Horn Effect

This is one of those days where words fail me. I’ve got a traffic in my thoughts but I really just can’t seem to get them all out. I honestly don’t have much to say but;

Do picture this.

It’s the end of the month. My salary has already found its way to my bank account. I’m headed to the bank to withdraw some money for my home use and of course, a mini vacation.

Outside the bank, there are a couple of kids. Street kids to be precise. They also seem to be aware that it’s the time of the month when ‘kind humans’ can show a little mercy and give them money. Most are already begging. Their common phrase is being hungry and having not eaten for days. That is somehow true but then, my school system suggests that street kids often indulge in drug abuse. The kinds of glue, it somehow keeps them sane. We probably know the odds here.

I’m already done with my small business and I’ve gotten out of the bank. This innocent looking child/boy has walked up to me. He stretches out his hand and begs for lunch money. I oblige. The most common reason is you know, being a good person and obviously living up to the fruits of the holy Spirit. The other reason is fear. Again, I remember being warned several times of the dire consequences of not ‘tipping’ street kids. You may end up with an insult, sometimes gang beating and other unlucky times, being robbed off your money.

I reach out to my pocket, take some coins and hand them to him. I have a spa appointment in about 30 minutes so I hurriedly rush away. I generally hate missing deadlines.

I haven’t taken a lot of steps when I realise someone is following me. I get to know this when I’m taking a selfie, and accidentally pressing on the side power button. What happens next is a reflection of a boy who also is in a hurry. I turn back, and immediately realise it’s the street child I’ve given some coins.

The next thing I do is hide my phone in my handbag, hold on to it tightly and begin my speed walking. Thank you highschool for the lessons.

Not so shockingly, he increases his pace too. In order to not draw attention to ourselves, I take another turn. Hoping to lose him and also praying that it saves his life. How?! Well, I’m normally hysterical in tough situations. I may honestly decide to scream saying a thief is behind me. The results of this is something I don’t wish to ever see happen on someone. And worst of all, a little child, who’s perhaps hungry.

It’s a little relief when I lose sight of him for some seconds. One minute later, exactly as my watch dictates, he reappears. I instantly become tachycardic. I’m getting sweaty. Sweating like a pig may be an understatement to my situation.

To make this whole uncomfortable scene ugly, he reappears with another street boy. Slightly muscular and taller than himself. I see from a distance him pointing towards my direction. Wild guess, it’s me. The other boy is doing that too, I’m assuming it’s a confirmation that the target is acquired. The tall boy, say BOY T, disappears in another corner of the buildings we are sandwiched in. The other little one is currently walking towards me. For the first time since this ordeal started, I’m noticing that he’s holding some paper bag. What’s inside, only God knows. His other hand is stretching towards me, and he’s shouting some words which I can’t hear.

My hearing is good, my sight isn’t helping since I can’t actually see what he’s holding. I can’t hear because I’ve already taken to my heels. The second time! This time it’s not the walk, I’m running like some mad woman in town.

There aren’t so many people in this place which at this moment is a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I know my country people. They may take their phones out and delight in recording my sorry self. Before I know it, I’m in a meme clip which can be humiliating. Curse; what if I’m killed or anything bad happens to me? There aren’t as much people around to help.

While running, I’m constantly looking back. To see how far apart we are. I barely notice someone in front of me. When I do, I’ve already stumbled on him and we hit the ground. Guess what?! BOY T has entered the chat. I get back up, and sadly, I’m surrounded. I’m well aware that I can beat up people (I’ve been to karate classes, in my fantasy). At the moment though, surrendering is a good option too.

Practically speaking, I kneel and request them to grant me a final wish of whispering a prayer to my Maker. They bust out with some laughter and tell me to get up.

‘Relax!’ boy T says, ‘we aren’t here to hurt you. My little brother has a message for you.’

‘Ma’am, you dropped your bank card while removing the money. I just wanted to give it back and say thank you. I didn’t have the chance then because you were in a hurry.’

Remember me stating that being in a meme video clip is humiliating, I take that back. This is a learned humiliation and embarrassment. I’ve never seen a mad person run for their dear life since I was born. That was not until today, when I saw myself.

‘What was your first impression about him chasing you?’ boy T asks.

At this point, I can’t hide my shame and I definitely can’t ruin the heroic act. Instead of answering, I offer to buy them lunch. So yes, I’ve made two friends today.

Horn Effect.

If you’d ask me, my first impression was being robbed, or beaten. Or insulted for giving out mere coins.

That’s what the horn effect does.
If our first impression of somebody is negative, then we are more likely to concentrate on only the negative aspects of their character and not treat them as well as we should.

