A Product of Two…

(Some extracts from Ea2’s Bio…)

As far back as I can remember, my mother had always represented a different kind of hope from my father; she offered a different kind of wisdom that represented a softer kind of conviction; not soft in terms of structure, but in terms of its foundation. She displayed a type of care and compassion that seemed sometimes, alien to my father, even though her acts of discipline were, and on many occasions, just as stringent as his, if not more.

From my father came a different kind of awareness; a different combination of inherited skills; skills that were by no means more useful than the ones I got from my mother; though on some levels – especially when I consider negotiating through life in a modern city as a young adult – they seemed more pragmatic, and imminently more useful.

My father was – and I use the term ‘was’ here, because he has now passed on – a traditionalist and a disciplinarian; a man of great principles, great wisdom, and great compassion. He always stood firm by his beliefs.

I learnt a lot about taking responsibility and accepting challenges from him. The endearing instinct to persevere regardless of whatever life threw at me; the need to reinforce self belief; the courage to stand toe-to-toe with injustice and look it square in the eye, when I was certain that my heart was in the right place. No doubt, I learnt more about how to be a progressive man from my dad.

He also taught me about caring for others; to have patience, especially when dealing with problematic people – a skill I still haven’t fully adopted, let alone master.

He was a traditional ruler, and thus was responsible for peace in his appointed constituency. I witnessed him judge cases, settle differences, comfort those who were grieving, and punish those who were stealing. His actions never seemed to be excessive, nor his reactions – misplaced. He always portrayed balance, calm, and calculation. If he ever reacted in anger, it was somewhat justifiable; usually preceded by an act he had either witnessed, or was on the receiving end of.

His poise always impressed the hell out of me; like someone whose combed hair never seemed out of place; I mean, not even a strand, you know?

I can sincerely say that throughout my time spent with him - as far back as I can allow myself to remember – he was only ever compromised from deep within; from a place where his own hidden passions, pleasures, or desires resided.

It was possibly one, or some of these same desires, prompted the series of events that brought forth such conflicts that eventually made him susceptible to illness; causing him to wither away; diminish from an ostentatious tower of greatness, to a fragile vessel riddled with pain, and a heart filled with painful regrets.

"Great men are elevated by their passions; but sometimes, weakened by their lusts..." – Ea2

My father had told me a few times jokingly that “…youth is a blunder, old is age a regret…”; but it wasn’t until I sat down beside him for hours on end – listening to his silent whispers; observing his face as he fought to make reassuring impressions, suggesting that he was still somewhat in the best of spirits as he lay there anticipating the inevitable – that I understood the essence of that statement he always made, and finally, was able to grasp some of the wisdoms’ it too had to offer.

But nonetheless, the spirit of his greatness had helped carry him – even after all he unfortunately had to endure and witness – till he crossed over.

“…Old age is a regret; that’s what he said, isn’t it? Hmmm… how true…” I thought.

Most of the lessons I had learnt, growing up with my father, till today, still serve as firm guidelines; as the root for some evolving perceptions, and the base for most principles. The type of information used in building a firm foundation; but is also adaptable enough to suit any terrain…you feel me?

That’s the male side; my father’s side… sometimes, I refer to this side of me as the harder darker side. Don’t quite know why, but that’s the way I seem to have always looked at it. Fear perhaps…

This testosterone driven side sometimes conspires with my ego, and I then appear and sometimes act as well, like an uncompromising arsehole. Some people who have dealt with me in the past might testify to this; willingly of course.

“…Ema is so stuck in his ways,” They’ll say. “When it comes to him changing his mind concerning his own idea, he won’t bulge; he won’t even listen… pisses me off working with him sometimes…”

True. I’d be the first one to admit that I can be a handful. Inpatient when dealing with reoccurring stupidity; with the tendency to take control of a situation I feel warrants more precision. I’m that guy and a whole lot more… so what?

They are worse out there who don’t care half as much as I do for humanity, or share the feelings I have on love, equality, or justice.

Take for example, those greedy “mo-fo’s”; I mean the arse-kissing hypocrites who spend time sucking up to the ‘guy’ they know does wrong; but for a glimpse of power, fortune or fame, they will sell their integrity, and go all in tongue first… And the funny thing is that the power they suck up for isn’t even that persons’ to command, or share in the first place. Go figure eh?

