I’m sitting at the dining table wearing a receding hairline protector, a shirt from Gap that I got years ago and my mom’s yoga pants. I quite like that all the members of my family are mostly the same size. It means that I can pretty much walk into anyone’s closet and wear something. But that’s by the way.
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| These sweatpants are quite literally womenswear for men I tell you. Spectacular. Lovely. Lovely. Mama Afam is going to kill me when she sees this. But before she gets her bank account and slaps me with it, the very reverend Mama Afam will look to God and say, "Lord, is this my earthly challenge? Please I need help with it." |
I was thinking about what to write. The process is actually rather strange. I drink a cup of coffee, watch a live Bruno Mars performance, go on a youtube binge filled with all my favourites. Beyonce, Pentatonix, Florence and the Machine, and Lupe Fiasco, before I remember I’ve written 5 words on no particular subject that aren’t very good. So, I’ll consider my go to topics: depression, friendship, love or the lack there of, women’s rights, television, pop culture and what happened in my mind five minutes ago.
Most of the time, love or the lack there of wins. So I’ll think back to my last go at the fleeting feeling and I’ll write a few words like so.
I walked into that bar, the one with cheap drinks and not too bad music, with a head full of dreams. There were the ones where we made it till forever; down the aisle and to the great beyond. There were the ones where we sputtered and stumbled, all the while hurting the other. And there were those where we crashed and burned as fiercely as anyone would think possible. In the middle of all those uncertain futures, there were two things that I was sure of: you and now. After all my years of solitude, there was you, the grand destroyer, the one that made me stop looking. And there was the now - the fantastic now; life as I thought it should be. Living in the present, through the turmoil, the fire and the flames; uncertain but happy.
The End.
That’s a prime example of Taylor Swift moment waiting to happen. The next paragraph will feature lines that only serve to spin the story, of which there are three: your side of things, the other person’s side of things, and what actually happened. You’ll say things like, “ I knew you were trouble when you walked in” and they’ll say things like, “I lived your chess game but you changed the rules everyday.” People that know you will wince, and the people that you don’t will grab some puff puff, a can of Orijin and prepare themselves for an entertaining night.
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| This is what happens when you put a picture in photoshop and you do small play play. It isn't half as interesting as I thought it would be in the end but that's a story for another day. I will do a better job at photoshop next week. |
This is what happens when you Taylor Swift, an action the Urban dictionary has several definitions for.
The first and most impressive is, “The act of pulling your pants down, sitting on the ground and wiping your bare ass against the floor like an old dog.”
Even more useless is this one which says, “When white people fly outta no where on their kale carpets to project themselves into conversations no one invited them to, and make it about themselves.”
In the context of this blog/article Taylor Swifting is where you take your side of your love story and air it with little regard for discretion or personal shame on the largest platform available to you.
When done right, it can be a profound conversation about love, loss and other similar disasters, but, as it is hardly ever done right, it is something I think all social media people could go easy on in future.
Happy Days,
Afam
Afam
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