My comfort clothes
Clothes to Buy, Clothes to Wear
I buy all the clothes I want,
Whether I have the occasion now or not.
I tuck them into my wardrobe and smile,
Or wear them just to walk a mile.
I wear them at home while lounging,
Or to the market, and haggle prices to there about.
I wear them ironed,
I wear them rumpled.
I wear them clean,
Then wash a cycle to rid them of dirt,
So I may wear them anew.
Let death meet me bare,
So it may shroud me in its darkness
Alas, more clothes to wear.
One of the quiet joys I’ve recently discovered is the simple pleasure of my clothes. I love them. They bring me happiness.
From somber hues to vibrant tones, I adore them all. The ones I wear while cooking, infused with the scent of seasoning and soup. Or the ones that carry the elegant trace of my expensive perfumes.
There is a saying:
“Ènìyàn ni aṣọ bóra.”
Loosely translated, it means “People are your true covering.”
And while I hold dear my kin and friendships, I also love my clothes.
My orange top once caught my tears as I cried alone in the bathroom, feeling like life was leaving me behind. Then my sister tickled me as I stepped out, and that heavy thought lifted from my heart like a passing cloud.
Whenever I dreamt of being naked, it was my pajamas that reminded me of modesty.
A friend once joked about her own naked dream, and suddenly, I felt freed from the shame of traumatizing my dream audience.
I no longer save dresses for special occasions. I wear my finest, most flamboyant gowns just to sit at home and eat bread and butter.
I’ve worn corporate trousers to buy mangoes from the woman across the street.
My sparkling white shirt caught a splash of zobo.
My black tee was accidentally patterned with bleach.
My jersey was sprayed with pee while I changed my nephew’s diaper.
And my favorite jeans gained a new hole from a janky bus I boarded one lazy afternoon.
I stopped buying black. I began to feel giddy about color:
Wine like the drink.
Pink like the petals.
Purple like royalty.
Blue like the sky.
Yellow like sunrays.
Green like a thick forest.
No real love for vibrant red, give me maroon instead.
That was the list I gave the fabric seller.
As I browsed, someone entered the shop asking for a fabric often used for burial clothes. The sparkling white dulled all my colorful options, yet it did nothing to brighten the buyer’s somber mood.
Before leaving, she glanced at my growing pile of fabrics and softly said, "Nice colors."
I beamed at her retreating figure, then turned and ordered a cream fabric.
Lest I deny someone the joy of choosing my final attire.
Wow fantastic ✍️✍️💯💯
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