So I’m a hard arse; who cares… I’m a fair man; I tell the truth, mostly, and I don’t hurt anybody intentionally. I may be uncompromising when it involves my dreams and ideals; but without a firm belief in that person that I am or have become; in what I represent or stand for; without that type of conviction – arsehole or no arsehole – would I have ever been able to identify with who I have now become? For example, this note you’re reading; would it ever have existed?

So If you ask me, I’d say I made a fine trade off; but hey, that’s just my opinion… the arseholes, right?

From my mother came a different perspective of history and benevolence. She made me see things in a way more accommodating to the needs of the many, while still focused on the ambitions of the one – namely me. It’s a different mindset from the ethos accumulated from my father.

My mother, bless her, is as sweet as they come; a seriously attractive woman with a heart that sings compassion and generosity. She does however, still have her stubborn and argumentative side; the side that prompts a walk in the park, or a drive to the nearest bar for a mental shutdown.

Sure she can be a handful; but amidst that stubbornness, lays the willingness to see things from my perspective, or any others for that matter, and ultimately, find an amicable compromise.

Now, this is not just me blowing trumpets because she’s my mother; like the referral one-liner heard in the James Bond movie goes, “her reputation precedes her…”

In all my years; whether present or clandestine, I have not come across anyone use a negative word, or even hinted one about her. If any rants were made, it would have been from us – her kids – because she does get on our nerves a-times; well at least mine; especially when she sees it fit to force a near 40yr old man to eat vegetables, in front of his own son… I mean, who does that?

Religion plays a very important role in my mother life. It was somewhat the same for my father, but he was more spiritual than religious; plus, his traditional commitments made church visits, one seemingly done out of routine necessity, than enthusiasm.

My mother is a woman of great faith, and her level of faith is one I sincerely admire. Her faith kept her secure in her solitude; strong in the presence of surrounding danger; courageous enough to turn the other cheek, while leaving retribution for the God she serves. I couldn’t do that; endure all she has, and not be tempted to behead a few people; I just couldn’t…

But amazingly, regardless of whatever she faced in the distant and near past, she stood resolute; firm in her identity as a child of the “Most High”; trusting God to keep her fortified, even when most would have cracked under those pressures.

I said it before, and would say it again, I feel more privileged than blessed to have a mother like her. Her courage, outlook on life, ability to forgive and love those who afflict her, goes beyond my comprehension.

She attributes her fortitude to her faith in God, and believes that her pain serves a higher purpose. Now here is an amazing woman; one worth mentioning in our historical records; one worth universal recognition, for the strength of her character, and honesty of her compassion.

Am I a lucky chap or what…?

The wisdoms passed down from my mother were more focused on right attitude and living. Compassion for all, a charitable heart, strong beliefs, expansion of faith, standing my ground regardless of all that appears around me.

They had the same fundamentals as the wisdoms gained from my father; but they were more centred around ‘giving and sharing’; more focused on community and my responsibility to it; more about being part of something greater than myself, and respecting it, for whatever it was worth.

From my parents I learnt how to convey depth with subtlety; be fragile with courage; be generous but guided with wisdom; embrace a problem as if it were my own child, and look for a loving solution for it, or from it…

I have since matured into my own person; but know clearly where my foundations lay.

My revised version – combining what I inherited with what experience has taught me – is what I now try to teach my son Andre, who has now blossomed into someone I can entrust with my very existence. My favourite little big man…

Bottom line is that I am a product of two; the two that came together to make one, and that one happens to be me.

Over time, I have learnt my own wisdoms; shaped my identity from other sources, such as, events I have been exposed to, and experiences I am privy to.

All this I have done, so I can get to know who I am; so I can reaffirm why I am… make sense of my time here; not just believing that I exist to………

Yep; my sentiments exactly…

Ema Apenu II – 10/09

Copyright © 2009 - www.emaapenu.com

Love – The Art of Appreciation; The Science of Acceptance

I probably know more about love that I’d ever care to admit, or even accept; but one thing is for certain, I believe in love. I believe in its embodiment, and all the variations, we – sentient beings – have chosen to represent it with.

