Fireworks and Sunrise

There is so much energy in the world, we spend most of it trying to show people we’re spending it! That is one reason I started this blog, to spend my energy. I think about a lot of things, and writing has always helped me put them into perspective.

My name is Nneamaka Nwadei, but as my aunt would say, branding matters, so my name is Amie Sparks: Amie, short for Amaka, and Sparks for the fire I like to carry around, not literally though, fire burns me. There. Fire. But fire drives me too, the intensity, the heat, the light.

My sparks come from the part of the bible that says: ‘You are the light of the world. A city that is  set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they  light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a  lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the  house. Let your light so shine before men,  that they may see your good works and glorify  your Father in heaven’. Matthew 5:14-16. Yyup! I got my name from the bible 😇

I am ordinary, for the most part, human, flesh and blood, but also spirit. so I take sparks with me, bright and nice, like the colours from fireworks, and I believe the sun always rises to shine, no matter the place I’m in.

I believe in God, so whatever I write may or may not have influence from my study/ relationship with him, but it reflects the way I think: I think so many things, and I have come to the point where I can express myself, and share thoughts and experiences that people, who go through similar or not so similar places can relate to.

We all struggle.

But some struggle and get results.

I’m in that category.

I don’t believe I can say all about myself in one post, but here’s what I can say, I’m getting to know me even better, there’s so much I’m willing to find out. And in the words of the God who created me, as awesome as I am, I am beautifully created. You just have to open your eyes, and your mind, and the eyes of your mind…

Welcome on board. Fasten your seatbelts. Or your jeans belts. Whatever belt you have. This, my friend, is a journey.


Your Girlfriend.



one year on WordPress

1 Year Anniversary Achievement

I remember opening this blog some days after I turned 21 last year, I was excited! It felt like I had a baby that I was going to watch grow over the next few months. I made promises to be faithful to my blog, update it regularly, make sure I had good content, and every thing sweet.

Network started messing up, there wasn’t always free Wi-Fi, I’d be too tired from school work to even put up a ‘good morning’ post. I made friends, I lost them, I made a few more, I couldn’t keep up with my Reader, I started to doubt that I had made a good choice by creating a blog.

The WordPress community was expanding, and I was caught somewhere in the middle.

I turned 22 a few days ago, and I tried to do an appraisal, let me say I had some revelations.

Over the past twelve months, I have metamorphosed in no small ways, learnt new things, accepted the ground level more often than not, enjoyed my friendships, had a solid life out of social media, tried to solidify the life i had on social media, interact more with people, thought about the ‘what next’n phase of my life, being a final year student in the university.

Thank you for staying with The Girlfriend Blog this long, one year is not a joke, especially when you could have done something else with your time, but chose instead to check out what is up with this blog from time to time.

I hope to be committed more to this legacy we’re creating, because I realise it’s not just about me anymore, but phenomenal people who have viewed, commented, liked, shared my posts and taken these words to be bigger and more meaningful than i could ever have imagined. I appreciate you.

Cheers to many more years of growth, of good friendships, of great content, of creativity, honesty, humour, and celebration of life.

I celebrate you!

Much Love,

Your Girlfriend.




This Respect Thing

I saw this post this morning, and I screen grabbed it. It was like an alarm sounding in my head: Respect people who do not deserve it. This is a complete opposite to the ‘respect is reciprocal’ phrase. Or is it clause? 

Sometimes I want to just to cry for people who have no sense of value towards other people, some times it’s hard to ignore their silliness, especially when they’re talking nasty to someone close to me.

This one is not even particular to just male or female species, it’s everywhere- the disrespect and lousiness. And it could be hard to respect people like that! Especially when they feel better talking people down.

But what can I do? Pictures like the one above remind me about what to do, remind me that I live above (forget that I beat up someone a while back), that it’s their problem, and I don’t have to make it mine, and that there will always be people like that in the world.

I should just make this my wall paper, so that it won’t be out of  my sight and eventually out of my mind.

Have a great day.

These girls threw my things out

It’s terrible to be a squatter in your final year. I’ve been squatting in the room I stayed in last session because I haven’t gotten my accommodation. I wasn’t squatting with one person in particular, just the room, I’d sleep on the floor at night, on my blanket, then wake up and occupy someone’s bed when she went to class.

