Posts in Life

Expectations for 2021

Life Random 10 Comments

I had just come back into my room, after lighting up some fireworks and knockouts when it struck me that bad as twendy twendy had been, lots of people are really grateful and positive. ‘How did you come to this conclusion?’ You may wonder. Fireworks! Knockouts! Okay. I’ll make this make sense. I don’t think anyone without gratitude and hope, would spend money on fireworks, or stay up till 12am, just for the ceremony of knocking out twendy twenty. And o boy! I tell you, the amount of knockouts and fire works that have gone into the sky, leaves me with a certainty that while 2020 may have been the ‘dreary year,’ it was also one of hope.

Did I have resolutions for 2020? No. But I did have plans which were ruined by the pandemic. I’ve lost a whole academic year, all thanks to ‘Coloma vilus.’ Twendy twendy, was my closest to being depressed. The first few months were blessings to me, I got to spend a lot of lone time; gave my body and soul proper care; loved myself more; found my be-you-ty-full; I found friends in four beautiful ladies that were just acquaintances, before the lockdown.

A few months later, I felt my life was stagnant; no school, no job, no skill, nothing! It bothered me that an extra year in school was being shoved down my neck, and that my mother still had to give me daily allowance. Ah mean, am I back in my past? Am I still 13? Unfortunately, that was my reality. A sugar mummy like me, still collecting money for snacks and whatever, everyday. And then came the End SARS movement, that was the straw that broke the Carmel’s back. I was very livid about the whole situation, it got me feeling helpless, coupled with the helplessness from the uncertainties the future holds. I love to be in control of my life, but Covid-19, Nigerian government and leaders, and ASUU said, ‘Not this year, madam I-love-to-be-in-control.’

A whole lot of terrible things happened (there were good things too, no doubt), I can’t even list them all. Luckily, I’ve been blessed with the gift of happiness and contentment. Despite all the setbacks and chaos, I chose to be happy and not be weighed down. Though I let myself feel other emotions that isn’t related to happiness, I always found room for happiness. I always found a reason to smile— the radiant moon, dressed in her glamorous golden robe, with silver linings; people that genuinely love me and constantly remind me, with their actions; my fine ass low maintenace hair and skin; the wild but charmingly clothed flowers; my goofiness; my oxygen, my mother; my sweet siblings, and family, generally. These are just some, out of many reasons I had, to smile. Twendy twendy wanted me to drown in misery, but little did it know that I’m garri, I can’t be drowned, I’ll only rise to become bigger.

Now, I’m lying in my bed, writing this, in the year world people say is 2021, with no resolutions or expectations. After all, Coloma is still very much around, and we still have the same government. While I do not have expectations, I can only hope that this year is better and that God heals those that were wounded or scarred in twendy twendy.

We breathe in positivity here, no bad vibes or energy. Amen? Cheers to soaring above all negativity.

Is this the point where I wish you, my very dear reader, a happy new year, not minding that we’re in the second week already? Anyway, tell me, do you have expectations for 2021? I want to hear it all.

It’s A Hard Knock Life For Us…

Life Nature Random 7 Comments

I’m back again with my “weird” thoughts. Are you ready for the spill? Ready or not, I’m spilling anyway.

I had just had my night bath, and was using my deodorant that smells like a blend of exotic flowers, just for the sake of smelling nice. And I thought, “it would be nice to actually have a fragrance unique to me alone, like flowers” (let’s all pretend we don’t know most flowers smell like God-forbid). Then I went farther to think of the kind of flower I’d be, if I were to be one.

Now, here’s where the real gist starts– That’s how my mind travelled back to certain events and times when I’d wish I was something else , other than a human, like days when my gender and the other gender won’t stop their endless and sometimes meaningless war; or days when the amount of evil in the world overwhelms me.

While most, think animals, trees and other objects have life easier for them, you may want to listen to what I have to say, and tell me afterwards, if you still think the same way.

Has it ever occurred to you that animals have their own personal and “family” problems to think of too? Animals, like us, do not always have things easy; they starve, they look for food, and they fight one another to get it, when it’s in limited supply; they call it survival of the fittest in Biology. Most animals are hustlers, come sunshine or rainfall, they’re hustling. Most don’t even have proper shelter. You may want to argue that they’re animals and were built for suffer-head, I’ll let you have that.

There’s also this constant fear of the unknown. Let’s use birds– fowl, as our case study. You see how they jump out of their feathers, at the slightest noise, especially hens with chicks. Why the constant fear? Of course, it’s cos of the predators year and dear (here and there). There’s the hawk to worry about, there’s the dog, not to mention the slick snake, and many others. And there’s us too! You didn’t think I would forget. Right?

