its entrance. There’s a couple behind me, and we all slowly make our way to the top. When we do, we realize it’s full, with maybe 5 people. I turn to head back down, and then it happens. Fast.

I lose my footing.

I start tumbling down the stairs. I grasp and claw in vain, arms flailing in futility like a crab in boiling water. With nothing to break my fall, I don’t stop until I get to the bottom, where one of the couple finally halts my descent.

“You good?“

“…Yeah…yeah’’ I say doubtfully.

I stand up slowly, and check that all my body parts are in one piece. It stings, but I’m mostly okay. Well, that concludes my bar hopping for the evening. I start making my way out the alley, and then I remember seeing a sign for a Karaoke bar earlier… and decide to make one last stop.

I make it to the part of Golden Gai where the bar is. It’s on a basement level. I walk down a few steps and finally arrive at its door. On opening it, I see people packed like sardines. We’re talking crotch to butt, tits to back kind of spacing, and as I turn to leave, the crowd beckons.

“We’ll make space! We can make it work!” they shout.

Cheerful smiles on their faces, booze in hand, and several voices singing off-key at the top of their lungs…

I’m not saying “No” to that.

And so, packed like sardines—a very diverse set of sardines—we cycle through the classics, taking turns one terrible voice at a time but occasionally being serenaded by two Indians who sound every bit like professionals. I soon forget my fall from earlier, and bask in the company of strangers, bonded by our shared awe of Japan and the city that is Tokyo.

Ueno: Trains, Rain, and Relics

The next day, I head for Ueno park. I’m taking the train. The train station and its routes can be overwhelming, but Google’s my friend. I plot my trip—it’ll only take 35 minutes via the Ginza line. Cool. But first, I make my way to 7-Eleven to grab a snack and an umbrella. It’s rained a bit since my arrival, and this morning is no different.

I knew this before coming, but I’m still pleasantly surprised by how convenient the convenience stores are. Almost all the essentials I need are here, and at really affordable prices too. I grab what I need, pay with my Suica card, and head out.

“Arigato Gozaimasu!” the cashier says with zeal.

I’m not an anime aficionado, but the few times I’ve watched them, I’ve always thought, why so dramatic? Especially with the sound effects. Surely the Japanese aren’t like this… so where is this all coming from?

Well, I was a tad wrong.

After a few days in Tokyo, you immediately notice the city has a distinct acoustic signature—like something out of an anime. No place makes this more obvious than the train stations. Where boarding and off-boarding a train is accompanied by playful chimes, the train isn’t just arriving—it’s making an entrance. I find this… amusing.

Apart from the voice of the announcer, there’s barely a sound from anyone on board. Most people have an earpiece on and are generally minding their business. There’s no eating, no chit chats, just the doppler effect of the train as it speeds through the tracks.

This is jarring to witness, especially given that I’m used to the opposite. But in its own way, the silence punctuated only by the clanking of the train tracks is soothing. So I focus my attention on the LED screen displaying the stops, and listen intently for the announcers voice. I don’t really need to, because Google notifies me to get off at the next stop. And so, on arriving at Ueno-Hirokoji Station, I hop off the train and make my way out the subway.

The plan’s to wander around the park and bask in the cherry blossoms. But it’s raining and the cold that accompanies it seeps through my jacket and the outer layers of my skin. My knuckles turn white and shrivelled, a familiar pattern I despise. But I’m glad I’ve got something else lined up: the Tokyo National Museum. It’s only a stone stroll away. So I walk over, show my ticket to the staff, and step inside.

With its size and multiple floors, I’m unsure where to begin. It’s a bit daunting. I try to get help at the front-desk, but I’m unsuccessful—language barrier and all that. I don’t want to hold up the line, so I step aside. And then I remember—wait, I’ve got ChatGPT!

Me: I’m at the Tokyo National Museum and unsure how to approach or begin my exploration. Here’s the map. Can you help?

ChatGPT: …start on the 2nd floor(chronological layout):

• Jomon Pottery (Prehistoric Japan)…

Then head to the 1st floor for thematic exhibitions…

History will note that I was urbane in my interactions with the machines, and as such, be spared their wrath when the uprising begins.

In any case, it’s as ChatGPT had said. I move from room to room, occasionally stopping to read, admire, and absorb the artifacts—pottery, armors, tea sets, paintings, and sculptures.

I learn a bit about Japanese tea ceremonies, how pottery styles changed over eras, and how certain crafting styles originated from China. I also come to learn that the Indians might be the OG influencers—Buddhism spread to Japan through India and Korea. Today, it’s said that 70% of Japan practice it. It’s also said that 70% practice Shinto. Meaning, most people practice both.

Two hours in, my blood sugar levels lower than the limbo bars in hell, I decide it’s time to leave, find something to eat, and maybe return to the park. But with the rain still falling hard, its cold still gripping, and my stomach growling, I call it a day and head back to my hotel.

Day 3 has been uneventful, but this is a marathon, not a sprint.

To be continued…

Thanks for looking in. Until next time.

It was only a couple of months prior I had attended my first Symphony at the Roy Thompson Hall, before which I had no idea what a double bass was, and barely understood what the difference between a viola and a violin was. And yet here I am walking the halls of the RCM in anticipation of watching Measha Brueggergosman perform selected poems from Margaret Atwood as songs with a brass band. And yes, I realize how pretentious, snobbish even, this all sounds, but this is where I find myself.

So, how did I get here? Looking back, it was rather inevitable, more a matter of when than anything else. Having started learning the Piano, it would only make sense that I would start paying more attention to classical music. It’s not to say that I didn’t appreciate the genre at all. Far from it. Whenever snippets of Beethoven’s fifth symphony or moonlight sonata, etc came up in movies, I appreciated the ambience and the added layer of emotion they provided, but nothing more.

However, now, now I appreciate the artistry, the composition, and how the elements come together. How the composer can tug on one’s emotions with tension when they throw in dissonant tones, make you feel cold when they play somber notes on a higher register. The double bass… uhh, could quite possibly be one of my favourite instruments ever - its role in a composition is often limited, but boy do you feel its presence when it takes the spotlight. Often providing a layer of tension or meat to a composition - making it feel full and brimming with life.

So why? Why would anyone hold such reverence for “elevator music”? Well, beyond appreciating the dexterity of the composer, I consider classical music to be music with precision - it goes straight to the emotion. Unencumbered by words, you feel it just as intensely. It does not prescribe a narrative, or how you should feel—just that you should. And there’s something incredibly freeing about that.

Because unlike pop songs where you may have to see the world through the eyes of the author, classical music allows you to be the protagonist, and take the story in whatever direction you choose.

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention the colourful story telling features that are most prevalent in this genre - which I absolutely love. Much like baroque architecture, which features dramatic, elegant designs that allow a building to come to life, classical music does the same by not relying on just four chords to carry an entire piece or, if it those so, it does so with elegance. Composers explore as many notes available to them, going places you didn’t know existed in order to make a piece come to life.

So then, are my ears indeed Baroque-n?

Absolutely.

I once read:

True beauty should terrify you, it should stun you by reflecting back at you how inadequate you are compared to what can be perfect, and it should inspire you to create, not consume.

— The Death of Hobbies

Classical music done right is fucking beautiful! And it’s not a stretch to say it inspires one to be the best version of themselves. Much like the way you would watch Steph Curry move and shoot the ball with such fluidity and poise it can only be described as poetry in motion - and at the back of your mind, you think, “Can I be the Steph Curry of something?”.

At this point, it would be selfish, irresponsible even, to not share with you some of the beauty I’ve stumbled upon. So, here are some contemporary classical albums I’m listening to and enjoy at the moment:

1. Emotions by Tony Ann - If you’re looking for true beauty, look no further than this album. Tony Ann plays with Arpeggios like no contemporary composer I’ve come across. This album captures each emotion perfectly while displaying a deep level of dexterity. It’s so good that even if it’s not your vibe, the composers skill cannot be denied.

2. The Sumer Portraits by Ludovico - This is my everything is fine & you got this album. Unlike Emotions, this album doesn’t make itself the center of attention. It’s a warm background, allowing you to be the focus. I interpret the entire album as - going through a journey or task despite not having all the strength to do so. And everything coming to a crescendo in Pathos, when you accomplish the task despite the odds.

3. Classical Soul Vol. 1 by Alexis Ffrench - This is music for the soul. It’s difficult to listen to this album and not consider the composer a romantic. When you listen to a song like Suddenly, it feels like falling in love so unexpectedly you’re in awe and shocked by it.

