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.

 

 

 

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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.

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.

You Can’t Be Everywhere

We finished a fashion course in my class about a month ago, and our lecturer started a ‘moment of truth’ for everyone. It was interesting. To say the least. Grievances were aired, some were picked. People cried. I laughed. Most of the time I looked. 


Then it was my turn. My classmates told me I liked to be everywhere, do everything, Doyin said she saw me being the Tonto Dike of our generation, because I could do anything to get  anywhere: that said  by a girl who was dripping ‘ass-kisser’ all over.

Some other people, like Abraham and Seyi said I like to pretend and take the glory for something instead of sharing it with the class 😳. Tobi said I was cunning, and Seun stood up to support him, saying that someone said I had stolen her boyfriend at one time. Sade also said I was fake, because I said something and did something else, about someone else. 

 I felt a need to give a reply to all those people, standing to say what it was they said, and tell them why I would do it over and over again, where they were concerned, but wise woman that my lecturer was, she didn’t give room for response.

In summary, nobody said any thing good about me. Not one. They were all concerned with what they needed to tear me apart. At that time, was I hurt? No. I was only surprised.

Why? Because none of my friends stood to say a thing. And I went to ask them why. They said it was because they didn’t agree with all the people were saying, but it was not an avenue for argument.

So many people said so many things, but I went away with one important thing: life is not about proving yourself to people. They will say what they want to say, true or not. You have to live. Learn when you must, but never conform to everyone’s expectations.

And since this blog is not about me being a Disney princess and having everyone fall at my feet and brushing my mane, I can go to sleep soundly, knowing there are people who do not like me, and I am just as human a being as everybody else. I do not try so hard anymore to be ‘liked’.

While I admit that it feels really good to be the Belle at every ball, and have people rooting for me, I have come to the point where I ask myself ‘what if they don’t root for me, will I die? And I feel so great when I shake my head mentally and agree that I’m just okay, whether I’m a favourite or not.

How they sit back and talk

I wrote a post on innocence some time ago, and a friend I made here, who goes by the name of Purple Butterfly made a wise comment…she’s like Grandmother willow in Pocahontas… Sage πŸ˜€

She said people easily judge people, and I agreed. I still agree today, I will agree still in the many years to come.

The sad truth is, even I am guilty of hasty conclusions: it’s so easy for me to give someone a once-over (Or is it one-over? Correct me please) and condemn them to a zone or a place in my head.

Some people will class you based on what they see you wear, some do it based on where they see you. Some, because in their own precious world, you are beneath them in every sense of the word beneath.

why?

I have gotten tired of asking questions into space that can not be answered. Instead, I turn the microscope on me, to enlarge my actions on a culture dish and examine myself. It has become a thing for us to just tear someone apart at one glance. 

Another fine lady here, the bosslady of the Lipgloss Mafia gave a serious talk on girl codes and I felt my neck nodding on its own. But apart from girl codes, human codes are needed. It’s not only girl to girl relations, or guy to guy, but everybody to everybody else. Maybe I should draw up a list of that one.

The world would be a much, much better place if we treated each other with as much love and respect as we want to be treated. 

That said. My exams were supposed to end yesterday, but our lecturer didn’t set our questions, *inserts eye roll smiley* so it was pushed to today, and the time isn’t still sure. *inserts another rolling eye smiley* 

Good morning, have a blessed day and make sure to show some love today.

The sooner we realise this, the better for us all

Much love,

Your Girlfriend.

I Told Myself

Hi my friend! It’s been a while oh *inserts big happy face smiley* 

Exams have been visiting for the past few weeks so I decided to leave this baby of mine and face the papers. Have they been good? Hahaha. Yeah. 

This is me, during a drama performance.
So I told myself I was going to start doing many things to my advantage. People made resolutions at the beginning of the year, Amie here, does hers at the end.

Me again, ministering in songs at DOSSOM, you know i love Jesus right? πŸ™‚
I told myself I was going to be patient. There’s this rushing thing that comes with the end of the year. Everyone wants to do as much or get as much before the year runs out. You can’t see them running, but they might be standing beside you while their minds have travelled to Burkina Faso. 

Waiting is hard. But I’m learning that waiting is fun too. While you wait, there’s an opening for you to see things that you weren’t seeing before, feel things you weren’t feeling before, experience something you might have missed in the course of pursuing that one something.

Of course this is two-sided; you might see, feel, experience some bad stuff, but isn’t that why we grow? To learn?

I told myself I’m young, and so I should savour every moment: the bad ones the most, so that I would know how to handle myself the next time I found myself in a place like that. 

I talked a lot to myself, but even awoof runs the belle, so I’ll take it one at a time.

I’m back

Lol. Exams finish in a few days, so I prophesy my ‘backness’.

Much love,

Your Girlfriend.

Glossary

Awoof: more than enough of something, interchangeable with bonuses.

Belle: stomach.