Sadly for them, It’s that time of the year, where many are victims of our cravings. May their souls, undeserving of such cruelty, rest in peace.

You know, I honestly can’t stand the sight of animals being slaughtered, but I pretend to have amnesia, when it’s time to consume the final product. I’m sorry, I love meat too much to not take part in such grave sin. Being vegetarian has crossed my mind several times, considering the fact that I’m a big fan of veges, and fruits too, but e go hard o. I’m sure the souls of the departed animals, slaughtered for my sake, will understand; man must chop.

If we must be fair, we shouldn’t be eating plants too. They too, are living things, remember? Difference is, they don’t have blood and they aren’t mobile. So las las, all of us are murderers. That leaves you with no right to judge me.

I am still giving you reasons why I think animals don’t have life easier, right? Okay.

While it may seem like animals have a shorter life span than humans, have you ever stopped to think that a month to us might be equivalent to a year to them? So you can’t really say they’re quickly relieved of their sufferings, compared to humans that have to deal with it for many years, especially when suicide isn’t an option.

Excuse you, if you’re thinking “oh, they don’t have to deal with pressure or harassment from men” or “there’s no pressure on them to be macho and to impress na,” my dear! Think again, or better still, find yourself some goats and fowls, and observe them for a week. I assure you, you won’t think the same again.

There are a whole lot of other things, including those I’m not aware of, because I can’t observe them all and because I’m not an animal, so I can’t exactly think like them. I can only imagine.

I remember little curious me always observing those big brown ants on fruit trees; soldier ants, with the ones with very big heads positioned in front and at the back of the long lines; butterflies competing with flowers; earthworms wiggling (though the sight nauseated me. Still does); snails shying away from a touch; real life glow-in-the-dark– fireflies, lighting up the night;… I can go on and on. These things fascinated me.

There were times I told God I’d love to be an ant for a day, hoping he’d really answer, cos you know, nothing is too insignificant or impossible for him. Why the stupid wish? I really just admired how they cooperated and looked out for one another. How an ant would go get help for an injured or dead ant, with so much anxiety and panic. How they weren’t selfish, and would call out to other ants excitedly, at the sight of their daily bread or in some cases, manner from heaven. I really wanted to be them for a day; to see what their house underneath the ground looked like. Did they have duplexes? Did they have bedrooms, storage rooms, sitting rooms, and dinning rooms like us– humans? Did they have estates and palaces? Was there a social class? How deep was the hole in which they built their homes? Was it close to hell fire?

One day, I woke up, and didn’t want that anymore, cos I thought, what if I got killed as an ant, the day I become one. What would my poor mother do? Who would tell my story? That was when I stopped really wishing to be any other thing or person that isn’t me. Note that I said “stopped really wishing”, not like I totally stopped wishing. I still do, it’s just never that serious.

I was one hell of a curious child, and I can’t really say I’ve changed much– but this isn’t the point here. Don’t lose concentration.

With these few points of mine, I hope I’ve been able to convince, and not confuse you, that animals, plants and others, have life just as hard, if not harder. Wahala for who refuse to get convinced o, and wahala for who confuse.

Drop your comments and tell me what you think…

PS: Being a bush plant must be hard; all that feces and rubbish flung at them, shotput style… They don’t even eat meat! Oh. They do, but never mind… I don’t envy them one bit.

Why Birthdays Are Meh For Me

Life Random 31 Comments

Go! Go! Go shawty! It’s your birthday, we gon party hard, cos it’s your birthday… Lol. Okay. That’s the farthest I can go with the lyrics of 50 Cent’s hit song. A groovy song that sets you in the mood to party silly and hard on your birthday. Unfortunately, the song never works its magic on me; I’m never excited about my birthdays. Birthdays are a reminder of my setbacks, a reminder that things didn’t work out as planned, a reminder that I’m getting old, without achieving any of my very big dreams which sometimes scare me.

On my birthdays, I’m always thankful for the gift of life, and at the same time, moody. I’m usually very reflective and sober. Most times, I want to be alone but the people who love me, despite my flaws, never allow me be sober for long. They flood me with love on my special day. Love so overwhelming, till the point I shed some tears— happy ones.

When did this lack of excitement start? Since I clocked eighteen. Not like I was ever a birthday person. Before eighteen, all I always wanted was to be treated specially (no punishment, no scolding, no hard labour… Just pampering) and prayed for on my special day. Nothing more, nothing less. Good thing is, my birthday was usually during the long break from school— I owe fate for that. There were times I forgot my birthday on my birthday (please, don’t roll your eyes at me. Shit happens).

Before I officially became an adult, I had my life mapped out. Here’s what it looked like;

Graduate from secondary school at 16-17.

