The Story of Me Not Looking for Anything with My Lazy Eyes Goes That I Actually Do Not Have Lazy Eyes: Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto
Each passing day asks for my hand. It asks for my hand and thinks I do not know, but I know. I like it when I open my eyes every morning and see myself with you in the first sight. My sister has become a tattoo on my growth, she had taught me how to cook with tins found by the trash and how to tend babies made out of discarded cloth materials. Without my sister, I wouldn’t have known what it means to sibling, to childhood and to brim with stars; I wouldn’t have known what it means to stretch out a hand in the dark and find. My shortcomings are part of my viability and the way I question things. There’s so much to learn and no idea of what particularly is not to be learnt. Everything changes- this I know. But what exactly changes everything? Memories of my hurting are un-exchangeable. So is anyone else’s. And they handle our excesses and drive us between that space of the known and the unknown. The story of me not looking for anything with my lazy eyes goes that I actually do not have lazy eyes but possess a particular way of not risking the things I see. Everything and everyone and everyday keep combing my body so that it knows, well enough and long enough, both sadness and happiness. But by my thoughts, I only want to be remembered. With no regrets.
Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto (@ChinuaEzenwa) is from Owerri-Nkworji in Nkwerre, Imo state, Nigeria and grew up between Germany and Nigeria. His works have appeared in Frontier, Palette, Malahat Review, Southword Magazine, Vallum, Mud Season Review, Salamander, Strange Horizons, Anmly, Massachusetts Review, Up the Staircase Quarterly, Spectacle Magazine, Ruminate and elsewhere.
Image (c) Jack Niles/Unsplash