A Very Nostalgic Thoughts Day
It's a hot afternoon, and I have an afternoon headache. Afternoon headaches are the kind caused by the dust and sun in a noisy city. No sign of harmattan still. I pause to check Apple music for some Christmas songs. There, I fixed the mood. This newsletter is happily listening to Mariah Carey's All I want for Christmas.
This newsletter just drank some water and removed their glasses. #Np Last Christmas. Speaking of last Christmases, I always like to make notes of [heart] breaks (not just by love — life really) at the end of the year, and Christmas is always my time to reflect on this. Anticipating that, I found this tweet and it made me smile. But just after, I heard about the death of my friend, Voke and had to tweet this. I know she's resting. That comforts me. This newsletter has just sighed and is asking that you take a moment of silence for Voke.
This newsletter is now listening to Santa Baby but for obvious reasons doesn't believe in Santa. Never did. There's a way Eartha Kitt sings this song that makes it sexual. And speaking of sexual, I'm starting a series of stories on sex. How do young people navigate sex, explore their sexualities, have autonomy over their bodies? First story live next Saturday. Now that I've told you, you have to hold me accountable, but only after you take this quiz.
The only version of Feliz Navidad I recognise is the one by Boney M and this newsletter is listening to it, reminiscing about late Octobers and early Novembers when this was all the CD shops played and there were Christmas trees and lights in every mall and rundown street store, the harmattan breaking lips and whitening legs. Where did the Christmas spirit before Christmas go? Out, with the ozone layer perhaps.
My fondest memory of Christmas is 2001. I was six and it was my older sister's 10th birthday. We were almost always having parties in those years and I was particularly fond of the Christmas and New Year parties because they seemed to be the only time of the year when adults were all round chill. Anyway so that Christmas Eve, all my aunties and friends, etc. came by and there was a lot of cake, notably one with a red nose — this newsletter just stopped listening to The First Noël to listen to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And so it was that on that Christmas Eve, my 10-year old sister's friend taught me to dance makossa. At our school's end of the year party, I'd watched another friend go all the way down while dancing to a song I can't remember now. I found dancing so fascinating in those days; largely I still do. For some reason, learning to dance makossa that Christmas has stood out in my memory.
Every year, for a while, I've hosted a small ritual get together to mark the beginning of a new year. It's the one tradition I have carved for myself with friends, some of whom I may not see till the year ends. My head still hurts. This newsletter is listening to Boney M's Darkness is Falling as darkness literally falls. Lyrics: "It's time for celebrating." — I'm determined to be in this feel-good mood till the end of the year and obvs beyond. For a few reasons: as much as it was a bad year, it was a great year; the decade is ending, and this time in the next decade, I'll probably have toddler twin boys or girls. Who knows?
A few days ago, I was looking at old photos of my grandmother, and I was astounded by such beauty. But more than that — and it's something I love to think about or write about — the power of photos and the stories they tell.
Can you tell that all this newsletter wants a lot of Christmas?
What did we read this week? An essay about the allure of sadness, the complexities of pleasure, the fraught spectacle of crying in public. Why children love to make poop jokes. How it's sort of coping mechanism for them. The dangers of dating as a queer man in Nigeria and the challenges of the publishing industry.
This newsletter ended with listening to Hark the Herald Angels Sing.
PSA: Before you call us out for channeling a Christmas agenda, remember it was Mariah Carey who gave us permission to go ahead with the Christmas music. So ✌️.
Tell me your fond Christmas memories and traditions! I'd love to read from you, even though I won't always respond.
Thank you and Joyeux Noël.
One more thing: up until forever, I was afraid of Christmas trees and my siblings would push me towards our Christmas tree to frighten me. One day, we followed my mum for returns at her office. The banking hall and most offices were empty. It was a weekend, so we were allowed to play where we liked. There were huge Christmas trees EVERY FREAKING WHERE. So I walked up to one — I was like seven or so — and looked at that tree which was bigger than any tree I was used to. Playing with a red ball decor at arm's length, I wondered why I was so afraid of it; it was after all just a tree, but it brought me absolutely no delight, like in the song, Oh Christmas Tree. Eventually I decided to hug it and sort of confronted my fears, and that was it. That was the end.