He’s a street child. From sources best known to myself, they harm people. I made the biased conclusion about Emmanuel (I later learnt his name). He’s a good kid, but is masked by what people assume street kids are. One thing for sure, they may have experienced the wrath of some of those kids and then conclude that all of them have similar behaviors.

It’s inhuman to judge, but sometimes, experiences scream loudly. What I’ll forever be acquainted with is, NEVER RUN IN PUBLIC WHEN A STREET KID IS CHASING YOU. This is common sense because how exactly will they attack you in public? They’re afraid of people, they’ve had their fellow friends being beaten to death and they wouldn’t wish that on themselves. If only I knew that.

Anyway, I said earlier I don’t have much words today.


Good morning!

Good afternoon!

Good evening!

Good night!

As always, read, comment, like, share, reread and learn.

Till next time lovies.

Au revoir et bisous

Foreign Accent Syndrome

I know this is probably going to shock you but then, life is full of surprises so VOILA.

Have you ever wanted something somewhat life threatening so badly that you choose to go overboard to get it? Not that I would, I’m just making sure that should I die, I won’t lack friends in the next life with the same storyline. It’s a strategic social skill I’ve learnt overtime, and it definitely doesn’t favor introverts.

That aside, my deepest desire is learning the British accent. My YouTube search history has had tough- trying times. My recommendations, fortunately, haven’t failed me. Thank you YT algorithm gods. Problem is, I sound like a whimpering squirrel. God knows I’ve tried and i have certainly over used the words quite and mate.

Friend X: So how’s your cat? You said she was ill.

Me: Aye mate, she’s quite dead actually (insert British accent, picturing Milly Bobby Brown).

Friend X: (👁️👄👁️).

And the list goes on. I don’t think it has an ending, and may probably never will. Either way, no one cares (sadly laughing in how will I stand out and make my crush notice me?)

So today morning after waking up, I decided to check my phone, as usual. I scrolled through the YouTube feeds, searching for some news to boast about during the day to my friends. I know, boasting sounds selfish and arrogant but hey, we all need somebody to give the title ‘our learned friend.’ Ideally speaking, a mini-journalist would befit me but you get what I’m driving at. We just aim to educate.

Yet again, the recommendations did not fail me. I stumbled upon a channel that left me shook. It was about some Nigerian kids waking up one day and all of a sudden, speaking in a different accent. If I’m being honest, I don’t remember which channel it was because my lazy self love the comment session more than I love videos. If a channel seems enticing but the comment session has been disabled, I can’t quite tell where that zeal goes to. It just disappears and I search for a different one. Explains why I’ve already gone out of the main topic.

Anyway, once again, I was awestruck by a comment. The guy (from the display picture), was giving his two cents thought. He brought the term FAS in the picture. One thing led to another and here I am straight from the internet with some la tée. Pardon-moi pour mon française.

Foreign Accent Syndrome.

Aka FAS is a medical condition in which patients develop speech patterns that are perceived as a foreign accent, that is different from their native accent. And without having acquired it in the perceived accent’s original place.

Its causes include stroke, traumatic brain injuries, brain lesions, aneurysms or multiple sclerosis.

Speech is altered in terms of intonation, timing and tongue placement so that it’s perceived foreign. It doesn’t necessarily sound disordered.

For instance;

• Speaking your native language, but accent sounding like that of someone who learned it as a second language later in life.

• Adding, removing or substituting sounds e.g. In a word like, ‘bike’, someone with FAS would say ‘pike.’

I’m not too sure if this is a relevant symptom because in my part of the world, this is the norm. Our mother language influencing the new ones we’ve learnt. Oh well, scientists know best.

• ‘uh’ inserted in words

Accent changes include accent changes from Japanese to Korean, British English to French among others. They should definitely add my native language to British accent because ‘unexpected’ things do happen in life.

Known cases are about 100 globally since 1907, make that 101 (me hypothetically being the 101th person).

Bottom line.

I always believe in a force much stronger than beings and things making dreams come true. My time has come.

I wouldn’t say it’s harmful because what is life without risks? You gain some, you lose some. It’s just how it’s meant to be.

I’m pleading with you, when you get to rest tonight, kindly whisper a prayer for a friend. It should be something like, ‘God, give her the easiest way out of learning the British accent,Amen!’. Thank you in advance dear loyal soul.


Let me get to work.




Don’t forget to share, like, comment and reread.

Till next time lovies!


The Tree.

If you’re an overthinker, you’ll probably grasp what I mean while stating ‘sweating the small stuff is important’. You go through details about an issue, the how long, where etcetera, till you make something out of it. Wore unto you if it’s negative.

About 2 weeks ago, I pondered about our dead dog (may her sweet soul rest in peace) and I became mad then overthought about the suspects involved. That’s a story for another day, I’m still angry.

