Inadequate

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.

Not so cliché

In all honesty, i don’t know what this picture is doing on my blog… Except maybe for the fact that i like chicken and just ate suya.

You know how not so cliché it is when you open your WordPress and read your posts, the ones where you drop so much wisdom, and you just could be a 21st century Gandhi?
… You know how not so cliché it is when, inspite of all your Instagram posts showing how in love with the world and inspired by life you are, your world at the moment is slanted at a 270° angle?

…You know how not so cliché it is when you begin to see the good in people, because you just read somewhere that you can change the world a person at a time?

…you know how not so cliché this  ‘not so cliché’ post is, because everybody uses ‘cliché’ these days, even down to a hair dryer: ‘my gawwwd, your hair dryer is soooo cliché!’+ flips hair. ?

…you know how not so cliché it is, when you don’t understand yourself, but you’re asking someone ‘do you understand me?’ And the person says ‘not really’, so you admit you don’t understand yourself either?

…you know how cliché it is that I have used the word cliché so much in this post, the entire post looks cliché to me.

I must add this one: you know how not so cliché it is, when you leave your room for a stroll at night, end up at a suya stand, and have someone buy your suya wrap for you, because you don’t have change? 

Yes, I know, I never have change these days, I just take the piece they give me to taste and swagger back to my dorm.

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 😀

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? 🙂
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.

Musing

There are times when the zeal to do something you love just fades. It’s not for lack of passion, it’s just what it is. But in these times, it is because you know why you started it in the first place, that is what keeps you going.
There will be times when you and a friend will not talk as much as you used to. You might begin to wonder if you are really friends. Or if your job is the right one for you, because there’s no fire anymore.

There will be uncertainties at every turn, sometimes it could be a lack of assuredness that the person you love might not love you back as much as you do them. Or it could be a little thud in your chest that in the place you’re working, people do not appreciate you.

Yet

These things do not make up all of our lives. We have joys, victories, memories, triumphs. We have hope. 

This is for everyone who has felt like this at some point. It’s not your entire life, it’s just one hurdle in your race. So live, and be happy, cry when you need to, and move on. Rise above those feelings and live.

And Live.

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.

She Was Not Beautiful

Hi! I’ve noticed that I’ve been doing a kind of ghost mode…When I just pass that school entrance like this, everything else just goes on strike. 

It’s been a while- as usual these days- I posted. I want to do the three day quote challenge that my friend Purple Butterfly tagged me in, but I want to brain boot before posting quotes…my quotes have to CHANGE YOUR LIFE!

I’m always happy to open my WordPress, today I’m posting a poem I wrote in honour of mothers. I love my mum, she’s my best friend and I was inspired to write it, not just because of her, but because there has begun to be a norm of unappreciativeness and discontent in the world.

She was not beautiful,

You could not see fine skin.

All you saw were spots

And stretch marks

On stretched skin

That stretched to bear you.

But you could not have known.

She was not beautiful,
Her hands were rough.

You preferred soft hands

That made you want to hold them

whenever you felt them

Those hands held hot coal

To keep you warm in the cold.

But you could not have known.

She was not beautiful,
You could not see fine skin.

All you saw were spots

And stretch marks

On stretched skin

That stretched to bear you.

But you could not have known.

She was not beautiful,
Her hands were rough.

You preferred soft hands

That made you want to hold them

whenever you felt them

Those hands held hot coal

To keep you warm in the cold.

But you could not have known.

She was not beautiful,
Her eyes were twitching.

You felt better with cute eyes,

That made you want to damn it all

And lose yourself in them.

Those eyes saw pain

And decided to see it all

So you never had to see as much.

But you could not have known.

She was not beautiful,
Not really on the outside.

She had made sure that

Even if she didn’t appear refined

She had taken the filth

So you never had to look dirty.

And whenever you threw a tantrum

She only smiled. 

It was not your fault.

You could not have known.

She was not beautiful,

Her eyes were twitching.

You felt better with cute eyes,

That made you want to damn it all

And lose yourself in them.

Those eyes saw pain

And decided to see it all

So you never had to see as much.

But you could not have known.


She was not beautiful,

Not really on the outside.

She had made sure that

Even if she didn’t appear refined

She had taken the filth

So you never had to look dirty.

And whenever you threw a tantrum

She only smiled. 

It was not your fault.

You could not have known.

A letter to Zoe

I wrote this for my friend, Olayinka Olaseni. I haven’t shown it to her, I might not show it to her. This is how I write for my friends, it helps me bring some of our times together into words I can keep for years.

Here goes:

I know you know I write. 

I know you’ve know I love you.

I know you know I miss you.

I know you’ve known for a long time.

I bought akara last night, but I could taste a sadness in its oil; it was not the one we ate together. It was just another ball of fried beans, this one bad for my health.

My sister, 
I wish I knew more French than I do, after all, French is the language of love, Oui?

I want to tell you again, I love you and I wish you were here. I’m counting the days in my heart and I’m glad that every day goes to bring you a step back to this place.

So, when you have learnt all the French enough to conquer France, I’ll be here, so we can speak English together. But I will learn enough to let you know that now and always, 
Je t’aime.

                                               Nneamaka
Have a great day.