Get into a higher institution at 17-18, cos you know, smart pants, acing my exams at one sitting shouldn’t be a problem.

Get my first boyfriend in my 3rd year at 20, or after university at 21-22 depending on whether I studied Agric or Nursing.

Finish service at 22-23.

Get a job immediately after service, work for a while to attain financial independence before getting another degree, cos you know, all that brain can’t be wasted.

Make my first million before I’m 25. Own a nice home and car before I’m 30.

Get married to my one and only boyfriend (worst case, third boyfriend cos you know, life happens) at 27-35.

Have four kids and adopt two.

Build my mama a school and others…

Occupy a top position in my field. Be a model for young girls and teenagers in general. Own an NGO. Make an impact in the world and have my name written in the sands of time.

Life looking at me like, “guuurl, where in the happily-ever-after do you think you are?”

Looking back at my ridiculous list, I find it laughable. I must have thought life was just in black and white. I didn’t think I’d have many challenges. So you see, why I totally stopped being excited about my birthdays after 18, is cos I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, and I hated that I wasn’t in control.

Once upon a time, I would confidently share my age with those who asked and I got comments like “you’re very wise for your age”, “you’re such an old soul”, “you act and look older than your age”. Such comments acted as confidence boost, and left me always pleased.

What about now? Except I’m comfortable with you, I just tell you I’m in my early twenties cos I think it’s stupid to lie about it. Truth be told, most times, I have to deduct my birth year from the present year to get my present age. Yes, it’s that bad, and for three years straight, I kept thinking I clocked 18 on my last birthday. Tragic, right? And Just when I was gradually beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel cos you know, one more year and I’ll be done with school, Covid-19 happened, and ASUU decided to add some toppings with their strike. How perfect! Anyways, all I know is that I’m deducting this year from my age and I won’t be disclosing my age freely, until I complete my first degree program, and I’m financially independent.

Well, well. I’ll make deliberate effort to be excited about my birthday, next year. So help me God. I might just end up taking special birthday pictures too, and maybe for once, friends won’t have to stress, digging out pics from the last decade to celebrate me with. Lord knows how many of my potential customers they’ve sent off with some of those embarrassing pictures (which I honestly find cute and funny)… In case you’re wondering what service it is I offer, I offer backbone services. I can be your backbone, if you’re invertebrate. My services are for men only, PLEASE!

To my star girl, Nkechinyere, thank you for being my ginger and for infecting me with your excitement for my birthdays. You’re the reason I have more birthday cake pictures than I’d have had. Thanks for the peppered chicken and chocolate that year.

And that concludes my story of why I’m never excited about my birthdays. Who else can relate to my story? What do you think of birthdays? Do you find them overrated? Feel free to drop your comments.

Reincarnation— A Myth or Reality?

Life Nature Random Spirituality 19 Comments

I’m sort of restless again, tonight. It happens to be one of those nights when I can’t stop thinking of certain things. Reincarnation is what is on my mind now. This isn’t a first, and I’m very certain it won’t be the last.

I was having a bath when the thought of the Oba of Bini and the Ooni of Ife attacked me. For reasons unknown to me, I’ve always been attracted to their respective palaces, though I’ve never been privileged to visit any. I’m almost convinced I have some kind of connection to the two royal homes. It feels like I have history with them. And it could just be my love for their rich history that is giving me ideas.

My train of thought took me from trying to understand my obsession with the Bini and Ife palace, to reincarnation.

I very much believe in reincarnation, though my religion and faith doesn’t believe there’s such a thing as that. I guess it’s cos it contradicts the “theory” of judgement, heaven, and hell. As a result, I don’t get to really talk about it. Though the topic interests me very much, I try not to dwell much on it, whenever it sneaks into my head, cos who will I have the conversation with?

I believe life is a cycle, that we die and return through a different body, without having to await judgment. Now, I’m not limiting reincarnation to Iyabode and Babatunde/Babajide. This includes people who die and are reborn into families that were kind to them in their previous life. It includes people who are reborn into any body of their choice, without necessarily having history in their past life with their new family.

While there may be no physical resemblance to our last being, there is usually a resemblance of character, I believe. In some cases, some return as what they couldn’t be in their previous life but swore to be in their next —when they were in their previous life (I hope this isn’t confusing). Our lifestyle in the past and the things we swore to be, influences how we act and what we become in our present life. While these aren’t facts but my assumptions based on stories and observations, I believe them to be true.