I regard overthinking as daydreaming sometimes. Too much is bad, too little is equally dangerous. I mean, all these inventions and exotic lifestyles were a result of overthinking. Weighing possibilities and failures then sticking to what makes perfect sense to the parties involved.

That aside, yesterday I was out on a stroll in our neighborhood. Not a big place, however, it’s breathtakingly green. A site I normally miss during the varsity period. I bumped onto a certain tree, it had grown from the last time I saw it and was quite strong. My evil mind led me to break a twig off of it then. Looking at it now, it wasn’t even noticeable that the tree had undergone brutality. I guess wickedness never prospers.

Later on, in the day, I found a picture in my inbox sent by my mom. It spoke of a baobab tree dating back to 100 years and how God’s work is a Marveling Art.

Then it did hit me, maybe that growth applied to my life in a certain type of way.

The Tree Analogy.

I would have chosen a lot of things out of nature but I decided to stick to a tree.

Just as humans go through phases, so does it. Living in a place where snow is unheard off, I will, by any chance, stick to two concepts, the sprouting and the drying period/shedding.
When they sprout, leaves become greener and flowers are all out, everyone and almost everything is enthralled by the site. Humans may take pictures, save them then writing some beautiful messages alongside the photo (like the one my mama sent).

Furthermore, they could find a pretty good shade after a long day of work or for just meditation. Birds find a shelter, the greener and bushier, the better. Bees could proceed with making honey from pollen in flowers. In other cases, the giraffes find food. I could eat avocadoes and so on.

During shedding, the flowers fall almost too fast, leaves dry up and the tree is despoiled. It often seems scarce. Few to zero humans can get a good shade from that, giraffes would starve to death if they waited till the season it bears fruit. The bee army wouldn’t make honey and birds would find a better place for the fear of being exposed almost too much to their predators. Nonetheless, it doesn’t mean it’s totally unutilized. Ants, termites still do thrive in the barks of the tree. Some of the roots may also be damaged in the process since other insects feed on them on the underground. Luckily, it heals with time.

This particular tree in the circumstances that it’s left untouched (supposing it’s in the wild), always gets back to its ‘healthy’ state. A good farmer may proceed with pruning due to the fact that he or she knows what’s best for it. Even if the tree is cut off and elements needed to have it thrive are brought into picture, it normally has a small sign of life, tiny bits of leaves appearing near the cut area.

In winds, rains and storms, it still stands firm on the account of getting built through that. It gets signaled about reliving its full potential. When it regrows, it does so wholeheartedly. Never in my life have I ever seen a tree that gives half of what is expected. By that I mean, maybe deciding to have half a section giving fruits while the other half remains dormant. A practical example is during phototropism, the whole plants moves away or towards sunlight. Not specific leaves nor specific branches, it’s the whole thing. I find that pretty amazing.

Since not all tress have a long lifespan, the often end up breaking off, sometimes get cut to pave way for new trees or the younger ones to grow properly.
I know what you’re thinking, cutting trees is wrong, earth is dying with the global warming increase. I fully understand. In reality, there are 3 sides to this.
• Yes, you’re right. It’s wrong. We’re killing our planet and Mars isn’t promising yet.
• No, not really. Have you ever wondered why it’s hard surviving in a jungle? And you’ll continuously live in a hideout, looking out for a blank panther or snakes? Exactly, more bushy and unattended trees in human settlements, wild animals’ attacks increase.
• Now this side, you’ll have to figure out yourself. I was positively overthinking so let this be your cue. I can already hear the sounds of judgement on a weighing scale, have fun.

To the trees that continue living longer that I might live, it oft-stays to serve as an example or add to our botany classes. They still do serve other animals however scant and small. Either way, even in its last days, it’s of good use.

Onto my life.
In my many years of living, life has been interesting. I can’t say beautiful, I’d be lying and that’s a criminal offence.


Just like the tree, I’ve had my downs and downs moments. Not a typo, the ups are countable, I might say. Actually, that’s hugely different from what the tree faces but you get my point. I derived a lesson from that though. You see, when I’m down, I am indeed down, way past 6 feet under and when I’m up, it takes a short time before it wears out.

With all the elements of growth, I would be quite far with my up instances. Sadly, I use one or two, thinking the others would stay regardless. In my case, this quarantine gave me an opportunity to work on my blog, grades, talents…now I’m just laughing in, ‘I’m honestly not ready for school’.

Wondering what I used, money and the time, to binge watch YouTube tutorials that I dreamt off. Welcome to my life; my sad, sad life.

I’m trying to get somewhere though. As it is, it seems like in life, you may need to fall in order to rise. Being cut and despite that, having a sign of pushing on. Being pruned as in encouraged, then getting up and moving on.

Blossoming and drying.