If you’ve followed this blog you would know that this is the second time I’ve had to squat in a room; first in my third year and now. My mum would say there is a lot to learn from this phase in my life, but it doesn’t look like it.

So as I type, I’m sitting on the corridor, after removing my clothes from the corridor where the thug ladies threw them. I can feel my heart beat oddly, I can feel a sore on my lip. My ankle hurts from an injury I didn’t realize I had gotten and my neck has scratches.

You have figured out that I fought abi?

The lady whose corner I kept most of my things asked me to remove them. I’d begged, asked for some time to close the deal on my hostel allocation, she still said I should move by weekend. So I began to remove my things today, apparently not fast enough for her, so her ‘people’ tell me to move.

An argument, lady one drags my box, two others drag my bag, then they throw my clothes to the floor. Books, floor. There is a push. I drag my things back. But where did one person ever overshadow three people, except in martial art movies?

I got mad. I fought. I gave this girl series of slaps, I pushed her against the wall. Something savage came over me, I wanted to be civil, but somehow she just kept coming at me. So I pushed back, lady two came at me too, and I began to lose it. All the while I asked landlady if she was happy.

The ladies left, and told me I was fat and miserable, and that was why I didn’t have a place to stay. And mum says I should mark their faces so that I can forgive them, because they will need my favor very soon, and only if I have forgiven them will  I be able to look past this.

This time of my life has not exactly been a good one… somehow,  I am not exactly excited to be growing older. 21 is the age that so many ladies fuss about, but somehow, I’ve been struggling. Maybe I’m not seeing the big picture, I know I should. 

I’m not proud of myself for getting into a fight, I could have reacted better. At the point I just wanted to beat sense into them. I didn’t. 

So I’m looking for where to stay. I know today is the last I’ll stay in that room though, I was humiliated today. It won’t happen again.


I hope you don’t mind if I reblog this? I would love to share this.

Juliana Olayode

Hi and thank you for visiting again. I promised yesterday, in mylast post, that I was going to talk about this today. You might be disappointed in me after reading this but I am just being honest and I hope you read up until the end.

The first day I was nude on set was the day I had my bath (behind closed doors) for the first time on a location! Yes! Nothing more. I am sorry if I burst your bubble but let me tell you a few personal things.

I have been accused of not being “professional”. I was told an actress should be able to act “any role”; it is the character doing what she is doing, not the actress in real life. And my question has always been; when I am done acting that role, would I be given a different body?

Many people…

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Diary of a Virgin

Nobody really believes I’d be a virgin at 22. The more the men ask for a good time, the more I make them understand that I’m keeping my honeypot for a particular somebody. The more they laugh.

The older I get, the harder it feels like it is to keep my hormones in check. Sometimes I want a hug here, a feel there, intimate talk, a flirt maybe, just something. Where did I read that the older we grow, the higher the libido? (you don’t really need to answer this question). 

More often I remind myself that patience is key after all, other wise keeping my virginity all this while would be in vain. You know how eating tomorrow’s yam never did anybody any good.

These days I have more men asking me out so they can get into my pants. They claim it is my body build that gets them attracted to me, but it is my wit however that gets them to stay. They think my talking about God is a sham, and that I’m just waiting for an enormous and a lot of money to change my mind.

Like today. 

This uncle asked me to send my account number to him, so he could transfer N10,000 to me, while he felt me up or while I gave him a hand job. It was supposed to be a hang out, but it didn’t stay that way for long; he had begun to miss me, and needed something to relax his mind.

At this point, all I felt was shock. I’d heard of people being paid for sex, I didn’t ever think I would find myself at that place. We came back to the hostel, after he kept repeating that I was acting for him, as per my being a drama student.

Here I go again, telling this huge guy that I have a faith I hold firmly to, and that my virginity is not for release till my wedding night. And he continues the cycle: ‘ we’ll see about that the next time we’re together’. 

I say my good night, tell him a little more about how we all need Jesus, all he says is ‘call me tomorrow after class’. 

I won’t.

Dear You,

This is a short letter to you reading this.