So no, my ears aren’t broken. They’re Baroque-n—in the best way. I hope you enjoy these. Until next time.

Is it having an entire conversation without saying a single word?

Is it sensing the other person is unwell, simply because you’ve felt restless all day?

What is Love? …Is it Curiosity?

Why do you move the way you do?

What’s that dark spot on your back?

What’s your mom’s favourite flower?

Why do you hate chocolate?

Why’s your phone on silent around 2:00pm everyday?

What is Love? …Is it Intimacy?

Is it the joy of deeply knowing someone and the pleasure of being equally deeply known?

Is it knowing them so completely that they become an extension of you and you of them?

What is Love? …Is it Attention?

Is it stepping in to take over a conversation because you can tell the other person is socially drained?

Is it always picking up a French Vanilla latte because they once mentioned it’s their favourite?

What is Love? …Is it the Small Things?

Is it remembering they have an exam and calling the night before to calm their nerves?

What is Love? …Is it the Big Things?

Is it travelling to a different city or country because the other person needs help moving?

What is Love? …Is it Time?

Is it watching a TV show you couldn’t care less about, just because they asked?

Is it seating next to them while they do the dishes, because to be elsewhere just feels off?

What is Love? …Is it Intentionality?

Is it making the other person feel seen, even in the smallest of decisions?

Like, “I’m stepping out for bubble tea—want me to grab your favourite?”

What is Love? …Is it Conditional?

Is it saying, “I have exactly five fucks to give. You get four—the last one’s for me. It’s grace, for when the others have been depleted”?

What is Love? …Is it Being in Sync?

Is it when the gap between how you feel about them and how they make you feel is so small, it’s negligible?

What is Love? …Is it Slight Delusion?

Is it spotting a red flag and thinking, “You know what? One person’s red flag is another’s Christmas tree ornament”?

Is it walking on the side of the road so they don’t have to, because in your mind’s eye, all possible dangers are thwarted by that one simple gesture?

What is Love? …Is it a Feeling?

Is it the warmth that rises in your chest, when they walk into a room?

Is it the spark when you hold hands, the euphoria of a kiss, or the grounding comfort of their hug?

What is Love? …Is it Communicating?

Is it spending hours on the phone chatting about everything, anything and absolutely nothing at all?

Is it talking when the easiest thing to do would be to remain silent?

What is Love? Love is…

It’s all of it.

It’s some of it.

It’s none of it.

It’s whatever you make of it.

I think… It’s all of it, wrapped neatly into something a little less ephemeral.

It’s seeing a Porsche and thinking “Fuck, that’s a beautiful ride“,

but having absolutely no desire for it,

because my Corolla is just perfect.

I love how it rides.

I love its quirks, its edges and curves.

I love the funny sound it makes when I turn the ignition.

I love how much space it has for all my baggage.

I love its imperfections, because they’re mine to live with.

And most of all…

I love how it always, always, feels like home.

Bonus

• Want an accompanying playlist? Here you go.

• More reads to match the vibe? Say Less.

  • How hard should you kiss a woman

  • So is this love?

  • Curiosity is a form of love

  • To be loved is to be known

  • Getting married soon
    

Like always, you can skip right to the last section if you just want to hear the cover. If you’re interested in the process and learning some new chords, continue reading.

The Instrumentals

The original song’s key signature is C major. It has a Beat Per Minute (BPM) of 96, and a chord progression of 1, 4, 6, 5. I, however, made the cover in the D major scale instead, because It suits my voice better. The keys in D major scale are D, E, F#, G, A, B and C#.

Using the number system, the chords become:

• 1: D (D major chord) → D, F#, A

• 4: G (G major chord) → G, B, D

• 6: B (B minor chord) → B, D, F#

• 5: A (A major chord) → A, C#, E

Normally, I’d play the chords once on my piano, record it to Logic Pro, and just loop the chords for the duration of the song.

But when I did that, something felt off - the song seemed too fast in some sections. I set the tempo correctly; I was sure. To make sure I wasn’t going crazy, I imported the original song into Logic Pro to verify the tempo. And that’s when I realized the downbeats didn’t align consistently with the 96 BPM. It seemed to change from one bar to another.

What the hell?

But then it eventually all made sense to me. When we listen to songs, our brain often makes predictions about what comes next in pitch, tempo, etc. That’s how we know when to join in on the chorus to a song we don’t even know the lyrics to.

However, when you play Slow up, if you try to sing/hum along, you’ll find that you’re either getting in too soon or too late, because the tempo is not static. I believe this was a creative decision. Well done Sir Banks.

Long story short, automation would not work here. I had to play the song from start to finish while singing along to it, so it matched the song’s unique cadence. If the metronome were a person, it would’ve wept.

Then, for the bridge of the song that featured some heavy drums, I did a piano solo instead. I played the same chords but in major and minor 7th(a variation of a regular major/minor chord. It adds an extra note) and as arpeggios, which means playing each note of the chord one at a time, rather than all at once. For A major, I just played the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 5th note in the A major triad shape, because the Amaj7 chord just didn’t sound right.

Last, to make things interesting, for the last chorus I switched the keys from D major to D minor, to give it a darker tone.

The Vocals

This was fun and challenging for a few reasons. For one, I didn’t record the vocals the same time I recorded the keys. So I had to sing over the pre-recorded keys. This would’ve been straightforward, except the keys were not following the bpm strictly. And so, even though I sang the song earlier, my brain was having a hard time predicting where I was suppose to come in. After several takes, I got a version of the vocals I could live with. It wasn’t always in sync with the keys, but I liked anyway. Beautiful chaos.

Second, I had to replicate the emotional delivery of Jacob banks, or something close enough. This was a mix of fun and challenge, because I had to try out different variations in my vocal timbre and emotional expression to see what worked best. The lyrics, however, made it easy to play the character because they were deep and emotional.

Third, timbre. To add a little more character to my voice, I performed the song with a little more fry/raspiness, especially in the 2nd verse. It just sounded better.

Last, switching to D minor was fun. It was one more thing to make the cover a little different. The chorus for this was straightforward. But the ad-lib not so much. Humming a counter melody without a lot of breathing was a challenging. It didn’t come out perfectly, but sounded good enough.

The Mixing and Arrangement

Like the previous covers, nothing too complex happened here. I mostly leveraged the Mastering Assistant in Logic Pro to create the final mix. But before that, I did a few things.

First, I adjusted the EQ in the vocals and the piano, so they don’t sound like they’re competing for space.

Second, I applied reverb to the vocals and the piano, so it doesn’t sound like I’m singing too close to your ears, but a little further back, perhaps in a garage or small room.

Third, added some sound effects because I liked how they sounded.

Fourth, added automatons to decrease the volume of the piano and sound effects when I’m singing, and bring them back up when I’m not, i.e. the beginning of the song and on the piano bridge.

Last, I applied some panning to the ad-libs in the second and last chorus, so it sounds like different voices coming from both your left and right ear. These are just different takes I did.

The Song

There’s always room for improvement, but I like the final product. Especially how the piano blends with the sound effects, and how the vocals cut through. Here’s the song.

Are you a fan of Jacob Banks? What are your favourite songs from him? Let me know in the comments!

Notes

• Here’s the link to the stems for the song. Have fun!

• I learned some valuable tips on EQ here.

• Some more valuable tips on Reverb here.

• What am I listening to right now?

  • Ma Meilleure Ennemie by Stromae & Pomme

  • Desire by Tony Ann

  • Lost Forever by Tony Njoku

On Growth and Transformation:

…the world will break us with all kinds of calamities—but if we survive them, we have a choice in how we respond.

- Prompt 291. What Breaks & Remakes Us

Choosing to be intellectually alive has become my only marching order. It’s my primary job. Everything I do revolves around it. Everything else is meaningless without it.

- How to never grow old

“The basis for any approach to self-transformation is an ever-increasing awareness of reality and the shedding of illusions,” writes Erich Fromm in The Art of Being. He refers often to awakeness, to making conscious what is repressed. To not just hearing, but listening. Not just seeing, but looking, watching. You can do this anywhere, with anything. A ritual in its own right.

- #179: Beyond routines

On Intentionality and Focus:

Goals are often nothing more than distractions designed as bragging rights, and shiny objects that, once you get them, make you feel nothing.

Real freedom is making lifestyle design a reality.

