″...I WANT TO TAKE YOUR BREATH AWAY, SIR”

Chief’s lifeless body stared up at her, his eyes unblinking, his lips perfectly sealed; and in the seconds that followed her tragic observation of the man she once loved, she could swear he blinked at her, twice, in the most epic of ways. She hadn’t meant to fall in love with the old man. She hadn’t meant to be a sixteen year old entangled in a battle against her pimple infested face and a “breastless” chest. “You are just a child” Chief had said, “what do you know about love anyways?” . He laughed heartily, he had humoured her, and her confessions of love had been but a mere joke in his weary eyes.

“I want to take your breath away, Sir”. She had whispered in the most shrill of voices, her words escaping her lips as a mere gasp. He hadn’t heard her, his hearing aids were barely functional. And in the years that followed, she blamed his inability to hear as the sole cause of his death. She never spoke in figures, her father had never taught her to do so. And as the day paved way for darkness, on the darkest of nights, she took his breath away, skillfully forcing the sharpened edge of the kitchen knife into his heart.

“And if he ever breaks your heart, let his soul be your compensation”

If you've not read Americanah, by Chimamanda Adichie, now is the chance to do so. The fear of who we are surpasses the urge to understand what is to come. The unanswered questions, the blank pictures, the masked faces, the meaningless words, the deepest of thoughts. This book moulds all these into a fine bundle of excitement, in the heart of it's reader.