I wake up terrified, heaving and drenched in my own sweat. I feel blood rushing through my head and my throat is as dry as gin. Through the curtain, the white full moon pours its light all over the room and it looks immaculate, its serenity calming my spirit.
I can feel my wife’s soft purr as she sleeps so soundly, undisturbed by my nightmare. Under the moonlight, she looks as beautiful as the day I first saw her back in campus. Her chest moves up and down rhythmically as she breathes. I can see her nipples through her night gown, and it calms my spirit too.
(Some Bryson Tiller is playing in the background and I’m starting to get irked by his voice. Almost as much August Alsina’s voice. If I don’t move to a Bryson Tiller – free room, I’ll gorge out my eyes.)
I get out of bed and move towards the window. The floor is cold under my feet, it feels amazing. I am naked from a good session with her earlier that night. I put some shorts on. The alarm clock reads 4.44am and it reminds me of that sappy Jay Z album I obsessed over in campus some twenty years ago. I vow to buy a vinyl copy later that day to relive my golden days.
The view outside is lovely. White moonlight and orange floodlights merge to form an abstract beauty that’s a perfect scene for me to muse over my nightmare.
I was in my third year of study with the promising glow of youth, idealistic ideas and the fear of failure fueling it. I was flunking and nothing I was doing to rectify it seemed to work. I needed a solid contingency plan ASAP.
At the time, a friend, Tony, struggled to sell me on an idea he was passionate about. He wanted us to start a podcast. A podcast that would revolutionize podcasting forever. We would change the game with our ‘fresh’ voice and edgy humor; we would take the world by storm and she (the world) wouldn’t know what hit her. It was the perfect backup plan because we had (or believed we had) the best taste in music, TV shows, women and philosophical musings. It was going to best an amazing podcast, I could taste it with the tip of my tongue.
I always told him to wait, and it was admissible. Not only was this plan conforming to those days’ youthful stereotypes of YouTube channels, blogs and challenges, but it was also exorbitant as hell. We needed a microphone, a stand, and confidence. Surving on pocket money, we needed at least 843646.2354 days to save up for the former and for me at the time, I would rather spend my savings on a more lucrative business idea, say betting; something with quick returns, you know?
I thought about it more often, and the more I did, it became a better idea but it still didn’t make the cut. So I picked up and the phone and called Tony to tell finally tell him ‘No.’ He took it like a champ, this boy.
Weeks later, he gets another co-host for the podcast and they begin releasing episodes which as planned, take the nation by storm. It hurts me to the core and I regret saying no.
I graduate a year later and my life juggles between looking for job and volunteering in non-profit organizations. I am more broke than those days I was surviving on pocket money.
On the other side, Tony and his cohost continue to prosper. The Televisheni Podcast is even crossing borders. They are getting deals, speaking in conventions to younger ones all over the country about pursuing dreams. They are always on TV and it torments me. They’d pursued their dream and were living it. I pursued my certificate and was living in a loop of nightmares makred with statements like, “The boss is not in today. Come tomorrow.” Or “We’ll call you.” Or “We can only take you as a volunteer.”
I get into deep depression and decide to end it all. This is not living life, it’s surviving life. I pick up a gun (because in dreams nothing makes sense, everything seems to be there at your convenience, like the gun) and press the cold muzzle against my temple ready to call it quits. My finger is shaking against the trigger and even colder sweat trickles down my armpit.
I close my eyes tightly and pull the trigger. And then I wake up at 4.44am.
I light a cig and open a slight crack on the window to let the smoke out. And then I smile because I dodged a bullet (Ha!) by agreeing to start the podcast. The alarm goes off in the next room and I hear the kids lamenting over school. It’s 5am. I roll into bed teeming with blissful relief, glad I was living my dream.
What I’m trying to say is, we’ve started a podcast and it’s solely and frankly because, we want to be heard. We’ve always wanted to. An episode is ready and you can listen here. Go and promote brothers.
6 thoughts to “A Man and His Dreams”
Microphones, Symo. Microphones. With an ‘s’.
The hardest part about pursuing your dream is that it looks impossible at first and because of this many of us brush the thoughts away and don’t even start.Fear of failing is prevalent too.I’d rather try and fail and say I did my best than fill with regrets for not trying at all.This is a great article.
Yes.. That’s a great outlook, there’s no harm in trying.
Thank you 😊
I love it
And I don’t like my comment face
Hehe.. I don’t pick the faces. And I think it’s pretty
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