I am a product of love. I was born and raised in love, and with love.

To me, love goes beyond me feeling the jingles whenever I embrace my sons; the tears of gratitude I cry inside whenever I hear the voice of my mother; the expansive euphoria I feel whenever I sit with my sisters and reminisce; the excitement I experience – both physically and mentally – whenever I see my lover…

To me, love is all these things and more...

It was love that prevented me from taking the life of someone I considered to be my enemy, even when I had the opportunity; it was love that pulled the will out of me, and guided me to the path I am on now, when all else seemed to have failed; it was love that gave me the courage after my father died, to see beyond the situation I faced, when I was locked up in a police cell for being his son; and its the same love that guided my fingers as I typed this note that you’re now reading…

Love guides all the decisions I make; whether I choose to acknowledge it or not; the abundance of love, or even the lark of it, guides the way I think, feel, act, and react.

Love has always been my guide, and will always be, regardless of my disposition.

I also believe that I must have been aware of love, be it on some unconscious level, well before I was able to make any valid comprehension.

It must have been love that gave me the sense of recognition I had as a newborn, to differentiate between the embrace of my mother, and the others. It must have been love that guided me to locate my nourishment, even before I could see.

The love that connected me and her on a level that surpasses all candid definitions; it gave me the wisdom then, to make those distinctions. This I choose to believe…

But what is this thing called love?

Parents have named their children after it; Song writers have attempted, and continue to attempt to describe it; most religions claim to have defined it; in relationships, we all acknowledge that we feel it; but for some unknown reason, no one can actually become it…

To me, love is the lifeline that powers the world I live in. Love is a name for my creator, and the energy used to sustain all that is created. To me, love is more than what I feel, sense, or do… it’s also about who I should strive to become.

‘Love… ‘It is a human emotion;’

‘No, it is word. What matters is the connection the word implies…’

[Conversation between Neo and Rama Khandra –The Matrix Revolutions]

I define love as a feeling guided by two factors: Acceptance and Appreciation.

I see appreciation as an art because it involves perception. To appreciate anything, I have to feel something about it; its presence must speak to me, give me pleasure, invoke intrigue, denote some satisfaction…

I see acceptance as a science because it involves processing; I have to make an analysis, prejudgements, ask myself questions, and sometimes carry out tests, so I can become somewhat certain before I conclude.

Yesterday, I went to a friend’s art gallery, and for a moment, I found myself lost in one of his paintings. I stood there staring at this piece; my imagination overcharged; feeling as if I was inside the forest he had painted, and could anticipate his reasons for each brush stroke.

I loved the painting; but I couldn’t afford it. The process I went through; digging into my pockets, considering how much I had saved, how much I could even borrow, and if it was worth all that trouble; then finally accepting my fate, regardless of how much I had appreciated the painting, made me think more, about love… hence, this note.

I am not suggesting that love become methodical, or that I, or anyone, go through steps that involve art and science, before becoming aware; quite the contrary.

I am merely offering my definition, or should I say, my attempt at defining this feeling, this word, this energy, that serves us all.

Ea2 (23/09/09)

Copyright © 2009 – www.emaapenu.com

That Man – by Ea2

I wake up each morning, grateful for the knowledge that I am indeed becoming that man

Its 7.30 am. The alarm on my phone wakes me up. I open my eyes, reach for the remote, and turn on the telly. I listen to the morning news, so I can hear about the problems in the world I live in; the crimes being committed, the state of the world’s economy, the headlining celebrities, and all the other injustices suffered by the innocent; but while digesting all that, I also remember that I am supposed to be that man.

I shower, get dressed, locking up as I leave my home. I then stop by the confectionary shop for my morning coffee. While there, I pick up the morning paper and read about all types of chaos and monetary inflations. I read about trade agreements between countries, and movies just out in the theatre; about the greed of executives, who already have cash in abundance; the exploiting tactics used by unscrupulous multinational corporations; the hardships subjected to the working man caused by their corrupt governments, and the defence of this deficiency by eloquent politicians; but still, even after learning about all this, I choose to remember, that I am supposed to be that man

