A Warri-ah in Astoria



“If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heavens. No more damned magic. You hate me and I hate you. We’ll see who hates best. But first, first I will destroy your hatred. Now. My hate is colder, stronger, and you’ll have no hate to warm yourself. You will have nothing.”


I love a good rant, I do not claim to be good or pious so therefore I see no problem in bitching fluently about the roommate from hell. We’ve all had one. Don’t worry, she doesn’t like me either but I’m less stupid, so more tolerable. And we’re off…

During my time in New York, I seemed to attract assholes. Now I’m not perfect, I too can be an asshole but in amongst the messiness of my existence, I still remind myself to be a nice person as much as I can. Living in New York was a christening by fire in the worst way when it came to the truth of human nature and how dark the recesses of a being can be. This aside, I’m aware that life is made up of choices and I chose to bring such beings into my life. There is always a point at the precipice where you can say no and step back, but if we were all so astute, hindsight would have many more vacation days. I said yes, and here I am writing about my blunder and lack of foresight, which seems to be on a permanent vacation.

I was an idiot, suffering from the affliction that many come to New York with; naiveté. You are cured very quickly with no pain-killer, jaded cold-turkey. My process was a grand fall from grace aided by the person I ended up moving in with. I won’t reveal her name since she is a part of the parasitic-plague infesting New York; the fame hungry net-workers and hangers-on, best not to throw her too big a bone. She hails from my home country and I was under the impression that some sort of countryman-ship would be at play where we’d understand each other in a way these Americans could never. It was a bumpy start, I can be messy and annoying I’ll admit and I still had and have a bit of growing up to do so I don’t blame her for some frustration. Her aspiration in life was to be a singer and was connected to many successful musicians but she herself was never able to break the mold as they had. It seemed to me, she wanted all the trappings of success that comes with recognized talent but was missing one important element. Talent is elusive and some are never able to allure it to their side. It’s a realization that many can’t admit and live a life of delusion, but ignorance is bliss so she was blissful in one sense. Wish she acted more like it.

There are some combinations of people who are founded in hell and she and I were one. Her behavior toward me was all over the place, and hard to keep up with; she was rude to my dearest friends, flirted with my boyfriend, called her own friends her “famous friends,” never cleaned, blamed me, was generally unpleasant and blamed me. On one occasion, she tweeted her annoyance over my struggle to put in a light-bulb, to be fair I’d just recovered from breaking both feet after falling down a flight of stairs so climbing a rickety stepladder to the ceiling made me a bit nervous, and it seemed asking for help was an irritating request. Did I mention her non-profit charity? More on that lower down. She loved a good conspiracy theory, but Jesus was her homeboy and felt it necessary to impose her dogma concealing it as advice. When I first moved in she regaled me with a story about how the devil tried to strangle her one night in the past, I’m not religious but I prayed to the gamut after hearing that.

The most confusing thing about her though was that charity. She co-founded a Non-Profit based in Africa, whenever I would write her off as being the worst I’d think of that. How can someone presumably dedicated to helping others be so spiky and unkind otherwise? Is it me? Am I not stepping back and looking at the big picture, is there a method to the manic? No, because I believe it’s the little things done without personal gain that equates true charity; as opposed to grand, sponsored gestures, with her music playing in the background and stage name on the docket. In short, if you take on the responsibility of philanthropy, practice what you preach. Plus, charity begins at home. We both come from a corrupted, third world country that most certainly needs help, it seemed that the only time she’d identify with our island was when she had to drop a Reggae Riddim in her god-awful music.

Our last encounter was an implosion on my part. She was playing bongo drums at 1am, yes bongo drums. My theory is if you’re going to play an annoying instrument at least play it well. She didn’t. I let her play for an hour and then crept out of my room to ask her to stop as I had an early morning. My answer was a typical disgusted look. That did it, the bongo broke the camel’s back and I let loose a back-log of grievances in a way that scared all the cats in the neighborhood, an Evian bottle was thrown, shit went down. It was her subsequent actions that really justified my breakdown; the next day she left a card and a book detailing how I may “live life joyously.” There wasn’t a middle finger big enough. Sad thing was, I’d given her many cards over the years, this was the first she’d ever reciprocated and it was dripping in her usual condescension and hypocrisy. I didn’t accept it and I will never again accept such disregard from anyone, and neither should you.

The End.

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