- How to Change Your Life in the Next 12 Months (Without Extreme Discipline)

When you’re focused you can achieve what society says is impossible. I’m not the most skilled writer, but my ruthless focus has helped me reach the top 1% in my field.

You must become so ruthless with your time that it borderline pisses people off.

- The Power of Deleting 99% of Your To-Do List

On Relationships and Community:

Empathic engineers are the real 10x engineers to me

It’s really important to write in a way that the reader will use as little amount of mental energy as possible to understand it → that’s how you get the best results.

- Empathy is a superpower in the engineering industry

Get into consistency and rituals. Place-based connections require physically being somewhere and doing the same kinds of things week to week. If you want this, you might have to change your life so there is a bit more air in it. Traveling all the time may be aspirational and fun, but I think it definitely comes at the expense of building community.

- How to build a village

When people fail to find their niche, and when we fail to help them find it, we don’t just suffer from their absence. We also suffer from their presence in the wrong place.

- There’s a place for everyone

On Practical Advice:

• Does this need to be said?

• Does this need to be said by me?

• Does this need to be said by me right now?

- The Next Time Someone Annoys You, Remember This Story

Some problems are like getting a diploma: you work at it for a while, and then you're done forever. Learning how to ride a bike is a classic diploma problem.

But most problems aren’t like that. They’re more like toothbrushing problems: you have to work at them forever until you die. You can’t, as far as I know, just brush your teeth really really well and then let ‘em ride forever.

- So you wanna de-bog yourself

If something bothers you, communicate it. Request the exact haircut you want. Ask the person loudly listening to music in the plane seat next to you to turn it down. Don’t sit there fuming when you could just open your mouth and fix it in five seconds.

- 28 things I’ve learned

On Philosophy and Perspective:

a life that looks good is not the same thing as a life that feels good. Maybe no one can tell the difference except for you, but you’ll struggle to fool yourself.

- against bruteforcing

…I encounter my beloved on the street as they are a manifestation of the world that I love. And they love the world through me.

A lot of people trying to date seem to forget this. If I could give advice, I’d say: get out in the world and find love right where you are! Love your friends, your activities, your challenges. Love yourself. And then love will come searching for you!

- A comment under what's up with modern love?

“Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”

—Marcus Aurelius

- Stoicism: The Ancient Remedy to the Modern Age

On Work and Productivity:

While not every project will succeed, staying engaged, asking questions, and understanding the deeper purpose behind your work can make all the difference.

- Lessons from Projects That Didn’t See the Light of Day

If you do something even moderately useful and you do it no matter what, then people will realize you’re going to be around a while, and they can start building things on top of you.

- Underrated ways to change the world

Some Books I Enjoyed

Reading one of Matt Haig’s books(The midnight library) for the first time, felt serendipitous. I think he’s a really brilliant author. He’s able to address hard topics with compelling fictional stories that have characters that are both believable and relatable. I can’t recommend his work enough. Here are some of his books I’ve read, in the order of how much I enjoyed them.

• The Midnight Library - A poignant exploration of regret and possibility.

• How To Stop Time - A brilliant exploration of immortality and it’s emotional toll.

• The Humans - A witty and heartfelt exploration of what it means to be human.

• The Life Impossible - Touches on the joys of being human and the beauty to be found in persistence and self acceptance.
  
  

Some Lessons Learned

• Read: It doesn’t matter what you read, just read. Especially long form reading, because it allows you to see the chain of thought that shaped the authors assertions.

  A good rule of thumb when looking for something to read is, follow your interests. I’ve learned so much about music this year from reading. From discovering songs I wouldn’t normally lookout for, to learning more about the fundamentals of music. And bonus, reading can also be a good source of inspiration.

• Copy someone you admire: You find someone you admire, copy the habit you like. It might seem silly at first, but there’s something there. M.I. used to sound like Lil Wayne, Ayra Starr used to sound like Tems, & Rema used to sound like Wizkid. Eventually you’ll figure out what works for you, using them as an inspiration and foundation.

• Be intentional: You’ve got the one life, don’t vibe through it or vibe through it, as long as you are making the conscious decision to do so. If something matters to you, then it should show in the way you move through life. You want to be closer to your parents? How often do you spend time with them? You want to be more present? How often do you put your phone down and stay engaged in the moment?

Thanks for stopping by, and here’s to a new year filled with wisdom, great reads, and intentional living. Happy New Year!!!

So instead, I’ll condense my highlights and thoughts on the places I visited into a single less immersive post, this one. Grab a beverage, it’s a long one. And Oh, Merry Christmas!

Berlin: Long Nights and Emotional Guards

Berlin felt very much like a metropolitan city, with much wider roads and a more diverse crowd than Vienna.

The tourist attractions and landmarks spread throughout the city, which made exploring most of it by foot a non starter.

It’s also renowned as the clubbing capital of Europe with a huge techno scene and a vibrant nightlife, so naturally I had to go clubbing. When in Rome, Rome and all that.

I went to the Maxxim club on my first night. The vibe was good, but clubbing solo rarely hits the same. I, however, enjoyed that the club oscillated between playing recorded songs and having live performances featuring a singer and a dancer. With purple neon lights swirling all around us, the singer gave an electric performance of classic rock numbers like “Don’t Stop Believing” and “Don’t Stop Me Now,” as the audience and I sang along at the top of our lungs. It was fun!

At 3:00am, when I assumed things would start winding down, I couldn’t have been more wrong. It instead looked like things were only revving up, as more people made their way into the club that now seemed more packed than I had last remembered. It was then I tapped out. I’m not equipped with the right knees or mental acuity for this, I thought to myself.

The next day, I would go clubbing again, with no regard for my knees. This time going to a different club, the 808, which played mainly hip-hop/pop songs. I had about the same experience as the previous night. But the highlight for me was running into a guy who mentioned he was from Eritrea. I did not know this was a country. And so I learned something new that night: Eritrea is to Ethiopia, what Ukraine is to Russia. Like the latter, Eritrea used to be a part of Ethiopia with shared history and cultural roots, but after a 30 year long war, Eritrea became an independent nation.

Clubbing wasn’t the only scene Berlin had to offer. Some of my favourite moments came at the popular Berlin Monkey Bar. While going to the club had felt like ticking off a checklist item, the bar felt more natural. A melting pot of both tourists and locals alike. With music playing loud enough to be enjoyed and quite enough to have conversations, the atmosphere was chill and welcoming. And as I people watched while waiting on my drink. A guy at the bar and I eventually got to talking. And after a bit, I introduced myself.

Me: My name’s Edmond. You?

Guy: Michael. Where are you from, Edmond?

Me: Canada. How about you?

Guy: Munich. Toronto…no, Ottawa’s your capital, right? So you play hockey over there, yes?…

Such a mundane question, but in it I see a curious mind and a well-travelled person - or at least someone who reads. For a moment, my eyes widen and a warm feeling rises in my chest. I’m both impressed and perhaps slightly jealous of how knowledgeable a person can be about the world. But soon a smile spreads across my face, as I envision a future where someone else says to me, “I’m from Germany”.

It wasn’t the first time I had experienced something like this. On one of my days out, while having dinner at an Italian restaurant, I sat next to what was an ongoing date between two young adults in their 20s. And with not much in the way of entertainment, I eavesdropped on their conversation.

They talked about the countries they’ve visited and the gentleman boasted, “There are very few places I haven’t been to”. He lists a couple places in Africa, North America, Asia and then says he’s just about been everywhere in Europe. What in the name of blood money??? And oh, he’s only 29.

At this point, both his date and I are wondering, How? And he explains that when he was much younger, his mum had the goal of travelling the world, and so he tagged along on most of her trips and when he got older, he kept travelling.

When travel and exploration is second nature to a people, is no wonder they are more knowledgeable on the world than most.

When I wasn’t eavesdropping on dates, I tried to learn a bit about the city’s history. And while I didn’t visit any museums, I visited the memorial sites. There’s something about seeing the number of deaths at the sites that makes my blood run hot. I knew nothing of the Sinti/Roma people before this trip and while I’m not Jewish or practice their traditions, learning more about how the Nazi treated both groups, fills me with a mix of rage and sadness. Despite this, I left with an appreciation of how open the city is about its past.

In my last days, I checked off some other touristy items, like taking a city tour bus, visiting the Berlin Zoo, and then visiting the famous East Side Gallery.

I also take some time to reflect on my trip, and I wander how best I could describe the vibe I got from the locals during my brief stay in the city. And the phrase that came to mind was - sexually liberated but emotionally guarded.