I get to my office, and spend the first hour or so, going through mail and leftover paperwork. I then turn on my computer, play my selection of film-scores on I-tunes; go online, and search through the various news sites I favour. Each report nowadays comes with a video link. As I read further, I click on the corresponding video link, and see gruelling images of the poor and malnourished; images of people like me, subjected to the agonies of war; the innocent that are now homeless; the remains of victims of genocide; but while sieving through all this grief, I still try to keep myself aware that I am supposed to be that man

I then visit a few of my favoured blog sites, and spend a few skiving moments reading about the deterioration of our planet, while sipping on my now lukewarm coffee. From the blogs, I get updates on current environmental issues, read comments on exploitation of resources for individual profit; the unfair distribution of a nation’s wealth, and sinuous misdirection’s by those who were appointed to govern; but even as I read about all this, I keep conscious the fact that I am supposed to be that man

The phone begins to ring; I’m consumed with enquiries from clients to be. For the next couple of hours, I scan through spreadsheets for prices, and send out purchase orders and invoices. I give instructions to my staff on the way out to lunch. I get on my bike and ride towards my favourite deli, anticipating the sweetness of my meal, as I get to the traffic lights. The light is red; a little girl, no more than 7 years old, carrying a baby on her back, stretches her arm out towards me, begging for some money. I pull out some loose change and give to her, and she return a smile; a smile of hope, filled with innocence. A middle aged woman sits about 10 metres away from us; her back leaning on the traffic light, as she observes this episode unfold. I notice more kids hovering around her, while some others move from vehicle to vehicle. I feel my heart shift, as I ponder the reality this little girl faces daily. The light is now green, and I speed away; but despite what I am feeling, I still try to stay alert to the fact that I am supposed to be that man

I lock the door to my office, and wish my staff a good evening. I slip my bag on my shoulders, and walk towards the bus stop. Moments later, the bus comes; I get on, find an empty seat, and settle in. Three stops further, a man rushes into the bus, barging past a pregnant lady, as he goes in search for an empty seat. The pregnant lady had a few grocery bags in her hands; the thrust had sent one swaying, as she fought to regain her balance. The man paid no attention to her plight; just made his way towards the empty seat beside me. I then gestured him away, saying to him that the seat was for my wife coming behind him; only then did he realise the pregnant woman with the grocery bags he had bumped into, and offered an apology. The woman sat beside me, offered her thanks, and began explaining to me why she had to do the shopping at this hour in her condition. When we reached her stop, I took her bags, and walked with her to her house, which incidentally, was only a few streets away from mine. She thanked me profoundly, insisting that I stop by again for a plate; I thanked her for the invitation, and made my way home; but despite what I had just experienced, I choose to maintain my thoughts on the fact that I am supposed to be that man

I cross the road and began walking towards my home. I stop by a local supermarket selling alcohol and tobacco, for a packet of cigarettes and a beer. As I get to the counter, I notice a teenage kid there paying for the same things I was about to pay for. I look up at the loud sign, hanging behind the man at the counter; “No sale of Alcohol or Tobacco to anyone under the age of 16” was printed in bold uppercase. I then took another look at this kid who appeared no more than 13 years old, who was now paying the attendant; the kid turned and look at me as he lit a cigarette, and then walk majestically out of the shop. I look into the eyes of the man behind the counter as I give him my money; he turned away, gets me my change and comes back, looks back at me dead in the eye, and at that moment, for the first time that day, I was certain that I didn’t want to be like this man

From the window of an electronic shop, on my way home, I stood and watched a bit of the evening news; hearing this time about the death toll in countries now divided by religion; I listened to reports of fighting for supremacy in nations with different religious sects; all this fighting by those who seem to have forgotten the reasons why we all kneel down and pray each day; watching images of horror on the screen, as policemen cover up bodies, with stacks being driven away in pickup trucks. I get fairly irritated by all the unnecessary bloodshed, and decide to continue walking home; but even though I feel repulsed by the actions that I see; still I refuse to forget, and choose not to sway from the fact that I am supposed to be that man

I reach my front door, twist the door knob and walk inside. I head towards the stacked provisions on the top right shelf, and make myself a cup of coffee. I count the money left in my wallet, as I light up a cigarette. I sit on the edge of my bed, feeling fortunate to be where I am; grateful for my day, and all that I had achieved. Now feeling somewhat relieved, that I can continue to strive in the quiet of my home, to be that man that I am supposed to be.