Any who, the other which is quite obvious is having people wanting to be around you when you’re generally in good moods, I do that too. Talking to a grumpy human can get hard, my teacher of Psychology can testify, he’s normally on his own during lectures, literally. That’s why it’s easier for my friends to approach me when I seem like I’m blossoming outwardly, the good spreads faster.

When I’m down, me and Cassy only differ in our names. Albeit looking grouchy, I still find it relieving that I help someone then in the simplest of ways because no one would bother to ask or care to know. Quite different from the happy me, the whole world might know that I did something.

Making a legacy.

This is my favorite part. Reason being, I’m totally clueless on where life would lead me, but I’m loving the journey. And since shit do happen, lessons from my good or bad side (let’s picture an old tree falling on house here) of living will be derived, if people ever get to that point. Good news is, my life would have still been impactful.

Disclaimer; this is not a motivational speech, it is the fruit of overthinking. Thank you for understanding.

The atmosphere is quite serene today, I’ll leave you with this picture of a yellow hibiscus flower. Remember to maintain your inner bloom in the sense of cultivating goodness in your roots.

Till next time lovies.

As always, read, like, share and comment.

Au revoir et bissous.


Anna was at it again. She perceived this as her world. Everyone considered her the creepy weirdo whose signature look was always a hoodie on every single time she walked in class. She didn’t know about this, how could she anyway, when she was always stuck in her thoughts, rarely talking to people unless it’s on call or the urgency dictated so.

“Maladaptive daydreaming!” Professor Wynberg decided to have some breather and wrote that on the whiteboard. As it is, he was speaking to himself with a couple of students obeying the law of gravity but oddly defying it.

“Anyone with an idea of what it is?” he proceeded.
“I guess it’s over-daydreaming or falsely adapting to daydreams. In consideration to the maladaptive bit,” one good student shot up.
“A round of applause for our human dictionary here,” smirked the professor.

The discussion went on for a while before the professor resumed his lecture. At least everyone had been drawn back to reality. Well, everyone except Anna. However, for the first time in 1 month, she actually got wind of what was being said, the daydreaming. ‘I mean, that’s normal,’ she chuckled in her thoughts. ‘Or is it?’

Immediately the lecture was done, she fled the hall and proceeded to the library which wasn’t unusual. To some, they considered this her studying method, assumingly saying she preferred concrete sources like books and the internet rather than relying on a fellow student. Yet to others, it was a way of avoiding contacts with anyone outside her head reason being her flunking results which was questioning her studies.

‘Hello there Mr. Google,’ she said and proceeded to type daydreaming. Her search history made it easier for her to falling in the same trap she had been for one month. They ranged from ‘is daydreaming normal’ to ‘advantages of daydreaming.’ All these justified her actions and she never felt wayward about it. As a matter of fact, she had the arguments with people on such issues, using scientific claims and sounding all wise. Thing is, she was arguing with characters in her head. Her focus on one side of the coin was becoming worrying to one character on her head and she knew she had to shut her down.

‘What was it that he said? Had something to do with mal. Let’s see (*typing*) malabrasive daydreaming,’
Google results; did you mean maladaptive daydreaming?
She clicked onto Wikipedia, her most trusted source of information and read through it;
Maladaptive daydreaming/ excessive daydreaming is a proposed diagnosis of a disordered form of dissociative absorption associated with excessive fantasy. It can result in distress, can replace human interaction and may interfere with normal functioning such as social life or work.
“Google has made a fool out of itself again.
•It’s a PROPOSED diagnosis. I can wake up tomorrow and decide that there’s a disorder associated with eating breakfast.
•Not in distress, I am the definition of normal.
•I don’t work and clearly people need to be educated on introversion.
Problem solved!” Poor Anna.

She was about to drift back into her magical wonderland when something caught her attention: the causes of maladaptive daydreaming according to the swaddle.com.
Experts believe that MD is, generally, a coping mechanism in response to trauma, abuse or loneliness that leads the maladaptive daydreamer to conjure a complex imaginary world for them to escape into in times of distress, loneliness, or maybe, even helplessness in real life. It’s an escapist method of avoiding real interactions with families, friends or colleagues.

She suddenly had a flashback of what happened precisely 1 month and 2 days ago. Till now, it haunted her being. She had daydreamt over and over again of a day she goes back in time and make things different. And by different, she meant emerging as the hero and not the antagonist of the whole mess. The thought of it made her hate herself more and she preferred not talking about it to a single soul. Anna just couldn’t stand judgements.

With a pen and notebook, she proceeded to draw a line on the plain sheet. On one column, she had the heading, SYMPTOMS OF MD and filled the other headline with, ACCESSING THE PRACTICALITY.

~Content and quality (detail) of dreams.
Totally agree. From the start to the end with small commercial breaks.