For instance, I think I was betrayed in my last life by someone or people very close to me, people I trusted, most likely through food poisoning. This is because of how distrustful I’ve always been of almost everyone but my mom—News flash: I’m more relaxed now. Hurray!— I’m talking of before I had enough sense to start making decisions. As a very little child, I only ate my mother’s food, I never accepted food from any other person, whether packaged or cooked, whether from family or friend. I only agreed to eat or drink, after my mother assures me it’s safe, by tasting it first, in my presence. I remember cos I, surprisingly, still have some memories of those times, and cos my mom told and still tells me of how some, accused her of instructing me to not accept food from them, and how she’d ask them how a baby like me would understand that even if she gave such instruction.

I feel whatever happened in my past life has influenced how much I expect from people. I don’t, and have never expected a lot from people, so that when they disappoint me, I won’t be caught off guard and be destabilized. No matter how much I trust a person, I always leave a very tiny room for disappointment.

Again, this is just me dropping one of the many things that fill my head. No research done, just me pouring my thoughts on you. And I’d like for you to flood me with your thoughts, in return, like I’m your Lekki.

What do you think of reincarnation? A myth or a reality? Please, drop your thoughts in the comment section.

Religion Is Sexist?

Life Random Spirituality 8 Comments

I met her when I was 12, we fell in love almost immediately. We had a deep connection and shared a mutual knowledge of this connection without really speaking about it. It was a mother-daughter love, a love so deep, my life was turned around, I became a better person. I really wanted to make her happy, so I became more obedient and less rebellious, started to do my house chores at the right time, I got closer to God. Call it the power of love. Even my mother used it to “blackmail” me.

At 13, I was very sure I was going into the religious life. I wanted to be just like her, and maybe someday, meet a young girl and transform her for better. I wanted to be like her, with hopes that I’ll be able to pour out all my love to children and teenagers, since I won’t have mine to channel them to. I had hopes that I’d smile at children, and they’d see God smiling at them. I made a strong resolve, to be a reverend sister, or nothing. I considered being a Dr. Rev. Sr too. I thought I could study medicine and use my knowledge and experience to help people as a reverend sister.

Guess who was having none of that— my dear mother! I was one very strong willed girl. We argued, we fought, we talked, yet, I was hell bent on going to a convent after secondary school. After several intense arguments, I said, If God willed, I’ll be professed, and if not, I’ll be sent back home, while she insisted God was never going to will it.

According to my non-Catholic mum, sisters take an oath of poverty and everlasting suffering. She went further to say she’d have left me to be a priest if I was male cos she’d be rest assured that I’d have parishioners to take care of me, and to be the family I wouldn’t have. Please, take note that this was just a myopic view, based on the impressions she saw. She saw sisters as sufferheads, and she wasn’t going to suffer for me, sweat blood and water, only for me to end up a “suffer head,” have a romance with poverty and still not give her grand children on top that.

Prior to her statement, and meeting Sister Immaculata, I always fancied being a priest, dressed in my perfectly pressed robe, on the altar, offering gifts to the Lord; chanting and singing prayers; breaking bread and repeating the words said at the last supper; spreading out my arms gingerly as I invoke blessings on my congregation; sprinkling the Holy water, with a proud tilt of my head as I look at my congregation and a warm smile on my purified face; walking, like Jesus walked on the troubled sea like it was nothing, during recession, and placing my hands on little and blameless children who’d see me as Jesus or an angel in flesh and blood, as they hug me. So, when my mother made the statement about priests having more privileges like being able to own a car, and having parishioners to cater for them, I became angry and thought life was unfair to women. But I didn’t really mind at that point, I just wanted to live and share in the life of sister Immaculata.

Now 14, with sister Immaculata taken far away from me, to a foreign country, I was left with only memories of her, which are some of my most cherished memories, by the way. I still wanted to go into the religious life. At this age, I was fortunate to have known some smart philosophers with whom I had enlightening conversations and arguments.

One of such, was about I how thought religion was sexist. I gave several reasons and instances. Mind you, by religion, I wasn’t referring to just Christianity or the church, though I later narrowed down my argument to the Catholic church. If you’re thinking one of my arguments was of women not being allowed to be priests, you’re right! That was my major argument.

While still into the argument, my adult friend asked if I was a feminist cos I behaved like one, from his observations of our past and current conversations. I didn’t give a definite answer, my response was “I guess I am,” cos I wasn’t sure of who a feminist was but I just knew it had something to do with females and supporting females and for reasons I don’t know, I didn’t ask for the meaning. That was unsual, not asking a question when I do not know. I guess I was more interested in continuing our argument, than finding out the meaning of feminist, since I was pretty sure my assumption wasn’t far from the actual meaning.

The first thing I did after that conversation/argument, was pick up my dictionary. I looked up the word “feminist” and smiled with satisfaction at the definition and said to myself, I am a feminist, I believe women and men should be given equal opportunities to be whatever they want, cos no gender is greater or lesser then the other, no gender is inferior or superior to the other. It was from that day I wore my feminist badge in my heart, little did I know that it was an actual movement and a very big deal, and that years later, people would redefine it to suit their agenda and make me ask myself if I still want to wear the badge. I guess it’s a till death do us part thing.