With loads of nude parks and fetish clubs spread around the city, it’s safe to say sex deprivation is not a thing Berliners suffer from.

In contrast, Margelo, my server at the Italian restaurant, in a bid to explain to me the emotional range of Berliners, he graced me with a story. He said, and I’m paraphrasing, you can work every day for 5 years at a job with the same person, see and interact with them on most days, maybe you even think you guys are cool. But when you see them outside of work one day, you both lock eyes. They will ignore your existence. Not sure how true that is, but the story stuck with me, because it mirrored the guarded interactions I experienced throughout the city.

Berlin is a fun city, but I feel it’s a city best enjoyed with a crew—one to match its boundless energy and sprawling streets.

Amsterdam: Of Canals and Cultural Reflections

I arrive in Amsterdam after a 5 hour train ride from Berlin. The ability to get to almost any country in Europe via rail is such a flex and a huge convenience. This was going to be a quick stop; I had only 3 days in the city, owing to my lack of fuck you money.

On my first night, I go on a tour of the canal, taking in the view with some wine and hard cheese. And as we glide through the canal, the tour guide explains that the city removes roughly 12,000 bikes from the canal each year. That’s crazy! At some point, we glide past a group of houses that lean slightly. They remind me of the painted ladies in San Francisco until the tour guide explains they’re called the dancing houses.

The “dancing” houses because Amsterdam is built on soggy soil and relies on wooden piles to keep the buildings stable. Overtime these wooden piles can shift or decay if exposed to air or water fluctuations, causing the houses to tilt or dance, the tour guide explains.

The guide also explains that some residents pay a costly permit to live on their boats and certain buildings lean forward intentionally to make it easy to haul items to upper floors. Eventually, I turned off my brain and just enjoyed the picturesque view; something about the canal at night makes it feel like a scene from a movie.

Buoyed by the magic of the canal tour, I braced myself for Amsterdam’s main attraction: the red-light district. I joined a paid walking tour led by a guide called Foxy (I know.. but that’s what he said). He seemed very knowledgeable about the place, the people, and its history. Foxy explains that during the 17th century, Amsterdam became a major port city. And with that came an influx of seafarers, who haven spent extended periods of time from home, spurred a demand for entertainment, companionship and other services. And naturally prostitution emerged as a response to that demand.

The further we got into the district, the more sex related shops and establishments popped up. It was both fascinating and overwhelming.

We eventually came across some of the famous red-lit brothel windows. The scene reminds me of Barbies displayed in clear boxes. The sex workers were on display by the windows and if you liked what you saw, you could patronize them. None of this seemed out of the ordinary. The district was busy, but other than that, everyone went about their day with no fuss. Prostitution has been legal in the Netherlands since the 2000s, and so perhaps this is all to be expected.

As the tour goes on, myself and the other tourists wondered how safe it was for the sex workers here, and Foxy explained that Amsterdam has cameras everywhere and panic buttons in the brothels that let sex workers alert the authorities if they ever felt unsafe.

My visit to the district had left me more intellectually stimulated than I was physically. I reflected on sex and the cultural attitudes surrounding it. Europeans often treating it as mundane, while in many African societies, it’s too sacred, only to be talked about in hushed tones. Both paths may have their pros, but in the typical Dutch fashion, perhaps a compromise could serve us well.

We don’t toss the car keys to a 16-year-old, and hope for the best, do we? No. There’s often years of watching someone else do the driving and that’s because you don’t ask them to avert their eyes when someone else drives, that’s just silly isn’t it?

In addition, most teens still have to take driving lessons, where someone makes sure they’re not a danger to themselves or anyone else, before they’re entrusted with the keys to a car.

I don’t know, maybe there’s something in there that could apply to the way we treat sex as a society, but perhaps that’s a problem for another day.

For now, when in Rome, Rome, I thought to myself, as I walked towards one of the local bars to experience more of Amsterdam’s famed hospitality.

Belfast: History and Friendship

Leaving Amsterdam’s thought-provoking district behind, I moved on to Belfast. Famous for the Harland and Wolff shipbuilding company tasked with building the titanic and a city rich with history on the troubles of Ireland, it’s definitely an ideal city to visit for history buffs. While all these were solid reasons to visit, this trip was also about catching up with an old friend.

There’s this phenomenon that’s wildly observed, where you act a certain way or a certain age when you reconnect with a friend. The last time I had spent any meaningful amount of time with this person, I was in my teens. And so occasionally, I found myself moving like a teen again, happy-go-lucky, carefree and at peak foolishness - in a good way. It’s fascinating how relationships can serve as mirrors to our past selves.

Filled with the energy from reconnecting with an old friend, I spend the week exploring the city. And one of my first stops is the Titanic Museum. It left a lasting impression and is an absolute must-visit for anyone in Belfast.

The front of the building immediately captures your attention with its architecturally striking design - four vast structures, each resembling the bow of a ship, paying homage to the city’s maritime heritage.

The museum showcases and explains Belfast’s industrial & maritime history, and the evolution of Harland and Wolff Shipyard. It also talks about how they secured funding for the Titanic from their primary financial backer, J.P. Morgan. When I hear that name, I think of an institution, because it is. It’s fascinating to think that once upon a time, it was just a person, albeit a very wealthy person.

Eventually, I get to the section that goes over the sequence of events that transpired before the Titanic went down. It’s solemn, with sad/pensive strings playing in the background. You can see the messages between Titanic and the surrounding ships in its last moments displayed on the walls, along with recordings of survivors periodically being played.

And by the end of the section, you’re met by a large screen that shows the list of people that were saved (713), and lost (1512) in the event. I lingered here for a bit before moving on.

Too many things went wrong in sequence for the Titanic to go down. It’s hard to conclude it all happened by chance. From Ignoring/missing multiple warnings of the Iceberg, to the missing binoculars that could have helped with spotting the iceberg on time. And when they did decide to swerve away from the iceberg, it was a tad too late; they were moving too fast.

On impact, the closest ship (the California) to them that could’ve helped, didn’t respond to their SOS call because the wireless operator was asleep…asleep!!! To make things worse, the ship only had enough lifeboats to save about 1/3 of its passengers, which apparently exceeded the safety measures back then. It’s safe to say the man downstairs was having a filled day.

On the bright side, owing to the mishap with the Titanic, the International Convention for Safety of Life at Sea (SOLAS) was formed. And it put a lot of measures in place to reduce the probability of another Titanic happening.

Besides the Titanic museum, the other thing I really enjoyed was yet another walking tour. I find it’s usually the best way to get to know a city, its history and its people.

The tour focused on the troubles and how Belfast was affected. And as we walk through the city, the tour guide explains that most people erroneously characterize the troubles as a religious war, a war between the Catholics and the Protestants of Ireland. Most people would be wrong. It was more a battle of ideals than it was of religion.

The Catholics wanted a United Ireland free from the UK, while the Protestants wanted to be a part of it. And it was that fundamental difference that lead to years of unbridled violence and unrest in the region.

And walking through the city, you can definitely tell that it’s been through a lot, but also trying to claw its way out of its dark past.

Soon, we walked past a building that looked abandoned. This used to be a pub, the guide says. Then he goes on to tell a horrifying story of people jumping out windows from top floors for fear of being blown to bits by a bomb. The night left many people badly injured and emotionally scarred.

It was a chilling site and story, but unfortunately, not a unique one. More tales like this spread across the city.

Despite sounding all doom and gloom, it had been a pleasant trip. I had good company, and I'm also realizing I quite like the Irish accent. It’s very melodic. According to my friend, it’s very sing-songy.

Belfast is not a popular destination in the way that London or Ibiza is, it’s not a happening spot. But having good company elevated my experience in the city and made it worthwhile.

Epilogue

I quite enjoyed going on these trips. Going through Europe felt like going through a time portal and reliving moments in history. I’m no history buff by any means, but walking through the cities with a local, or an expert guide like Foxy, brings the history of a place to life and makes it more engaging.

Also, meeting different people as I travel and getting an idea of how they think or move through life is fascinating.

As you can tell, I ponder a lot, and one of such events took place as I sat by the water banks on the west side of the Berlin wall. Why can’t life always be like this? Travelling, meeting new people, and having new experiences?

And something my mum says comes to mind “A person who belongs to everyone, belongs to no one“. She was hardly talking about travelling, but I think it applies here. You can’t always be on the move, you need an anchor - a sense of belonging somewhere.