~Individual’s ability to control their dreams and/or the compulsion to dream.
I wish I knew how

~Amount of distress caused by daydreaming
Depending on the type of daydreaming I’ve planned out on that day

~Individual’s perceived benefits of daydreaming
Google supports it too SOOO…

~Extent of interference of daydreaming with the individual’s ability to carry out their daily activities.
Let me see;
•Classes are becoming difficult, I think they’re just boring.
•I stopped my morning jogs and afternoon walks because I prefer lying in bed.
•When was the last time I called home?
•It actually feels like I’ve done a lot of things in my head, more than my real life.

I could have been doing that now, the library is limiting my movement.

~Being genuinely upset/happy/angry about things that happen in your daydreams and pulling weird facial expressions while daydreaming.
This explains the stares. Can’t a woman have feelings and emotions? It’s not really abnormal to get soggy when your favorite mind character dies or is hurt.

~Constantly muttering things under your breath.
Some lecturer almost kicked me out of class yesterday saying I need a pastor’s intervention. That I talk to myself a lot. Wouldn’t be the first time though.

“Seems like I need help after all. Damn, I hate when Bella’s right.”

Bella was…pardon-moi, used to be her best friend before she left sith Anna’s behavior was becoming unbearable to her. Luckily for her, Bella would check in once in a while to see how she’s faring. This was one of those God sent miraculous days since Bella decided to text her. Asking the same question, expecting the same answer.

‘Hey Anna. Are you okay?’
‘Hey. No, I’m not. Can we meet up, for some talk? Please.’
To Bella, it was a surprise. To Anna, a relief. If she couldn’t change her history, at least she could try and rewrite her wrongs.

Thank you for reading .

This is a new blog series on medical issues. I hope you’ll get to learn and gather some information.

Please do like, share, comment and reread.

Au revoir.


It’s 6:00 in the evening. I have planned to binge watch some series today because it’s Friday.

We all know what Friday means. It’s the day most people go into some form of self love mode, doing whatsoever they can do with the littlest care of the world. It’s the day clubs get full, restaurants are packed to the brim, lovers plan on a weekend getaway et cetera et cetera. Then there’s me plus some other people I know of, who binge watch, chat all night or check out their favorite YouTubers wishing we were them.

It isn’t a surprise that I get a call from a friend. He already knows my response but still finds the courage to ask in the hope that I may answer differently this time.

” What’s your plan for tonight?”

“You do know I’ll be watching.” He’s been a long term friend, he should know. Good friends keep track of what their friends like. They’re instantly perceived of their propriety.

“There’s some party I’ve been invited to, wanna come?”

“It’s so thoughtful and sweet of you to consider me as an accompaniment. But NO!”

“Damn! I’m astonished and speechless… Bye.” Then he hangs up.

I know sacarsm when I hear one. Majorly because I’m a queen of sarcasm…and also because I know when he’s being purely sarcastic.

I brush that off for a while. Friday can’t be annihilated because of one thing.

At about 7:30 after stocking my bed with soda, a couple of snacks and my favorite bed accessory, my pillow, I decide to check on my friends’ status update. It’s a routine, actually. The statuses tell lots of stories without actual words. Jane, for instance, is going home, Jenna is planning on spending the weekend with bae in some fancy hotel I only see in billboards and advertisements, Troy is getting ready to perform his jazz music tomorrow. His voice is epic. Lots of other statuses are singing in solidarity, TGIF!

As I continue scrolling, I come across a post that suddenly puts me off. I clench a fist and my breath gets warm, I can sense some fury building up.
It read:
Just because you stay indoors and don’t party doesn’t mean you’re holy, it just means you’re an indoor whore.’

Not exact words but it went something like that. Checked on whose status it was and guess who! Andre! THE Andre that just called and asked if we could go out on a party. THE 2-faced Andre that is making me boil up now.

According to research conducted by Whole Health, emotional trauma lasts about 10-20 minutes, the rest of the time is a self-induced overthinking process. It’s 8:00 and I’m caught between letting this slide or sliding in his inbox and giving him a piece of my mind. It feels so stereotypical at this moment. We shouldn’t be forced to do things, even if it’s indirectly. Only that, was he really forcing me?!

For so long I’ve believed that it’s the strict nature of my parents, mom to be specific, that I find no interest in raving. It could be true, habits do get cultivated overtime. On the other hand, boys were deceitful when I was growing up; I honestly have more boyfriends compared to girlfriends, talking to strangers was forbidden; I think it’ll be safe to say 99.9% of my friends are strangers who I gradually knew and liked.

Point is, I outgrew some things told during childhood. Due to peer pressure and experience, I would have wanted to attend night parties too but I am, fortunately or unfortunately, disinterested.