If you started out, reading this piece, hoping to find a totally different content, sorry to disappoint you. I didn’t write to give one thousand and five reasons why I think religion is sexist or not, I wrote to share my story and to know your thoughts on religion and sexism.

Don’t hesitate to give your two cents in the comment section, please.

Forgive, But Do Not Forget

Life Random 14 Comments

“Forgive and forget” is a very common phrase used among Nigerians, especially the religious ones. From being a little girl to being the young woman I am now, I’ve heard different opinions and explanations, but I’m yet to hear or see one who has same opinion as I, on the matter. If I have, I do not recollect.

Here’s what I think;

We have memories for different reasons, one of them being; to guide our future decisions. If we keep on forgiving and literally forgetting every sin against us, we’d never learn from our past mistakes, and will keep repeating the mistake of letting people step on our necks.

In the context used, I believe “forget” simply means “Dude, if you want to live long and have good skin and healthy hair, let go of the anger and bad energy this person’s offence caused you. Let go of the malicious feeling and be assured unlimited supply of uncontaminated oxygen.” And not “Dude, press delete and erase every memory of this person pissing in your mouth. Open your mouth again to be pissed in. Rinse and repeat.”

Imagine a life where everyone forgets the sins against them, there would be no tales to tell, and no moral lessons to learn from. The rate of ruined lives would be drastically high. No, I don’t like this picture I’m seeing.

So you know what I say? Forgive, forget to be angry, for your peace of mind (only if it matters to you. If not, you may stay angry), but do not forget the lesson(s) learnt. Once bitten, twice shy. Right? If you forgive and wipe off the memory, how would you know you’ve been once bitten?

Also, I don’t think you can say you’ve truly forgiven, without forgetting the bad energy. Personally, I can only say I’ve forgiven you when I see you or think of you, and I don’t think evil or feel anger towards you. I most likely wouldn’t remember your offence(s) immediately, without being reminded. And if I do, there’d be no malicious feeling or anger felt. Me remembering, would only keep me alert, to not give you a chance to bite me again.

Luckily, forgiveness comes very easily from me. In fact, I think I forgive way too easily, without making the offenders earn it, and sometimes, I wonder if it is a bad thing. But my good skin and healthy hair kicks me out of my doubts. If you’ve ever wondered what my skin and hair secret is; you’ve gotten a cheat, and you’re welcome.

What is your interpretation of the saying, ” forgive and forget”?

Please, let me know your thoughts. I’m eager to know.

How Do I Look?

Beauty Life Random 18 Comments

“I’m not fat, I’m thick;” “I don’t have a big stomach, it’s just chubby;” “I’m not thin, I only slimmed down;” are some of the statements I’ve made, in defense of how I look, just because I love to argue, not cos I really meant any.

While I may have made those statements playfully, there are people who actually get offended when called fat or thin. And I honestly can’t blame them; “fat” and “thin” when used, are usually condescending or meant to be shameful. Hence, most people no longer see them as just adjectives but insults. And now, poor people like me find it hard to describe a person as fat, or short, or thin, or even black, without it coming off as body shaming. But then, it is what it is. Cos how else do I give a clear picture of a person?

Now, there’s this trend of people getting offended when others make comments on how they look. Comments like “Sade, you’re looking good. See your cheeks, you’ve added weight o,” “Guy, are you dieting? You are lean, see your neck,” and a thousand other similar comments. I said it’s a trend now cos everywhere on social media, I see people warning friends, families, acquaintances and enemies, in advance, to mind their business and not make any comment on their ‘newly acquired look,’ when next they see. I don’t know if it’s them just being ‘woke,’ or catching cruise, or being really offended, cos such comments get to them.

Well, there are different strokes for different folks. I personally have no problem with people telling me I’ve lost or added weight, gotten shorter or taller, gotten lighter or darker. Really. This is because sometimes, my eyes and judgement aren’t enough. Some of these observations serve as eye openers for me. Well, depending on how you say it sha. Some will embarrass you, all in the name of being concerned…

I’m the kind who wouldn’t notice I’ve lost weight until I become a bag of dried bones, or add about two extra holes to my belt, or until my clavicles are deep enough to hold a litre of water.

Also, I do not want to look like a sack of fufu, before I realize I’ve become fat, and now start to drink garlic and ginger, boiled in Pigeon saliva, just to burn stubborn fat. So you see why I appreciate such observations and comments from people?