So here’s to more adventures and new experiences while being safely tethered to a community you love and that loves you in return. Until next time.

Notes

• Like the previous trip, Trip Advisor was pretty handy for all the things I needed to know about these cities before visiting.

• If you enjoy learning about history in a way that feels effortless and engaging, I’d recommend listening to “The Spy Who“ podcast, it’s entreating, immersive, and informative. Here are some of my fave series:

  • The Spy Who Started the Cold War - Relevant to Berlin

  • The Spy Who Sold Peace to the IRA - Relevant to Ireland

I usually try to make the voice overs for stories more immersive, by adding details that may be difficult to convey with just words. So if you’d like to get the full experience, give it a listen while you read.

Enjoy!

I’ve traveled solo before, but never for this long, with no one waiting on the other side for me. It’s both exciting and nerve-racking. I have no real itinerary and plan to play every day by ear. I chose Vienna because it’s considered the city of music and has been home to some of the great classical music composers like Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn.

I arrive on a Friday, and plan to stay here for a week. This isn’t exactly a vacation, as I’ll be working during my time here. Meaning I’ll only have the weekends and evenings to explore the city. So the next day, even though I’m extremely jet lagged and sleep deprived, I’m determined to not waste the weekend. I purchase online tickets for the tour bus and step out of the hotel.

As I walk through the city and towards the bus stop, I admire the beautiful architecture, the well-maintained cobblestone streets, the vibrant atmosphere of locals and tourists going about their day, and I eventually come across a talented street performer playing the violin. I love what I hear and so I stop to take it all in. My attention steadies on the performer as she manipulates the strings. I let the music course through me, and as it does, I think to myself, I’m in fucking Vienna…

I eventually get to the bus stop and onto the tour bus. And as the bus glides through the city, the tour narrator’s voice is now in my ear, thanks to the dollar store earpiece they provide. “I should’ve taken a day to rest before doing this..” I think to myself as I struggle to stay awake. The narrator goes on about how more than half of Vienna’s land mass is green, with loads of parks, gardens, forests and agricultural land. And how it contributes to the increased quality of life the locals experience.

As the ride continues, I would come to learn about the Habsburg dynasty, one of the most influential royal families who ruled over several parts of Europe for centuries, and would later make Vienna their capital around the 1800s. I learn about empress Maria Theresa, under whose reign the music and cultural scene flourish because of her reforms and patronage of the community. And like the hunger games, I learn that Vienna’s also divided into districts, 23 to be exact. I attempt to admire the city’s beauty while drifting in and out of consciousness. In one of my moments of consciousness, we’re making our way past the Schönbrunn Palace, which the narrator explains was a summer residence for the Habsburg’s, and which Maria transforms into the beauty that it is today. It’s quite the residence. Vienna has a lot of imperial palaces like this, including the renowned Hofburg Palace and Belvedere Palace. So far, the city gives an impression of deep wealth and culture.

Once the tour’s over, I head towards the house of music, the one place I knew beforehand I wanted to visit. On entry I’m immediately met by a really cool stair case. Cool because each step has a musical note attached to it like the piano. And each one produces the sound of the corresponding note attached to it when stepped on. The notes increase or decrease in pitch depending on if I’m going up or down the stairs. Despite being tired, I have way too much fun running up and down the stairs to make them sing before I go exploring the other parts of the museum.

The next section I enter highlights classical music and composers. Most of which goes right over my head. Beethoven and Mozart are familiar, not because I can identify their work, but because they’re popular. Others like Johann Strauss II strike no familiar chords, but turns out I know Strauss’s work and you probably do too. He’s the composer of The blue Danube.

I love music, but the realm of classical music is not one I’ve fully explored. My favourite part of the museum is the section on sound. It goes into how sound works, and the general science of it. Like, did you know the ear is one of the first functional organs in a human? Even before the heart and the brain begin their activity? Cool right? Given enough time, I would’ve revisited the museum just to spend some more time here.

In the days that follow, I do a lot more exploring. The city’s so walkable; I do most of it by feet. Gaining me blisters that serve as a badge of honour. I also come to learn a lot of things. For example, imagine my surprise when I discover Austrians, don’t speak Austrian. Turns out the official language of Austria is German, and they’re not alone, it’s the same for Switzerland. While most people speak German, they also speak English, so it’s easy to get by as a tourist. Also, Vienna truly feels like the city of music. Rarely did I go out and not see some talented musician on the street performing. It felt ingrained in the city’s culture, almost like music is the unofficial language of the people.

Moving through the city, I try to identify what the city sounds like. What sound or sounds are unique to the city. While I couldn’t pick any one sound, three stand out to me. The first is the police siren. It’s quite different from its North American counterpart. I heard it frequently, multiple times daily. I found it annoying, but over time got used to it. The second is the sound of the pedestrian push button, also different from what you’d hear in Canada, whereas the one in Canada makes a beeping sound. This sounds more like a ticking clock. I like it! Then the third, which is my favourite, is the sound of the ambulance. It sounds really musical, like something I can jam to. I’m not sure if that’s how they always sound, or the drivers were just having fun, or perhaps it’s the city of music, and that’s just how they roll. Whatever the reason is, I love it.

Sound of the Police Siren:

Sound of the Pedestrian Push Button:

Sound of the Ambulance:

I also notice some similarities with a few cities from back home. For example, the red and white color scheme of their public buses and cable cars is reminiscent of the buses in Ottawa and the cable cars in Toronto. Their subway system (the U-Bahn) is not much different from what you’d see in North America either. It does, however, have one pleasant difference. It operates based on a trust system, meaning there’s no one or machine present to validate train tickets. Imagine that.

Two days before my stay here is over, I walk through the city streets after spending the evening exploring the Belvedere Palace and its extensive grounds, followed by a visit to St. Charles’s Church where I watch a string performance of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons; I walk through ResselPark in District 4, and take the U-Bahn to District 7, where I have a quick late-night snack at the Addicted to Rock cafe. Just before 11, I’m back on the street, walking through the shopping strip in District 6 and 7. It’s usually scanty by this time, since most of the shops are closed. I’m almost at my hotel when something grabs my attention.

I don’t know what I notice first, the sight of two young, beautiful black girls walking in front of me or the lovely voices that reverberate through the street in perfect harmony, as they sing to a song I’m not familiar with. Yeah, there’s no way I’m not stopping to say hi.

“Holy shit, those are some beautiful vocals…”, I say as I make my way into their line of sight.

“Thanks“, they say, as they both chuckle.

“Do you guys live in Vienna? “

“No, we’re just visiting, on some school stuff”, one of them replies in a heavy London accent. I would later find out her name’s Precious and her friend is Bianca. It’s no surprise when they later say they both live in London.

“So do you just go around, serenading the streets?..”

They both chuckle.

“Bianca’s actually a recording artist..” Precious says.

“Well then, let’s get your Spotify profile, Bianca.”

I hand Bianca my phone, and she pulls up her Spotify profile, which I promptly save. We continue to chat as we stroll down the street; I find out they’re both Nigerian aswell. And someone makes a joke about how you can find a Nigerian, in any corner of the globe and we have a good laugh. Eventually we get close to a Mcdonalds, which is their final destination. We exchange contacts and I wish them a goodnight.

When I eventually make it to my bed around 11:30pm, I pick up my phone, put on my Airpods and hit play on one of Bianca’s songs - Fashun. Her sound is distinct, yet, it evokes a sense of nostalgia. Despite having heard her sing a few moments ago, I still felt uneasy about pressing play. I didn’t want to be disappointed, and I wasn’t. The instruments blend well with her voice and the bass player understood the assignment. I love it! Bianca gains a new fan tonight.

In my last days in the city, I go for a ride on the Viennese Giant Ferris Wheel, from which I enjoy stunning views of the city’s rooftops. I also visit the St. Stephen’s Cathedral, one of the most important religious buildings in the city. And on my last night, I attempt a pub crawl, because, why not?

On my Uber ride to the airport, I reflect on the trip. Despite having one or two underwhelming days that perhaps good company could’ve fixed, overall the solo-trip has been positive. Vienna’s been great. The people are friendly; the city’s filled with beautiful gardens and parks, and the streets filled with so much music and culture. It really has been lovely.

When I get to the airport, and try to get my bag checked in, that’s when I realize it, “fucckkkkkkkkk….. “, my Airpods will not be joining me on this flight. I mourn my loss, and try to move towards acceptance when I can’t get a hold of the Uber driver, and can’t find the Airpods where he dropped me off either.