I’ll be leaning on my speculations on this one;


Lots of rape cases happen in the cold night, there’s murder and kidnapping too plus other untold stuff. It’s hurtful and I’m deeply sorry for anyone who went through this. I’m not speaking of that kind of fear though. Not all parties are held in such a format of insecurities and most people tag along a guardian angel. You know, just in case they’re too drunk to get home, or someone tries to mess with them.

My fear is making new friends. Andre is a famous guy, once he steps in a room, he instinctively drives people to him. He’s a real-life magnet, I’d say. Occasionally, I’d be left alone, stranded. The tedious work of reintroducing yourself isn’t always what I’ll sign up for in a party. EVER.

Frankly speaking, Andre has had lots of hangovers after Friday nights, some spill over to the following week, and he’s a mess on almost all Mondays. Should I escort him and do as the Romans do, who’ll look after me? If I get tipsy, who’ll take me home? Or should I decide to go home alone and get attacked by a lion (could happen, you never know), what will I tell my parents?

Then there’s the embarrassment. I’m normally being advised to stay off the dance floor because of my two left feet. Even so, I defy the odds as Michael Jackson defies gravity. If someone records that and it goes viral… Okay, yes! There might be fame. And some sick moves may be gotten out of it. But let’s face it, I’ll trend for a day at most, influence others to not be afraid of who they are, after that I will automatically disappear. I may try, once or twice, to recreate my ‘best moves’ but there are trolls. My self-esteem is too precious for such a horror movie.

Different types of behaviors in people become apparent when they’re drunk. I know not my own trait in such a condition (may try someday in my apartment, record then discover, ha!) because of the rather obvious reason. I’ve been imagining if I’m the loud ass when I get drunk. Mayhap that’s where my extroversion may be manifested; then say or do things that I’ll regret later, not forgetting the shame afterwards.


Didn’t cross my mind either but I’ve thought over it and I’m finding it true.

Quarantine is just proving my laziness; of the pyjamas that rarely leave my body unless I’m getting out of the compound; of the sleep I’ll rather have than meet up with a friend; of the grunts and groans I have whenever a duty assigned to me has physical involvement.

Yes, I’m lazy, on Friday evenings explicitly. Most people will say what you put on doesn’t matter. How you present yourself, nonetheless, will automatically matter in certain parties. Saying certain with the knowledge that there are parties conducted in neon lights and not so brightly lit places. Like dark alleys and I fear those.

I can’t even do my make-up. Hold up, I don’t even know which brush should be used in which part of the face. On a normal day, I can change up to 3 shirts, trousers or shoes till I get the green light from my friends and roommates. But this is Friday night, my lazy day. And I need the rest. I’m just not ready to stress over a dress.

If there’s a cub, fine. But if I have to walk, PASS.

On www.healthline.com on benefits of laziness ( I really have to justify this lol), there’s a query posed; What’s more fun: Getting dressed up in tight clothing, wearing uncomfortable shoes, spending a lot of money and trying to shout above loud music, OR snuggling at home on the sofa in jammies?

You guessed it right, it’s my bed I’m choosing in this scenario; not because of money, already bought some junkies, or clothes and shoes, I have those just not ready to start picking them out. And it’s definitely not the loud music, I love loud music with my earphones on contrary to people shouting as much. IT’S FRIDAY! PERIOD!


It’s in human nature to judge, what you do or think afterwards is what matters.

In a blog I came across on judgement, I got to apprehend this. Real life situation; when a street child steals, the harsh judgments and scolds will shun his act in the society saying it’s a crude behavior and if he’s not taught a lesson, he’ll encourage other street kids to engage in thievery. The sound judgment may rule that possibly the boy was hungry, or he had to feed his family or sick friend under the gutter, and begging wasn’t yielding fruits. Consequently, leading to talking to the boy instead of taking matters in their own hands.

My judgement isn’t always this sudden and simple though.

Now in a party, I see a guy sitting by himself, in tears and drowning in bottles of beer. I would say he’s a weakling, men aren’t supposed to be frail, crying is not manly and so on. I would also say he might have had a rough day at work, perhaps lost a loved one or had his heart broken and drinking his life away was the only solution he thought off. I could also say, doubtingly, that the beer is tasting really good tonight and those are tears of joy (I’ve seen people shedding tears because of food) or he’s gotten a promotion and he still can’t believe it.

Suppose then he had a car and decided to drive himself home that night and by bad luck, he got an accident, who would be blamed? Is it the beer, the irrational thought of taking himself home despite his state? Is it the thoughts that drove him to tears, the friends or family who may not have been in a situation to help hence he decided to just drink? Who exactly will we blame?

For some time, I’ll think, rethink, channel new thoughts…till I forget the whole point of the party. A force may drive me to try and talk to him. But then, how do I know he’s sad? This could be his way of having a good time, drinking in tears just like others have their fun in dancing and drinking.