Most importantly, I appreciate it when people observe that my water bumbum is evaporating, before it totally disappears (only when it truly is. I hate false observations concerning my past), cos how else would I remain a destiny changer without my juicy past?

So yes, keep them comments coming. Go ahead and tell me how I look, my mirror may not be doing its work well enough. Just make sure you process carefully, whatever you think your eyes have seen, before opening your mouth gbagada to say what is not; I’m sure you don’t want to attlact curses to yourself. So shine your eyes well, before you tell me my bumbum has reduced or that I’m lean, when you’ve only seen my upper body. Wait to see my “lower body” fess, before you conclude than I’m now lean. My wells of salvation have come to stay; so without seeing my “lower body,” you’d be tricked to believe I’m lean. So my dears, let’s be careful, and not cause unnecessary commotion.

Tell me, what are your thoughts on unsolicited observations? Do they offend you or you’re open to them?

Are you one to give unsolicited observations?

Tale of a Bully-Proof Child

Life Random 19 Comments

I attended a total of four primary schools, but I have most of my best memories in this particular one. It was an elite school in Lagos, one of the best in the area at that time. It was a school for the ajebutters, the celebrity kids, and a couple of kids from average homes. I was just a kid whose mom was a non-academic staff, but most people couldn’t tell cos of my confidence, appearance and performance in academics. It was easy to assume I was one of the really rich kids.

There was this boy in my class, Chinonso(not his real name), he had an unusual surname and was no doubt one of the richest kids in school. He had siblings, both in the primary and the secondary school. I think there were about five of them at that time. In the early 2000s, five hundred naira was a big deal, and this little boy, with his siblings, brought that amount everyday to school, with lunch, and they were dropped off and picked up from school everyday by their driver, with different cars.

The school had a break centre (I’m sure this isn’t what it was called,but my memory has failed me here) where all sorts of snacks were displayed for sale. Chinonso would go along with his gang and buy snacks for everyone. How old were we again? Probably seven or eight. You’re shocked that a child as young as that was exposed to that amount of money, right? But it is what is. The lunch box he brought to school was useless, I don’t remember ever seeing him eat his homemade lunch.

I forgot to mention, I was still a newbie, sort of. I joined in pry 2, first term, two or three weeks to their exams, and I came third in the class, despite being ill during exams. That’s how I became a star girl, and my headmaster and headmistress wanted to meet my parents. Imagine their shock when they discovered my mom was my mom. That’s by the way.

We were in the second term of pry 2 now, and Chinonso liked me. I know this cos he sent messages on several occasions through some of his “boys,” as the prince that he was. There were also times he’d playfully say he liked me and would immediately run off with his gang while laughing. He was cute, though not as cute as the other boy who liked me, the one who wouldn’t let me come first with him in the same arm; we had two arms in a class, A and B. He’s story for another day, let’s focus on Chinonso. I would have liked Chi boy back, but I just thought he wasn’t sharp and was a spoilt brat. I wondered why he wasn’t as smart as two of his elder sisters. In fact, I found it embarrassing that someone who never got answers right in class was liking me. I think I tolerated him just cos of his sister who happened to be one of my numerous school parents( I hear I was too cute to resist). He tried to get me gifts several times during break, but I kept rejecting them. I was the typical contented child; one who wouldn’t even accept water from anyone who isn’t my mom.

So you see, I was contented with my bottle of sweetened milk and whatever it was I took to school for lunch. I took a bottle of milk to school everday. On one of those days when I was happily drinking my milk, after refusing Chinonso’s gifts of course, one of my classmates decided to be unfortunate. In a bid to shame me, she asked in a mocking tone, “Why does your mom always give you milk to school everyday? Are you a baby?” and I replied, “It’s because milk is rich and good for growth, and yes, I’m my mummy’s big baby. You see my cheeks? You see how I look like a pumped balloon? It’s a sign of good living. But look at you, looking dry and starved. I think you should start drinking milk too.” The bully and the rest of my classmates sure didn’t see that coming. There was no way the quiet new girl could have said that. Oh well, she said that.

I remember this one time, before the milk incidence, when school just resumed; my first week of the second term. I had just started making my hair back, so my hair was really short. I had it in small puffs, decorated with colourful bands. I was fortunate to have really nice clothes and shoes, thanks to my mama, and to my abroad relatives who kept sending trending outfits. Since I was still new, I was allowed to wear mufti in my first week. I don’t remember why I still didn’t have a uniform, despite joining earlier. On this fateful day, I wore a pretty vintage dress, with a high round neck, puff arms and gathers around the knee. It was a combination of purple velvet, what we called apoche, and some shiny flowery material that looked like chocolate wrapper. I had one of those ivory neckpieces, that looked like it came from Zululand, a pair of white socks, black shoes and a beaded bracelet on. At that age, I already had the liberty to pick my outfits, and I did make good choices.