I hope you’re well? I hope you know that you’re breathing, to be able to read this. You know, some times it’s very easy to forget that even being able to take in air is a blessing when we’re faced with challenges.

Have you thought about how you don’t remind yourself to breathe in the morning? Or how you’re not concerned that your lungs might soon get empty, because you don’t have money to buy a refill of oxygen.

Have a great day ahead, when you’re stuck, calm down, and breathe.

Much love,

Your Girlfriend.


Some times we feel like what we offer is not enough. Offering our love, our time, our loyalty even. It begins to feel like there’s just something extra that should come in from our end, but it’s not there.
I’ve been feeling that way of late about my mum. She will be 50 on the 16th of June, and for the first time, I feel like just loving her sincerely, being her best friend, being a good daughter- making her proud and being an example to my younger sisters- is not enough.

It pains me deeply that she isn’t even thinking of anything spectacular for a spectacular 50! All she wants is to get a new dress to wear to work. But she gave my sisters the money for that when school was about to resumeShe has constantly gone without so we’d be comfortable, and now when it matters most to me, I can’t reciprocate.

I feel like, being the first, I should make something happen, anything at all, no matter how small, on behalf of all the girls in the house, but nothing’s coming. No dinner, no spa treatment, no weekend get-away, just another ‘happy birthday!’ at 12am. That is not enough!

It does not feel good to not be able to  give my mum something different, something extra, for all the days I’ve said ‘I love you, mum’ or for all the sleepless nights we have had because I was crying over the most useless things. I want to say thank you mum and present her with something, just something different from word of mouth. 

I’m scared that I won’t make this one count, and my heart is beating faster at the realization that it’s not looking like I will make it count.

God is in control.
Have a great day.

Much love,

Your Girlfriend.

Romance Novels

I started reading romance novels from junior secondary school. At the time, I read them because it filled my lazy hours, then I read them because there were many of them available and I was a fast reader.

When I got to senior secondary however, I started reading the novels because I wanted what the characters had: the fiery chemistry, the love story, the happily ever after.

Nora Roberts became a fairy god-mother, she could make any story possible: between a warrior and a debutante; between royalty and peasantry; between an idealist and a realist; between two people of totally different worlds. Knights in shiny armours and damsels in distress.

And so I began to dream.

That somehow, I would find a teenager like myself that would sweep me off my feet. As tomboyish as I was, I chose to believe that there was someone who would be interested in me enough to make me want to exchange my bounce for a swirl.

I moved from Nora Roberts to Harlequin to Mills and Boons to every other name possible. I began to look for books by certain people instead of the publishing company. It became a sacred duty to read a romance novel with awe and reverence.

Years after, as I write this, I’m reading a romance Novel by Nora Roberts, one of her ‘two-in-one’s. It strikes me that the stories can be so different, yet so the same: there is always a meeting point, then a conflict, then a resolution. 

I take it upon myself now to wonder if they ever make it to the end or they join the statistics of divorced couples in the world. But of course, I’ll never know.

I don’t know when I lost the reverence for romance novels, maybe it was when I raised my head and decided to write one for myself: one with more realism than dreams.

Or maybe it was when I decided that my Knight had to be excellent for me, and not just one whose character was tailored after a ‘Hunter Brown’ or a ‘Shade Clyde’ or some other name that had no connection with the roots I constantly try to relate to.

I will write my own romance story. After all, I have started writing letters to my future husband.

Stepping Back

I moved away from my wordpress for a while, because I needed to have a clear head.

It’s always easy to want to do something because you love it, like writing, like me, until you get to a block. This block is not so much one of having nothing to write anymore, as to wanting to write it the right way.

It’s the way it is with most of us, in different things. 

A good friend put it this way on instagram: “We might need to take a step back so that we can take great steps forward”. Thank you, TushGeek.

It could be taking a step back from a relationship, or a place of work- (believe me, working for money, instead of fulfilling purpose, is the worst kind of slavery), or even a life changing deal, the list is endless.

It’s a scary, uncertain move, so most times it might feel like the right thing to do is just go ahead with whatever it is, no comma, no question mark, no fullstop: just running and running.

At the end of the day, it’s the choices we make that make us who we are.