I have always wanted a relationship; not the kind with the everyday person but the kind akin to love. Again, not the kind of love you have for a friend or parents or as deep as the love you have for wifi or food (just kidding) but the one you share with someone of opposite sex (I’m homophobic) in an intimate and romantic manner. I have tried to bring myself to get that kind but either by an act of God or some stupidity on my path, I have constantly hit a roadblock with every try I make. Many times, I have tried to give up and become a priest but my testosterone and loneliness have never really given me a fighting chance. I decided to search for reasons why I have constantly failed at each opportunity and trial and I think I have kind of succeeded in deducing my problem. The truth is I have never learnt how to love. Now, I’m going to have to delve back a bit into my past for you to understand a bit.
Now, on the 6th of November, sometime in the 90’s, a son was born into my family: ME. Now I was showered with all the love and affection my parents could spare; toys, stories, etc were lavished on me as a kid and for a while I appreciated them but as I grew up, I turned into some sort of a rebel because I discovered that while all these things were good, there was nothing better than companionship. Being born to working-class parents, I was left at the mercy of relatives, good ones but still no sibling. I kept growing recluse while my parents searched for ways to make me a happy child; now, grown, I do not really blame them for not providing me with a sibling, God knows best. Finally, an opportunity provided itself when an uncle was able to go and hustle for greener pastures overseas and left his children with my parents. They happily obliged to take care of them because while they were taking care of them, they knew they were taking care of me too. I happily grew to accept my cousins and I treated them like my younger siblings, all the while knowing that I had better make use of the opportunity while it lasted. But there still was that latent rebel in me and sometimes, it would rear its ugly head and I would treat them like complete strangers, after all, blood is thicker than water.
I had not really grown up when they were taken away from me and I was plunged back into the oblivion I lived in before. But this time, I had grown a bit of thick skin. Being a kind of boy-genius at an early age, I was thrust into a group of peers that were not my age mates; I had matured and bloomed very quickly. At a young age, I had already done and experienced things I should have left for later. So it was not really a hard thing for me to adjust to the pressures of loneliness when the time came. I found solace in other things; I consumed a lot of novels, book after book, I never stopped. I kept on reading and storing in my brain till I had a whole load of junk in my head. I never really had the sort of ideal childhood my novel characters had; I had always found their lives superficial to mine and constantly wondered if they really existed. I grew hungry and wanted more. I became really stingy with what I had; with no sibling, who was there to share with anyway?! I had no one to protect, no one to fight for, no one to set examples for, no one to work had for. I lost drive and focus and became utterly lazy. In short, I grew up never knowing how to love.