I was on the playground, feeling beautiful and confident in my dress, when some children from nowhere had the guts to tell me I looked like a village girl, just because I wore an apoche dress! To the ignorant kids, apoche was a traditional attire, and was therefore, bush. Trust me to school them na, I told them “I like apoche,” this wasn’t a lie,”but this apoche is international, it is not the kind you see everywhere. It was sent to me from the United States of America. Do you own one?” and with that, I bounced off with pride. I didn’t wait to register their expression, for all I cared, I had won the battle. I was such a smartmouth.

Despite the pry 2 display, there were still some goats who hadn’t gotten it into their little heads that I was a lioness, a war, and a fight, that I was not a preacher of love. I was now in pry 4, I already had a lot of fans, and was the most respected girl in the class. I rolled with the boys too, I didn’t have time for girls and “their childish play.” I was more into jumping on desks and chairs, drawing comic characters, and playing daring games.

Remember these kids were rich kids, some spent their vacations in the abroad. So apparently, most of their parents had nice cars and one of them was tryna shame me, my mother’s daughter! The boy made a rude statement about my mom not having a car. At that moment, some wires in my head touched, and there were sparks and fireworks in my head. This was one of the kids from an average home o. I looked at him with disdain and asked, “How much does your father have? How many houses has he built? Who even knows if you’re living in a rented house. How many cars does he have? My father was a millionaire before he died. He had properties when he was your father’s age (like I knew the boy’s father’s age). He owned a paint factory with many company cars and personal cars. He even bought cars for his friends, and sponsored trips abroad. Imagine he was alive now, he’d have been a billionaire, and I won’t even be here talking to you. Before you were born, my mother was already driving, she had her car. So because you see my mother working here now, with no car, you think you can talk about her anyhow. I don’t blame you. Na condition make crayfish bend (a saying that never left my mother’s mouth). Let me tell you, that your parents own a car doesn’t make you better than me o. You don’t talk to me and my mother anyhow. You hear me?” And that was how I shut the boy up. With the confidence with which I spoke, you’d think I witnessed these things. I only repeated stories I heard from different people, including my mother, with a little spice, I guess.

I really was just the wrong child to mess with. I wasn’t a follow follow type, I was the pack leader type. Thanks to my mom’s grooming. She got me the latest stationeries, books; children literature books, books on common mistakes in English language, and clothes; from Cinderella dresses, to the trending wristwatches, sunshades, shoes, and a lot more, while she was plainly dressed. I remember how other members of staff would tease her, saying she looked nothing like my mom, but my maid. Truth be told, I was always dressed so well, you’d think my parents were one of those who sponsored events in the school. I still remember my propietress’ reaction on prize giving day, when she realized I was just a child of an employee; priceless.

My mom made me know my worth through her actions and her words, and I will never forgot that. It helped boost my confidence and helped me adapt well among the “rich kids,” I never had a complex and never felt out of place. I participated in every school event, and attended every end of the year party; my mother paid for every one of them, in full. In case you’re wondering how she managed to pay my school fees which was a whole lot at that time, she got a discount like every other staff, plus she served and still serves a living God.

My confidence made me bully-proof and kept the bullies away. Even peer pressure had nothing on me, simply because I knew my worth.

Did you ever get bullied in school? How were you able to deal with bullies? Did their actions affect your confidence or were you bully-proof like me? Please, rub minds with me and drop your comments in the comment section. I want to hear your story, you’ve heard mine.

WITHOUT GIFTED HANDS

Beauty Life Random 17 Comments

I’m very angry. I’m going through my gallery, and I’m pissed. You know why? Cos I’m tired of seeing the same look. No spice. Nothing new, just same plain fine face. I’m bored already. Y’all that repeat styles consistently, I don’t know how you do it; I admire you.

Now, I’m not angry at my fine face, don’t get me wrong. I’m just angry at my friends, and myself. How can I not have even one friend that is very good with makeup? I mean, just how? It hurts to know I have very useless friends. I said what I said. Come and beat me, or better still, block me or delete my contact. Y’all who have no atom of skill in you, but have friends with gifted hands, whom you can always run to for help, have no idea how much God has done for you.

On some days, I have a picture of what I want to look like for church or an event. But it never becomes real. It dies in my head, just because I can’t do make up, and I don’t know how to style my hair. Very sad. I can spend about an hour, working on my face with my tools; powder, mascara, lipstick and eyeliner. The end result of a very long one hour? An almost plain face with very little difference from my natural face, and I ask myself, what’s the point? Waking up an hour earlier, spending between thirty minutes to an hour, only to still look plain? Nah. Thanks. I’ll just carry my face like that. Oh no, I’m not ready to pay money on makeup, not yet. Maybe someday, when I blow, or when I have a really big event.

