An Open Sea

A personal essay about freedom

(Inspired by Inky, the octopus who escaped the National Aquarium of New Zealand)

“For to love is to know, to be aware of”

By the time I was ten, I knew I could talk well enough to make anyone listen, it could be in school—my classroom, on the corridors where all students gathered or the school hall with its space of silence; it could be church, me, staining its thick seraphic presence with my subtle whispers, wherever, it was, I could talk. Communicating and controlling conversations were native to me; I did it easily and, when listeners would turn to take note, I became used to it, unashamed even by the unsuitability of my conversations in place and timing a little too much, and with time I lost the skill of cautious silence.

For to love is to know, to be aware of.

Law, to me, was a natural profession for a ‘talker’ and with interests in human cultural interactions, it seemed like a noble choice. I spent the next three years developing my communication skills—reading intermittently and listening, something I struggled with greatly. In between deciding upon Law and nesting upon the security of a future dependent on it, I found the pen. I do not remember how exactly—the circumstances and its timing—but I know I did, at first, with poetry. Poetry at the time seemed like a window to understanding myself, to make firmness of the blur my life was. And, it started small. This, I remember, walking to my room after a heated argument of my parents, pulling a notepad by my bedside and writing words I understood and words that understood me. I did not have any sibling growing up, the ones I had we did not share enough knowledge of each other to breed love over distance, so, I did not love them because I did not know them and they did not love me because they did not know me. Can you love someone you do not know? For love is to know, to be aware of.

Words, in part, became my siblings.

Words, in part, became to me as siblings. They would tickle me, listen to me and soothe me back into earthly reality. With them, I shared a kind of reality one I have not been able to explain or feel again with anything else. As an adolescent, I would title my poems the first words that came to my mind like ‘Grief Unsure’, or, ‘Pain Unexplained’. Trying to explain my feelings in brevity, I would write long lengthy pieces because I thought I felt too much at the same time. Maybe, if I had settled a bit more, thought as I do now, I am sure I would have been able to make more sense but then, I did not know better. Isn’t it true what they say, when you know better, you act better? Or, in this case, ‘write’ better.

Can you love someone you do not know?

I was secure with words, now, I understand that and I did not want to leave the cage of security I had developed. At thirteen, after offering about fifteen courses for three years in Junior Secondary School, it was time to choose a path. It was the first time in my life I was choosing a path. All along, choices that involved me have emanated from economics—what my parents could afford and what the economic stratum, we found ourselves in, dictated. This was my first chance to choose whether, to stay with Law and the Arts, Social Sciences or Pure Science. My interests had chosen for me. I loved words, painting, history, music and the collection of all things, art. It was a decision, to me, made up already until my parents said it was impossible for me to study Arts simply because ‘I was interested in them’. My mother said, ‘you have to study what gives you a preferential advantage’. I was thirteen and I was learning about career implications, labour market, theory of job security and strange terms we define the quality of life by and it didn’t make sense. As every teenager would, I fought, cried, argued, explained. I did all I could to make them understand that I loved Arts and I could make a career out of it, a good career.

“You are my only child, you are all the sons I would have had, you are all the daughters I could have had. You are the only one. You are my investment. I cannot invest your future in Art. I am sorry. You can always write; you can always paint. Law, in America, is a postgraduate. You can always do that but not now, there are plenty hungry lawyers. Not today. I cannot allow you joke with the morning of your life. Idara, study Science. Go to science class. What are you afraid of?”, my mother said one morning after I had tried but failed to convince her.

Over the next six months, she paid for private lessons and tutorials to boost my Math and Introductory to Technology. In between being angry with her because till today, I believe we had a bond and of all people, she would get me, and wanting to ‘fill in’, I started allowing myself learn. I think learning is a decision; the diffusion of information and knowledge, a cautious human effort from both ends—the tutor and the student. With time, I became better in science. I became one of the best students and went on to science class.

You are my only child, you are all the sons I would have had, you are all the daughters I could have had. You are the only one. You are my investment.

My journey to Science is one of great interest and love. As I mentioned earlier, to love is to know, to be aware of. When I began to understand the principles of the physical reality, the structure upon which we build and trust our lives on, the invisible art in the creation of materials and the precision in the anatomy of our bodies, I started to love Science. For I am a lover who loves better with knowledge. it started as an open sea; I felt powerless by something I did not know and understand but then, science drew me in, it listened to my voice of fear and taught me to not give up. Science is a lover that understands me too but unlike words, it is tough on me. Never does he allow me have my way without trying but he rewards my effort, subtly.

For I am a lover who loves better with knowledge.

I co-run Ije-Ebi, today, and I find deep fulfillment from learning writing through the conventional means of writing itself, not studying it in school. With the analysis and calculation Science has taught me, I write with a form that is natural and evolutionary from who I have become. Just like Inky, I have journeyed into unknown territory and I learnt to learn being uncomfortable. Science, Words, Books and Art would always be intertwined. A spectrum lets out different colours depending. Nature is a depending, ever changing, non-static phenomenon and the Spectrum is Life.

Image via here.

Idara’s favorite word is “better” and it streams from a desire to see people and communities grow. She listens to Jazz, Classical music and enjoys meditative literature. Ije-Ebi is a community she co-founded. Read more on “Why Ije-Ebi?”