I can’t seem to stop thinking and situations that present such an opportunity is a no-go zone for me.
A quaint remark was made by a legendary man, Walt Whitman; Be curious, not judgmental.
I’m curious then, perhaps a little more curious in the wrong places …but my friends wouldn’t comprehend that.

Thank God I finally acquaint myself with the fact that I’m perfectly fine loving my bed.

It’s 9:00 now, I’ve consumed two whole packets of crisps and didn’t even realize. The stinging pain has since faded. I’m in the process of deleting my essay that was a ‘SEND’ click away. In lieu, I send 3 laughing emojis with the caption; have fun you party whore, and a tongue sticking out emoji.

Problem solved. At least mine is. If he’ll have trouble with the caption, he’ll definitely ring me up, half conscious and tell me. Boy am I loving his drama when he’s drunk.

Now if you’d excuse me, I’ve got a series to catch; SALVATION. The world might be ending anyway.

P.S Invite me on your birthday party during the day and I promise to not fail you.

Don’t forget to comment, share, like and reread😂.


Thank you for reading



” Guess what!?” Said Cassy excitedly.

“You’re getting back with Dion…?” I replied reluctantly.

“No silly, I’m ready to date again, to find love, someone to cherish me as I am and to live for me despite my flaws…”

“Anyone in mind?”

“His Highness, Prince Charles!”

Yeah, Charles, he’s a great guy, maybe too good for someone like her. I muttered a congratulations but I doubt if she had heard me, she was already walking away, building castles on how they’ll spend their honeymoon.

Now where did I hear this? Oh, right! There was Cole when we first got to campus. He was perfection and so is Cassy, I guess that’s why they instantly clicked. They were on and off for 3 months till Cassy moved on, to dating Delian. Delian, well, soft-spoken, shy, intelligent and awestrucking seemed to be holding up well with her. She couldn’t possibly leave a whole package, she proved me wrong though, when she came crying to my room saying she’s had enough. My favorite of the 3, Jay, followed suit. Seemed like they had been dating for a while and were only waiting for an opportune time to be a thing. I liked Jay. For one, being a third-wheeler on their dates was the real deal, I was being fed pretty well( excuse my love for food). Then he was just awesome, I really lack words to describe him. Our closeness which was totally frowned upon by Cassy, made him open up to me, a lot. He wanted to know how to handle Cassy, he liked/loved her and was willing to do everything even be extra in order to keep her. I helped or at least tried to. Unfortunately, the poor guy left. I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I was devastated. My lunch and dinner tickets walked away and honestly, I was starting to like someone of the opposite gender. If it had not been for girl code, I swear… anyway, every communication stopped, her way of course. Cassy found Dion, I never cared till now that Charles is here. Great!

One thing that really stood out in all her relationships was the fact that she was the perfect one all along. She often convinced herself that she met the wrong people, people who wouldn’t reciprocate her love. Thinking of it, I wondered if her ‘toxicity’ was the one she wanted people to reciprocate. There’s no denying that’s no one’s perfect and neither were the guys…apart from Jay…sort of.

Delian is a bookworm,

That’s positive but now that he was in a relationship, he had to spare time for Cassy, it was hard. Cassy would complain for days on end of how he never gave her attention and that he always chose books over her, as if that’s a crime. He did sacrifice, I saw it. One time, he left the library to attend to Cassy, apparently she needed someone to escort her to a boutique to buy a new dress for her upcoming beauty pageant competition. Delian rarely raised his voice and this too agitated her. He wasn’t being manly enough when not speaking up, he wasn’t helping her out when she needed an honest opinion. Occasionally, he would say the usual, “You’re just perfect the way you are babe.” But Cassy needed more, her hunger for validation wasn’t being satisfied, she felt like she had to ask for it and that made her mad. Delian gave up, making Cassy scamper away.

Cole is a football enthusiast and a key player in the school team. They have a rather strict coach, this meant less time for Cassy. You can imagine all the drama that she brought to him.

Jay…*sigh*…he suffered the most.

“She likes compliments and brutal honesty, follow her almost everywhere when you are free. Just give her your time and attention,”I would tell him when he sought for help.

The next thing I know, Jay speaks too much, doesn’t value her feelings when he speaks the truth (isn’t kind to her). Don’t let her get started on how clingy he is.

“Gwen, I think she hates me,” Jay was hopeless.

“Don’t worry, she gets back to her senses real fast. Next time, don’t talk much. Give her space. Pretty much the opposite. Shower her with gifts though, she loves surprises.”

2 days later;

“G, he gives me gifts every other time, I can smell him asking for a favor soon. And can you believe he’s started being silent on me? He doesn’t solve anything in my life other than telling me that everything will be okay. Do things look okay to you? Whichever idiot is advising him on treating girls is doing a pathetic job if you’d ask me.”