I lie on my bed and reflect on my day reviewing my actions and reactions; making mental notes on the aspects I wish to improve on. I begin to recollect images of smiles, the warmth from hugs, the firmness of handshakes, and the echoes of laughter. A smile begins to form, as I recall the effects my presence had on all those I met and even passed by; all those who got to meet the man that I am

Now the darkness of the night approaches; I switch off all my distractions, and find a quiet moment to converse with my creator. I express my gratitude for Him giving me the strength, availing me the wisdom, advancing me the courage to become the man that I am, and the foresight to recognise that man whom I now strive to become.

As I get into my bed, I convince myself that I can be that man; one day I will surely be that man

“What manner of man, is this man I seek…?” My eager mind asks.

That man who believes in the good we can all represent; that man who chooses to encourage rather than condemn; that man who believes peace can always reign; that man who wants to share his joy with all he can; that man who believes in justice and freedom for all; that man who acknowledges that all have the right to worship as they conclude; that man who wants to see his children live in a world that has promise; that man who looks inwards for his answers; that man who listens more than he speaks; that man who loves without deceit.

That man is the man I want to become; that man is the man I know I should become.

I nod off to sleep, wondering if I can be all of that man, and if not all, at least a sizable portion that would make a difference in my own world.

As my eyes close, I try to remember those whom I had met in the past that were like that man. I try to remember how they were, and how it felt when I was with them.

“I know we can all be like that man. I know that that man is a man that we can all become.” My mind concluded.

But before I suggest to someone else to be that man; I must recognise that part of me that lives in that man.

Then, maybe, that man can be who I am.

Ea2 – 07/09

Copyright © 2009 - www.emaapenu.com

A Father’s Pride

As we conversed, I impressed upon him my learned wisdom, and into the depths of his salient mind, I had thrust. Attentively, he absorbed all that was being said to him, with no sounding retorts or distracting hues; he had offered no interrupting inquisitions.

And so it was, for the moments that followed; I had spoken insistently, while he listened willingly; it felt to me, as though he had chosen to adhere to my lessons learned.

Floundering to stay in my element, as I became alert to his consistent silence; it seemed out of character for him to absorb so much without question.

I interrupted my desire to share, and asked a question to probe his understanding. I hushed, so I could hear him retort; but noticed that even after he had heard the question, his silence remained forthright.

“I know he cares; he loves me, as I do him; perhaps, I am being a bit overbearing…”

I had attempted to be circumspect; but such information can prove to be intimidating, nonetheless… Though aware of the fact that he has come of age, I must also concur that he is at a stage where such as what I suggest, has to be patiently guided.

“My son… Oh my precious son; I trust your successes, benevolence, and ability to comprehend, would stifle these pangs I feel, and put to rest the woes from my compromised past. Have I not taught you enough about greatness? Or is it not greatness that you now seek?”

His response was firm, and from his tones depth, I gathered he was definitely paying attention; for when he spoke back, his chosen words portrayed the submission of a respectful son.

“You are the way, the path to our salvation; in your hands the world shall know more peace; so redeem me, my son; take heed to my words; grant me this release, so I can die intact with pride…”

I continued to share with him, my drawn perspectives, citing words like vigilance, focus, compassion, integrity, and concluding with the value of educated information.

In this young man, I see the fate of days to come; in his hands, I must entrust my own legacy; for he represents a time I may never know. He is to be my greatest investment; one that I offer to the world I have since known.

I see in him, a force of pure good, the wisdom of ages, compassion of the sages; an ambition neither misplaced nor misguided, but intent on communal servitude, and bringing joy to all the ages.

“Fortune favours the prepared, my son; luck is thus an illusion, for you must make your own. Be aware that 15 is an age where some shoulder responsibilities, so be certain that yours is soon to come. Take a notebook and write out all that you desire; narrate to yourself the kind of future you crave, and those comforts that you will seek. Please do this today, so you too are now prepared…”

“Thank you my father; please be rest assured that I will definitely do my best…” He answered.

Alas, the words he had said helped put my mind at rest; now I stand proud knowing he is equal to the test.

04/09/2009

Copyright © 2009 – www.emaapenu.com