Dear Future Husband,
My name is Awele, in my early thirties, a middle-class professional, 5ft 11” tall, with toned skin. I consider my straight long legs that hold up my bubble cakes one of my many outstanding qualities. If you find my ‘no definition’ flat tummy sexy, maybe you can place your head on it as we talk about how our days went. My head, on the other hand, is something that creeps me out sometimes. It’s round-ish, and the hair on it has decided to grow on some parts while leaving some other parts bald. This I don’t like. My eyes are too pronounced, so much so they almost like security lights to me. Just imagine the seriousness of my eye balls and the head that’s housing them… Not as sexy as I would like. I have promised to get that scalp fixed if I ever visit Los Angeles. Doctors Dubrow and Nasif will have a field time restructuring my scalp. I’d also like a little face-lift, fuller eye lashes and small pussycat eyes. And only then will I declare myself Perfect.
You should also know that I work with a foremost media house in Nigeria. I’ve acquired lots of experience, certifications and awards. I used to pride myself as a fulfilled person, but lately, I don’t feel so fulfilled anymore. I feel so alone, underachieving, underappreciated and unsatisfied. I know what you are thinking. It has crossed my mind, believe me. I sometimes imagine slashing my wrists or tossing back some pills and letting the housekeeper discover the gruesome sight of what’s left when she comes in the next morning. Sometimes, I think these things. But hey, no cause for alarm; I am coming out of it. That’s why I have decided to start talking to you about how things are going with me. My thinking is that by talking to you, I can get it all off my chest, all the while hoping that someday, wherever you are, you might consider reaching back to me.
My week started with so much adrenaline pumping in my system. I had amazing analysts on my personality show, and their insights were able to cement my intention of talking to you about my days. One of the topics I anchored on my show was on the rising cases of suicide and dealing with depression. Isn’t it ironic how my audience look up to me for answers when I don’t feel so hot myself?
So the rainy season is inching its way over Nigeria, attempting to oust the unbearable heat that’s been causing us to worry about the welfare of the ozone layer. Because of the rains however, lots of horny men are roaming, seeking human bed warmers. The social media is swarming with hook-ups; not like it’s ever not swarming with hook-ups. Hooking up for sex is something Nigerian gay men can accomplish, much to the detriment of the realness of relationships. If you’re one of them, Future Husband, I do so hope you get it all out of your system by the time we meet, because the walk down the aisle should come with as minimal drama as possible. Don’t you think?
This past week, I attended two of my friends’ birthday parties; one was on Monday and the other was on the weekend. Birthday parties are the best, especially when it’s a brother who’s hosting one. I mean, free drinks and hot men – what better way to start and end the week.
The first party was Okosisi’s, a grad student and lecturer. Just as his name suggests, he is 6ft 5” tall, and moonlights as an editor for some literary blog. He speaks pop culture, even though his sense of style says the exact opposite. But hey, I’m not judging. Over the period that I’ve known him, I have come to classify him as asexual. Seriously! I’ve never seen him with anyone. But he classifies himself as a Top who likes other Tops. I don’t even know what that means. All he does is crush on hot guys from a distance; I doubt if he’s ever even had sex.
At the second party on Saturday, which was hosted by Emeka, the ‘maternal’ one in my group of friends, there were eighteen guests over. Among them was this couple, who were striking in looks and in the way they so unabashedly doted on each other. One of them was like 6ft 2”, had a toned skin and wore this sexy smile that can drop your pants right off your hips, while the other had this lilting voice that made it look like he was singing every time he spoke.
What struck me about their coupling was how free and yet secure they seemed in each other’s company, how so apparently in sync they were – the link of two souls that understand each other even when distant. Every look they shared seemed like a strong communication as bold as words spoken. It was such an enviable connection.
And it gives me hope too. For a gay clime that has community members not believing in the validity of gay relationships, the fact that two such people exist reassures me of your existence, Future Husband. My friends think I’m a hopeless romantic whenever I voice my optimism. They’re such cynics. They think I see too many Hollywood films. They say the love between a man and a woman is a struggle, how much more the love of a man for a man.
But I don’t let them faze me. You exist. I know you do. I mean, there has to be a point of this letter I’m writing to you, right? Right! When the time is right, I know you will make yourself known to me. But don’t take too long, okay? There may be an eternity of romance waiting for us, but we have to start on time to enjoy.
All my love