It’s important to let you know that I do not like the idea of friends always wanting free stuff from their skilled friends. Let’s try to be reasonable, these skilled friends paid to acquire their skill(s) and spent money on acquiring their work tools and would also invest time in doing a job. Don’t you think always asking for freebies is witchcraft? At least, make an attempt to pay, let them decide if they’d work for free or give you a discount. Even family members should pay! But what are we friends for if you can’t do free makeup for me, ehn? Yes, with your tools. The result you’d get from my makeover should be rewarding enough for you. There are some things money can’t buy, you know.

Sighs. I’m angry at myself too. I don’t know how I ended up this useless. No skill at all. Not hair, not skin, not face. Just USELESS! I need new friends, and a new self, please. Audition starts now. Every skilled person is eligible, irrespective of gender.

PS: Note that in this rant, my use of “skill,” refers to just hair and makeup; strictly beauty related skills.

SUCCESS-STRUCK GIRL

Life Random

My head aches terribly right now. I don’t know if it’s this load I attached to my hair in the middle (I have to give Yemi Alade accolades for rocking those big ponies effortlessly. As for me, I’m taking mine out today today. I know it’s barely 24 hours since I installed it, but you know what? I can’t comman goan kee myself) or the sadness I feel right now is what is responsible. No, I didn’t lose anyone and nobody broke my heart. Well, maybe my heart is slightly broken right now cos today was my last day at work, where I interned. I’ve been drinking water since cos according to a certain woman, water solveth all problems. If you’re broke, drink water. If you’re depressed, drink water. If you’re sad like me, drink water. If you don’t know how to mind your business, drink water. So, I have taken the water o, and I’m patiently waiting for the sadness to go away.

Like I said earlier, today was my last day at work and I got the privilege to have a short conversation with the MD/CEO of the firm. I dirin experrit (I didn’t expect it). I thought I was just going to take pictures. Nobody warned me! For some reasons, my brain turns to jelly whenever I’m around that woman. No, not jelly; catarrh (phlegm) is more like it. Catarrh is what my brain turns to. It’s not like she’s mean or walks around with her nose up. In fact, she’s the opposite; very nice, sweet, charming and graceful. Still, I get nervous around her even with the sweet smile she offers everytime. I guess it’s just the aura around her, plus she’s an accomplished woman and she rates high in my book of women I admire. Within the short time I’ve spent around her, I’d say she’s someone I look up to. I love how she runs her business and how she loves boooks! You may not understand the reason for my emphasis on books, if you do not know me. I love people who love books; not school books, please.

Me, everytime I see the CEO

I must confess, my short meeting wasn’t a pleasant one. Oh lord! I couldn’t stop thinking of the 1001 ways I could have answered one simple question, immediately I stepped out. I had one simple task fam, just one!! And I failed woefully.

Well, I did answer genuinely. I told her of one of my experiences which I found interesting— getting to see with my eyes what the books and teachers said, as I could not state my most interesting. But if I was in my right state of mind, I definitely wouldn’t have given such mediocre answer. Lol! Now I suspect this to be the cause of my headache.

I wasn’t even thinking when speaking to her. You know that feeling of being with an influential person, let’s say Dangote or Michelle Obama, without forewarning. That’s how I felt. I wish I could turn back the hands of time to give her the gazillions of answers swimming in my smart head. *Sighs loudly*.

Sad thing is, you can’t even read her expression to know what she’s thinking. She made a comment on my answer, saying what I found interesting was just chemistry and a bit of common sense; if that was sacarsm, I don’t know. And at that point, I didn’t care, I just wanted to run out of her office. But thinking about it as soon as I got to my office, I was almost certain that was sarcasm cos I wasn’t impressed with my answer which I replayed in my head. If I were her, I definitely would have given a sarcastic response to me.

But y’all know the wise saying, popular among Nigerian university students, especially after seeing a bad result; “e go be.” That is what I’m trying to console myself with as I write. Unfortunately, that isn’t working for me right now. Or maybe I should just chill and maybe I’m just over-thinking things like the over-analyzer that I am. Maybe it isn’t that serious. *Sighs*. Maybe I’m just concerned about how dumb she must think I am; like it’s my fault that I was brain-frozen by her presence.

Today’s experience with the MD/CEO has made me more success driven. Only success can cause the effect I experienced. I’m going to be “that” someday, one who others look up to. Someday, someone’s brain too will turn to catarrh just because of my presence.

Have you ever had anyone make you feel how I felt ? If you have, please share in the comment section. Let us know ourselves.