I return to the airport, check-in, and silently wait for my flight to Berlin.

To be continued…

Part Two comes out soon-ish. Thanks for looking in, until next time.

Notes

• The Girls

  • Shout out to Bianca Baz (Singer, Songwriter & Producer) for letting me use her song in the voice over for this.

  • Turns out Precious is killing it too as a Film maker, Writer & Actress, checkout her short film.

• In hindsight, the similar red and white color shceme for the public buses in Vienna makes perfect sense when you realize the Austrian flag 🇦🇹, is just the Canadian flag 🇨🇦 sideways, without the maple leaf.

• Take a sunscreen with you if you’re visiting in summer. I went there as hot chocolate and came back as black tea. Don’t be me!

• Trip advisor was pretty handy for all the things I needed to know about Vienna before travelling.

Like always, you can skip right to the last section if you just want to hear the cover. If you’re interested in the process and learning some new chords, continue reading.

The Instrumentals

The key signature for the song is A major. It has a Beat Per Minute (BPM) of 136, and a chord progression of 4, 1, 5, 6 (using the number system). The song sounds beautiful on the A major scale, but I wasn’t confident my vocals would be great on it. So I made the cover on the E major scale instead.

At 136 BPM, the pace of the song is not too fast, and not too slow, just right up my alley. And if you’ve been following my music related posts so far, you’d notice that the chord progression much like most popular songs follows the 1, 5, 6, 4 pattern, just arranged differently e.g. the last cover I did, “Love Me Jeje” by Tems has the chord progression 1, 4, 5, 6.

The keys in E major scale are E, G#, F#, A, B, C#, and D#. So 4 would be A (A major chord), 1 would be E (E major chord), 5 would be B (B major chord), and 6 would be the C# (C# minor chord).

Once the base chords were done, I imported the original song into Logic Pro and used it as a reference track to make sure that I got the groove and timing of the song right. I then added transitions notes between some chords to make it sound less boring e.g. Between the C# minor chord and A major chord, I’d play G#.

Chord Progression without transition notes:

Chord Progression with transition notes:

The song also has a signature guitar melody at the beginning, and I wanted to capture that. After a couple of tries, I figured it out. The melody was just the first 3 notes on the scale, repeated continuously. The sequence being, (E, G#, F#), (E, G#, F#), and so on. I then played and recorded that.

Like the base chord progression, I added a transition note after each iteration of the group of 3 notes. So I ended up with (E, G#, F#), F#, (E, G#, F#), A, (E, G#, F#), F#, (E, G#, B), E. For the last iteration of the group of notes, I changed the last note to B, to make the melody less monotonous.

Next, using the sound library in Logic Pro, I converted the sound generated by the MIDI notes from piano to a steel string acoustic guitar.

Finally, for the second verse of the song, using the same steel string guitar sound, I free styled a melody for the second half of it. Remember, as long as you play the right notes that belong to a song, it really doesn’t matter what keys you play. If you stay in rhythm, it will sound good.

The Vocals

As usual, this took the most time to get done. The reason I love the original vocals is not just because of the vocal gymnastics by the artist, it’s also because of the emotion behind the voice. He really sounds like a man making a vow to his life partner. With every word sounding so intentional and weighted. The challenge was to capture the same emotional intensity while delivering a good vocal performance.

The first step was to accept that it would be difficult to match the emotional intensity of the original song. But I could capture its essence. So I made the song mine by changing a few sentences in the first verse, and making a lot more changes in the second and having fun with it. The song now told a slightly different story but conveyed the same message.

The actual vocals took several hours and takes to get content I could live with. While far from perfect, it sounded okay. The more I do this, the more I realize how listening is such an important skill to have for this. I had to listen to the recordings multiple times and identify areas that didn’t sound quite right and needed a redo. There are still parts that I don’t quite like, but if I don’t get it out now, I might continue working on it infinitely.

The Mixing and Arrangement

For the mix, nothing complex was done. I only added some default EQ and reverb to the vocals to add some echo effect. For the arrangement, I had some fun with the second verse, layering a few ad-libs, panning some right and others left i.e. Some ad-libs will sound like it’s only coming from your right ear and others from your left, this helped to create a fuller sound.

I also brought back the steel guitar from the beginning with a different melody in the second verse, and towards the end, brought back the melody from the beginning to close it out.

As I listened to the recording, I kept thinking how great it would be to have some backup harmony added to it, but alas, that’s not a skillet I posses at the moment, but perhaps soon my covers will feature some. For now, my favourite part of the arrangement is definitely the second verse with all the ad-libs.

Like before, here’s the link to the stems if you’d like to experiment with them.

Thoughts

I loved making this one, but then again, I’ll probably say this for each one I make.

Starting early helped make the process less stressful. It allowed me to listen to it several times and increase my willingness to do multiple takes. This made the vocals come out better than previous covers - I think.

The instrumentals were simple. Sometimes, less is more. One feedback I got the last time was that having different melodies playing constantly from the beginning to the end could become monotonous and take away from the song. I’d have to agree, because introducing the steel guitar in the beginning, taking it away and then bringing it back in the end, made the song sound slightly more interesting.

There’s still room for improvement. I still have issues staying on beat sometimes. Might be worth singing with the metronome turned on (however annoying that could be) to see if it makes a significant difference.

Also, I could do a better job at acting. An artist is successful when they can convince you and themselves, that they mean every word they say, from how they say it.

Finally, I could do a lot more to my voice to make it sound even better with mixing by adding some interesting vocal effects, EQ, or just applying some more production magic. I’m slowly edging my way through Logic Pro for dummies, but happy to take any recommendations on how I can improve my sound.

The Song

Earlier, I mentioned I changed parts of the lyrics to make the song mine and have some fun with it. So here’s the back story for our character.

Prologue

A bride to be is having a panic attack because she’s two weeks away from her wedding and her dress still doesn’t fit. She spirals, leading her to think thoughts she probably shouldn’t. “She’s not that pretty”, “will her fiancé still like her over time?”, “how is this marriage thing even gonna work?”, etc.

The song is her lover’s way of re-assuring her. Hope you have as much fun listening to it as I did putting it together. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Finally, if you loved even a second of this cover, I promise you, the original song is a 100x better and you should give it a listen. Until next time.

At the airport, I park close to Pillar 12 in arrivals. I let her know I’m here, and I wait in anticipation. A few minutes later, I see her walk out of the airport, scanning the area with blank stares as she filters through the crowd, so I step out of the car and walk in her direction. As I get closer, she turns towards me and we lock eyes. A warm smile spreads across her face and she laughs in excitement as we share a hug. She doesn’t look like she’s been on 3 different flights and spent over 14 hours travelling. She’s more excited than exhausted. Once the initial excitement subsides, we leave the airport and make our way towards my place.

On the ride home, she talks about a lot of things, about life, family dynamics, things happening I didn’t know that I probably should and so on. It’s a lot, but in a good way. It’s like when you’ve been apart from a close friend for a while, and when you’re re-united, you feel the need to get them up to speed with what’s been happening in their absence. Except in this case, it’s a decade’s worth of information I need to get caught up on. And so, while I drive, I listen closely, as she provides details of recent and not-so-recent events. It turns out this would become our routine for the next few weeks. Me driving, and her spilling tea. I’m so invested in some of these stories that I occasionally miss my highway exits.

In the days that follow, we explore the city together, and do touristy things, like visiting the Canadian History Museum, going on a bus tour of the downtown area and Gatineau, walking around Parliament Hill and so on. She especially enjoys the visit to the Canadian History Museum. Her favourite section is the first level, which is all about the First Nations people. She loves it not only because of the rich history but also because she can see similarities between the ones who lived close to the water and our tribesmen back in Southern Nigeria. Their clothes, tools, and their boats have a striking resemblance to ours. She’s fascinated by this.

As we walk through the museum, she goes into a detailed monologue about what she’d do if she suddenly comes into a lot of wealth. Starting from her hometown, she would actively help fund projects like this in Nigeria and make lots of investment in education.

She reminisces about her younger self being a bookworm, who loved getting lost in the pages of a good book. A popular choice of hers back then were books by James Hadley Chase. And so anything related to education or making it easily accessible is something she’s passionate about. While I listen to these stellar plans, I think to myself, my dad didn’t just bag a baddie, he bagged a nerd too. A man of refined taste. Respect!