Kiss Me

I had to look into the dictionary to fine a word to aptly represent the way I think in my head. I found this:

I got close to someone. We bonded over intellectual property- the beauty in poetry, the way books made you travel through time, the way a word could mean a thousand things. As time went by, he saw through me; past the English, the sarcasm, the wit. He saw the colour of polish on my nails and the hair I never seemed pressed to braid.

We would take walks on long roads and dance in the middle when no car was passing. Then we would lie in the middle of the road when no one was watching. We began to have inside jokes- the ones only both of us understood. We would race our shadows and see who could jump higher to cut leaves from trees. He called it aimless wandering. 

After our walk, we would run under the arcs beside the Senate building and then hide between the walls, because the regular people were asleep or reading- and we were seizing the moment.

It was during one of those times, after we sat down on a slab at the motion ground, sharing a bottle of coke and our very different music playlists, that he kissed me. It was brief, it was polite, it was a question. I answered.

The next time, after our round of aimless wandering, we got to the arc, then sat on the slab. And the next thing I heard was my voice. Kiss me.

This Innocence they talk about.

I have spoken with some people, after which they told me that I am innocent. 

Okay?

 I ask, is that a good or a bad thing? They say it is good, that I have not been corrupted by the happenings in the world.

I smile.

I have never been a happening babe on campus. Popular, sometimes, but to be in that circle of people who know what’s up? Not me.

One said I am innocent because I’m not ‘loose’, and don’t show signs of becoming so anytime soon.

Okay?

At times I begin to wonder if I sound like an idiot when someone says ‘there’s an innocence about you’. I hear something closer to ‘you haven’t seen the world, you don’t know how it works’.

Here’s the shocker: I have had my fair share of the world, as young as I am, from a little age, I was ‘exposed’ to the blows that life can deal you mercilessly, and if that doesn’t count, I’m seeing more everyday.

So why in the world has it not shown on my face, or in my speech?

I really wonder.

The Thing with Being Big

Good morning, Beloved.

Whatever your idea of big is, I leave to you. But this big is my big. I am big.huge in fact. Gone are the days when I would cry because I did not wear a size 8.

In retrospect, I never really cried, I just stayed hopeful that one day, I would grow up and see me, veery slim with long legs, on a runway.

Isn’t that where most of them end up? Or I should rephrase, isn’t that where movies have told us they end up? All the american teenagers who were bullied in highschool became supermodels in the future, with a lot of friends and fine teeth.

Oh, please, let me hear word.

I’m grown, with long legs, but no where near a size 8, make that a double, thank you. And if I say I want to be a model now? I’ll just be a plus sized model, they’re very much in business.

My costume and make up lecturer (an AMAA Award Winning  Thespian) would say that Africans are thick, naturally rounded and fleshy, but the western world has blinded some people to thinking anorexia is a fashion.- this interpretation is all mine.

I have noticed a trend around me and I now take it as one of those things that will keep happening to me. 

People like me, because I’m big- guys, men, boys who still reason in one direction-the one guided by their zippers, they think I ‘full-ground’ (which means you occupy space literally, but in Nigeria, means more things than that. In this context, it means you fill out nicely).

For some people, my big means I’m bossy, or a snob, or very motherly. For some it means I’m obese. For some other people, I should be a basketballer and stop wasting the height.
A colleague of mine who has big hips, has for the past three years been ashamed of her big back side; she would wear nice clothes but still have a scarf to ‘cover’ from her waist down. Very beautiful, but very insecure.

This lecturer had to call her out in front of the class one time. That was when she gave her pep talk on loving your body and accepting yourself.

 I had done that a long time ago, I even have a mantra to this day: we can’t all be slim. It gives me space to breathe and appreciate the ones who are not like me and the ones who I’m not like.

There is so much to say about this, and I will say it. With all my 81kg load of matter.

I Write Letters To My Future Husband

For the past couple of years, I have written letters to my husband- whom I don’t know, haven’t met (or maybe we have met, I don’t know) and have no clue about. I would tell him what is happening to me, what I feel, and how I think I would feel when it’s over.

I think of names to call him that are not usual, maybe something Hispanic *abeg+eye roll* or French- what with French being synonymous to love. If a name could be worn out, I think Nigerians would be on the A-list of ‘wear-out’ers. 

From Darling, sweetheart, honey, to mama Amaka, papa Amaka, that has been the norm, I tell my husband I would like to call him something different, and hope that he calls me something different too.

Not like: ‘hey, something different, come see this’ sic.

I want him to know me from when I’m growing up, I want him to feel the difference in my thoughts as I grow, evident in every letter I write. 

I let him know about my devotion to him, because I love him. Because he’s my friend.

I number the letters too, so that he’ll know the sequence in which I write them.

In every one I write, I’m honest, no disguises, no pretence, just me: stripped of all the mind decoration, so that I can say what is on my mind as it comes, after all, we would be together for the rest of our lives.

I write letters to my future husband, and I always end them with ‘yours, always’.