Book hangover

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I am sitting on the edge of my bed. Hurt. Feeling like I have lost a part of me. As if my friends just left without saying goodbye. Or waking up from a dream too good. A dream that has been going on long enough. A dream I managed to regulate how long it would last but a dream altogether. Then I realize, its a book hangover. Just like Biko taught us.

Books change you. They make you dreamy its sort of magical and light up a far but sure amber of hope. I love getting lost into an in-existent world someone creates. I feel the characters emotion. Some of them grow on me. I laugh with them, cry with them, I like things they like and dislike others in the same fashion.  Books are said to be mirrors of society. Some vibrant than others. Some books I read I feel myself morphing into a character, relating and a little wishful thinking. Hoping as well.  Little maybes garnishing my hopes. Although, it is in these maybes that I could be thriving in. The changes.
Chimamanda Ngozi has wounded me deeply. Why does she finish a book with “Come in?”
Why is she shutting me out of the good things I have been hoping for all that while?

Why is she leaving me out in the cold? My mug of hot tea is still here. Plus it’s raining as I write this so I feel lonelier than usual. Am I the only who feels lonely when it’s raining? Or it’s a thing? 
But I understood her setting and the characters she created. She shut me out.
‘Americanah’ is like an award winning Hollywood movie and I had the chance to cast my actors and choose my setting. Ifem looked a lot like Chimamanda herself I have to give you that.“ahn-ahn”, “ehn”  and all the other things. Ranyinudo sounded like somebody I know. Obinze a little like the love of my life I never had, Ifem as myself with her blog and her tough-spirit and stubbornness. I think I am stubborn and curious when I’m not busy hiding behind safe words. Her parents, Obinze’s mum, Aunty Uju, Dike. I do not know if his name is really Dike /dyk/ or /dikeh/. we might have to ask Ms. Adichie herself. 

I read the Nigerian italics in their accent thanks to Afro-sinema.

Ngozi took me to places I have never been to before until I came close enough with her ever so vivid description of people, feelings, places, situations. I grew sad when the mood was somber and giddy when everyone else was happy teasing and all. I didn’t like some guy, I don’t remember his name but I hope no one has been faced with the tragedy of being associated with his name.
I traveled through Nigeria cringing most of the time. Because I am reminded of crowded places and disorganization like a Nairobi I don’t know. And I honestly do not like crowded places and disorderliness. So many things came alive in my eyes in that moment and I don’t regret squinting through the tiny handwriting and carrying the big ass book every single day whipping it out in traffic regardless of the distance.
I however don’t understand why she rushed my favorite part of the book. Part 3. There were parts I had a huge internal yawn but being the reader I am, I couldn’t just put the book down. I never skip pages. I go back a chapter just to take a second dip in these peoples imagined lives and feel again. I fell in love with The Zed as well. I hope to find my “Ceiling” and that he would want to smooth all the roads for me. Chimamanda, you have a way with words, and you got me good.

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