After a few weeks, we embark on a trip to Toronto. On the way we talk, with me mostly listening. And as I listen, a thought gradually forms in my mind. This should’ve been obvious by now, but somehow I’m only just realizing this. My mum’s someone’s sister, someone’s daughter, someone’s friend. And she has dreams and aspirations. None of this is new information, but similar to how you hear it gets cold in Canada, you only understand its true meaning when you experience it up close. Maybe her presence here adds more weight and life to the words she says, but whatever the reason for this sudden revelation, it’s refreshing. Refreshing to see her in other roles besides being a mum.

Nothing makes this more clear than when she repeatedly refers to my dad as my husband in the stories she tells me. This I find both sweet and endearing. She could’ve said your father, but she didn’t. “My husband” implies a deep connection, a strong bond, and a relationship she’s proud of. Our choice of words, however subtle, usually conveys how we feel about a person or situation, and if you’re perceptive enough, it’s easy to notice.

When we get to Toronto, we have dinner with my friends and head down to 3030 Dundas West for live music and good vibes. It’s going great. Singing along, we gradually move towards the dance floor to join the crowd. My mum, while moving her body here and there, and occasionally singing along, remains seated and wouldn’t join us on the dance floor. When I ask why, she responds “My lover’s not here, it won’t feel the same”. I’m paraphrasing, but the message remains intact. I know she’s married to my dad, but it feels like it’s the first time I’ve pondered the implications of what that means. All this time, she’s been my mum. She’s also been someone’s lover. Huh.

I offer to dance with her. I’m technically 50% her lover and 50% her, so…. it would feel like dancing with herself and her lover simultaneously. She declines. Apparently, 50% isn’t good enough.

From Toronto, we make our way to Niagara Falls. On the first day of exploration, we head towards Clifton Hill to get passes for the Niagara SkyWheel. When she laughs, I can tell she’s both excited and a little nervous as our turn to get on is approaching. But she’s up for the challenge, and so when the time comes, we get into one pod. As the enormous wheel rotates, the falls slowly come into view; she’s in awe, “wow… wow… wow….”. She stares with childlike wonder as she scans every inch of the pod to take as much of the view in. Very few things trump the feeling you get from being able to do something sweet for a loved one, and even more so for a parent.

The next day, we go on a boat cruise on the Niagara River to see all three falls - the American Falls, the Bridal Veil Falls, and the Canadian (Horseshoe) Falls. I’m the designated cameraman, so I’m taking photos. By this point, my social battery is in the red. I’m running on fumes, but as we approach the falls, we feel the heavy splashing of water, followed by the thunderous sounds of the falls, and she’s elated. Her excitement serves as a shot of dopamine that keeps me going as I take more photos and videos, capturing more child-like wonder and glee. These are the moments we live for.

We’re finally back in Ottawa and in the last days of her visit. We have deeper conversations, as she provides insights and advice on different subjects. Inevitably, we get to the topic of my love life. According to her, a question I should ask myself when I look out for the one is “Do they make you laugh from your heart?”. And then she adds, “Because your dad does that for me.”..…. See, now I’m convinced this woman is running a covert operation to sell me on marriage. I applaud the effort. Also, I’m learning I have a comedian for a father. I need to hear some of these jokes. They must really be something.

Each day, the list of requirements to find the right person is getting longer. Not only do I need to find a comedian, I too need to be a comedian…sigh. If any of you ladies are in the same predicament, I’ll be at a comedy club near you.

Something else I find rather fascinating is how insightful and perceptive she is. Despite spending only a short amount of time with my friends, she’s able to create accurate profiles on some of them. And where she isn’t spot on, it’s usually because she’s missing key information that would be impossible to know from a brief encounter. This to me further re-enforces the saying - what an elder can see sitting down, a child cannot, even if they climb a tree. If she could discern all that with a limited amount of time, what else is she seeing that I’m not aware of?

The day has finally arrived for her departure, and we’re currently at the airport. It feels like she’s only just arrived, and time has flown by without me realizing it. We check in her bags and we find somewhere to sit and hang out before she has to go through security. We make small talk while we wait, ignoring the looming sadness that hangs over us, knowing that we will soon have to say our goodbyes.

It’s time. She has to go through security. Once we get close enough to the spot where I can go no further, we turn to each other and share a hug, a hug that lasts longer than our typical embrace. Eventually, we let go of ourselves and we say our goodbyes.

Later that evening, standing in my kitchen, I open my refrigerator. And as my gaze falls on a pot of soup in the corner, pain! Pain in my chest, pain from understanding that this is my last free pot of soup. And in its aftermath, while I scroll through some food delivery app, somewhere in Nigeria, my dad will feast on meals I once enjoyed sigh. I had lived like a king during her stay, eating whatever my mind could dream up, and soon my life would return to that of its peasant origins. I stand in silence for a moment with the fridge door left ajar, as my brain processes her absence.

There are so many things to take away from the time spent with my mum. But if there’s one thing you should take away from this, it’s to prioritize spending time with and talking to your parents. Have genuine conversations with them. The person you find behind your mum or dad may surprise you. They have hobbies, dreams and aspirations, fears and concerns, they make mistakes; get sad; and have days when they’re off. You may get to see a lot of yourself in them and realize, just like you, they’re human too.

It was fun piecing this together. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Until next time.

And like I mentioned, I’d like to keep doing it because it’s fun and I’m learning a lot. So, to make sure I keep at it, I’ll make this into a series, the “Uncover” series, where I go through the process of making a cover.

The focus will be on what I did, the tools I used, and what I learned. It’s more about progress and less about perfection. It may not be an in-depth analysis of all the technical bits, but it’ll be enough to understand what’s happening and allow you to delve deeper into parts you find interesting.

In addition, I’ll omit the narrative or creative writing that I included in the previous cover article. Don’t worry, I’ll still add a joke here and there, but this will help keep things concise. I’m not sure if I’ll still do voiceovers for this series, but I’ll play this by ear.

Alright, with that out of the way, the song I picked this time, Love Me Jeje by Tems has been coming up on my Spotify and YouTube music rotation and I’ve been vibing to it. So I decided I’d do a cover.

The Instrumentals

For this song, the key signature is F# (sharp) major, it has a Beats Per Minute (BPM) of 104, and it follows the chord progression of 1, 4, 5, and 6 when using the number system.

You know the drill by now. The keys in F# major scale are F#, G#, A#, B, C#, D#, and F. So 1 would be F# (F# major chord), 4 would be B (B major chord), 5 would be C# (C# major chord), and 6 would be the D# (D# minor chord).

It took a bit to figure out the chord progression. I tried to do it by ear, and initially thought it was 1, 5, 6, 4. But it didn’t sound right, mostly because the last chord is going up the scale(6) instead of coming down the scale(4). I ended up Googling the chords.

Once I got the chords, I had to get the timing and feel for the song right. After recording the keys to Logic Pro, I did some editing to make it match the BPM more accurately. It did, but was still a little off.

So I went on YouTube, found the original song with the vocals stripped out, imported it into Logic Pro and used it as a reference track. This allowed me to listen to both the original instruments and my keys simultaneously. This helped improve the feel of the song with some manual edits.

To tighten things up further, Logic Pro has a feature that allows you to set a track as a groove, and then have other tracks follow it. That simply means you can have other tracks match the BPM of your song by following the feel of any track you set as groove, through a process known as Quantization. So I set the reference track as the groove and had the keys follow it. This made the timing of the keys sound more in tune with the original. And like before, I looped the 4 chords since it’s the same chords throughout the whole song.

Once I had the chord progression done, I added extra layers of piano melody. One of the beautiful things I’ve learned in music theory is that as long as you’re playing on the right music scale of a song, it will always sound right (provided you match the rhythm). So while listening to the chord progression play, I came up with two different melodies that I felt sounded good, and so I added them to the mix.

As you can probably tell, this took some time, but in the end I was happy with the results. This, I think, is my favourite part of the entire process. When you come up with something you think is cool, it’s exciting.

The Vocals

This took the most time to get done. Much like last time, it took several takes to get the right vocals. A few reasons for this, first, I was learning the lyrics while recording, and at 104 BPM this song is faster than I’m comfortable with at the moment. So when I recorded, I overcompensated by singing some sections way too fast, and some words were being slurred.

After multiple takes, and a complete song, I had a version I thought was okay. It still had a few sections that seemed a bit too fast. But I was going to deal with that in the mixing and arrangement section.

Once the lead vocals were done, I got to my favourite part, the ad-libs! I did a few takes, experimented with different pitches and tones, and picked the ones I liked.

For the finishing touch, I doubled some parts of the lead vocal simply because I loved the way it sounded.

The Mixing and Arrangement

When I started listening to the song to see parts that were off and needed fixing, I found the second verse of the song felt more rushed than the first. So it ended up not making the final mix. I suppose part of being a good producer is also knowing what to leave out. The entrance to what seems like a second verse abruptly shortens after the first chorus, and the hook comes in next. I could’ve left out that part and just gone straight to the hook, but I liked the way it sounded, so it stayed.

I then adjusted the gain on parts of the vocals that were too high or too low. I used the Fade tool to ease into and out of different audio sections, so a new sound or section doesn’t seem too sudden.

For some more advanced audio editing, Logic Pro has a cool feature, Pitch Flex which allows you to adjust the gain, timing or pitch of audio recordings. But like with most things, it’s not a silver bullet. If the performance is terrible, there’s not much Logic Pro can do for you. This is one reason I got rid of the second verse I did, it sounded too rushed, and some parts didn’t feel right, I tried to use Pitch Flex to fix it, but in the end, no matter how much makeup you apply to a frog, in the end, it’s still a frog.

Finally, as little as I know about mixing, I know even less about mastering a track. Luckily, I just found out that Logic Pro has a mastering assistant. This helps with applying corrective EQ, adjusting loudness, and overall stereo spread, as shown in their docs. Apart from adjusting for loudness, I don’t fully understand what the rest means, but this makes the exported audio sound good on different devices.

As I make my way through learning about all things related to audio production, I imagine I’ll eventually understand some of these concepts better, enough to make custom adjustments. Like before, here’s the link to the stems if you’d like to experiment with them.

Thoughts

I think overall, the production of this is better than the last one because I’ve learned a lot since then. And despite the vocals not being exactly what I want, it comes through more confident. Possibly because I’m getting more comfortable with a mic, as well as doing retakes when I have a better grasp of the lyrics. But there’s still a lot I could improve on.

I’ve been trying to make full songs each time, which I now see is not a great idea for now. I spend too much time trying to make a full song when I could make smaller sections, perhaps just one verse. This will give me enough time to record, walk away, come back to it, give it multiple listens, and do re-recordings for parts I don’t like. I believe this would get me closer to perfection a lot faster. Eventually, when I get the hang of things, I’ll make longer or more complete songs.

Also, my ears are suffering from listening to these recordings repeatedly. I wonder what musicians or producers do to protect their ears or do they just accept that at some point they’ll be partially deaf? I kinda need my ears, so I’ll have to figure something out.

Finally, since I’m making this up as I go, let me know if there’s any section you find more useful or less so, or perhaps information you’d be curious to know more about.

The Song

Here’s the song, not uploading it to SoundCloud this time. Something about that feels like the song needs to be perfect. Since I’m more focused on learning at the moment, I’ll have the audio live here instead and perhaps with time I’ll change that.

Hope your listening experience is as good or better than last time. However you feel about it, I would love to hear about it in the comments. Until next time.

I sat down, sipped on my beverage, took in the park’s view and soon got lost in my thoughts as I people-watched. I’ve been to Kingston before, yet anytime I visit, it feels like Harry Porter or Sherlock Holmes is going to pop out from an alleyway. This is especially true when walking through some areas downtown, and it’s not surprising given the city’s rich history in film.

Not long after seating, my inner monologue suggested it was time to quit the anti-social behaviour. So I took off my AirPods and looked around for potential candidates to make my acquaintance. It also had to be low effort. I’m seated and comfortable. I’m not getting up from here in the name of trying to be social. Then I looked to my left, and that’s when I saw her.

She had a friendly smile, a bubbly outlook, and a welcoming stance. My guess was a woman in her mid-50s or 60s. Something about her warm demeanour, or perhaps the convenience of not having to move from where I was, prompted me to say hi! And with a cheerful smile, she responds in kind, “Hello!”.

“Excited for the eclipse?” A weak opening, I know, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. But she responds cheerfully like I’d asked a novel question. She expresses how excited she is about it, and mentions that the last one she witnessed was in the ‘70s in Ottawa, and this was probably going to be the last one she’d experience. This quickly snowballs into more conversations.

She lights up like the 1st of July, as she talks about parts of her life. She talks about her grandkids whom she loves and adores, and the earlier parts of her life when she travelled around Europe. I’m not surprised by this. She strikes me as a woman who’s adventurous, and just by looking at her, the energy she exudes, you can tell Dorthy was a problem in her heyday. Hell, maybe she still is.

At the moment, the sun looks like someone has taken a bite from the lower right of it. We still have a few minutes before the total eclipse. And so, while we wait, I talk to Dorthy about my snow globe gathering hobby from the cities I visit, and how my mission to expand my collection with one more from Kingston has been futile. She thinks it’s cool and offers to help. She immediately gets on her phone and starts sending out messages to shop owners in the downtown area via Facebook, asking if anyone has snow globes.

“Oh, I know Bobby and Dianne; they’re a delightful couple...” as she typed away on her phone. For the record, she didn’t say those exact names. I’m just making those up because I can’t remember the real ones. But I’m reminded of some advantages of being part of a small tight-knit community, where people know their neighbours, who’s shopping at what grocery store, and show more care towards each other than they would in larger cities. With a population of a little over a hundred thousand as of 2021, Kingston is one of the smaller cities in Canada.

Bobby and Dianne respond promptly but unfortunately, have no snow globes. Dorthy is determined to figure this out, so after some googling, facebooking and whatever else she does on her phone. She finally says, check out Waterfront Gifts & Apparel. If anyone had snow globes, they would. I save the address on Google Maps and then thank her.

Moments before the total eclipse, it suddenly gets chilly, which leaves me both cold and confused. It’s like the Night King is slowly approaching the park. Then I had a realization. It all makes perfect sense. If the rays of the sun no longer hit the earth, we lose a lot of its warmth. The moon has all but overshadowed the sun. You can see the sun’s rays slowly receding into the skies, the crowds standing and exclaiming in anticipation and the volunteers announcing the eclipse is starting.

Finally, the total eclipse is here. Lots of oohs and ahhs as we marvel at the sight. It’s like something from a sci-fi movie. I assure you, photos don’t do it justice and neither does a partial eclipse. Looking straight at it with no glasses on, which is safe to do since it’s not a partial eclipse, it looks like a white ball engulfed in blue flames hanging in the sky. It’s beautiful. At that moment, I’m glad I came down to Kingston. When I eventually take my eyes off the moon, I realize that the place had gone from bright mid-day to night in Kingston. It was both disconcerting and cool to witness.

Soon the sun slowly inches its way out, as the moon heads west. The total eclipse has ended, and it gradually gets bright again. I have to leave, so I’d have enough time to find a snow globe and catch my bus back to Ottawa. I let Dorthy know. She wishes me luck on my snow globe hunt and we exchange goodbyes. We were both grateful for the other’s company.

As soon as I get downtown, I take brisk steps toward the store Dorthy had recommended. My pace quickens as soon as I spot the building behind the parking lot with inscriptions that read Gift & Apparel. A moment later, I’m standing at the entrance. I take a deep breath, exhale, and then step in.

As soon as I get in, I turn to my left to scan the souvenirs on the shelves, and there it is: my precious, a fine Kingston snow globe to add to my collection. I grab it with such resolve you’d think someone was about to snatch it from me. With a smile on my face, and thanking Dorthy under my breath, I make it out of the store after bagging and paying for the snow globe.

Later that day, I’m back on the bus and heading for Ottawa. Zipping past other cars and grass fields, my mind drifts from reality as it reflects on the events of the day. The total eclipse had been an outstanding event to witness, and I was glad to have met Dorthy. Two important things stuck with me after my encounter with her.

First, the kindness she showed a stranger and the genuine interest she took in solving a problem as benign as finding a snow globe was truly admirable. Sometimes it doesn’t take much to make a person’s day, it’s the little things. And if you can, why not? You make them happy and you get the bonus of feeling a little better yourself.

Second, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about some events in her life made it more apparent that as you grow older, much like relationships, your memories become more important. At some point, there’ll be things you just can’t do, and the hope is that when you get there, the list of things you didn’t do, that you wished you had, is short. And you too will light up when something causes you to travel down memory lane, and with a broad smile sweeping across your face, you’ll know, you have lived a full life.

I hope you enjoyed this one. Thanks for stopping by, until next time.