First of all, OUCH!

Second, what the f**k do you want?

I’ve known that girl for some years, about 4. I won’t deny the fact that she’s beautiful but I also can’t turn blind in light of the fact that she’s clearly getting out of hand.

When Cassy’s sad or angry, the world becomes her grand enemy. She rants about having zero friends to listen to her and help her align her entangled mind. Normally, I’d be disappointed with her remarks but the good friend that I am, chooses to stay. It’s not because I don’t feel the discomfort, sometimes I stay knowing too well that finding a friend like her would take a million light years. These moments are a downer to me too since she expects me to grieve with her. Exactly how she wanted Jay to be. She forcefully fits people in her shoes. If you laugh at a meme or cheer her up with a funny clip, you’re happy she’s drowning. If you seem down too and play sad songs, you’re depressing her more.

Now that everyone has abandoned her, me included, I try to recreate a bond by asking what’s wrong. Another thing, Cassy is never wrong. She plays the victim every single damn time. She apologizes when need be, but other times she’d rather walk naked on the streets. Yeah, I know what I said. It’s nothing but the truth. I would struggle to bring things to normalcy, even give some pieces of advice while pointing out her mistakes. It would be met with a, “do you have any idea of how a relationship should be like? Oh, I forgot, you’ve never dated. You wouldn’t understand!” Technically, it’s true. On the other hand, I know there’s a big line between being jealous and being crazy. The latter in her seems to have won.

After what seems like a decade, she gets back on her feet. She might pop a question and I may sigh a relief thinking she’s finally comprehending her trait.

“G, do you think I’m toxic?” She would ask.

My mind being automated in such situations will sermon the Avengers, ‘Ladies, shall we?’. It would be like: baby girl, you’re T-O-X-I-C. On a scale of 1 to 10, you’re 11. If I was to choose between being you and living with cockroaches, I’ll hold a party and start knowing the roaches officially by name, age and relation. It’s not that boys don’t deserve you, YOU DON’T DESERVE BOYS. I love you sweetheart but ain’t no way I’m loving you carrying around your ‘toxicity’ from one guy to another. In any case, you’re getting worse boo.

But my mouth! Lord, my mouth should be kept shut for heaven’s sake.

“No Cas, you’re just okay, don’t change because of what people say. If they won’t take you at your worst then they don’t deserve you at your best. You’re strong and fearless. If guys only see you as toxic, then best believe, they’re cowards.” Every statement I ever made like this was followed by regrets.

“You know what, you’re right. I am gorgeous,” if it were the first time talking to her, I would have hoped to hear the contrast to her words, her admitting that she’s been wrong a couple of times and she needed to change. This was the zillionth talk I was having with her about toxicity.

I don’t know, maybe I don’t understand the world of relationships because I’ve never been in one, or maybe I’m focusing too much on her negative side, or maybe I’m the one misleading her when praising her instead of reprimanding her. Or, it’s human’s nature to get out of hand then fall back into place…could be, even though I’m aware of a repititive trait that can be tragic in the end. She’s, no doubt, the best company to have when in a high spirit. I honestly don’t even think I know my best friend that deeply and that’s sad.

My phone beeped and I instantly knew who it was.

“I need you to help me pick a dress for my date,” the message read.

Oh well, duty calls. While she’s still happy, let me embrace the moments. I do hope Charles will make a great boyfriend. If this doesn’t work out… we’ll carry on. As usual. But this time, we’ll try something different, not dates nor boyfriends, just change.

All I can say is, Welcome to the next level of Jumanji.

In case you meet Cassy, tell her I have a surprise for her in my diary.

Thank you for reading


2 a.m thoughts

It’s that time again. Somehow something lied to you that everything will eventually be okay, but here you are.

The events of that day is so vividly clear. First started with a friendship gone horribly wrong and later on a post. The day ended with a lash from your mom and that was enough to stir up your demons.

Suddenly…you see no worth in who you are. Someone complimented you on your artistry on that same day but your mind will defy odds and remind you of how you were once heartbroken.
Suddenly...all you see are quotes encouraging you to die with your struggles because no one will understand, they tell you to keep your hands in your pocket and walk down the road alone in that friends… friends are fake and will stab you on the back.
Suddenly… you’re nostalgic on how you didn’t pass as well as others did when the test results came out a while ago despite the fact that you were unwell.
Suddenly…you notice the struggles you’ve been having with your body, you’ve been campaigning for people to appreciate their bodies and you adore yours but now, the nose isn’t fitting right, the hair isn’t soft, the belly isn’t small enough, your acnes and dark spots don’t get that they aren’t welcomed! In short, you just aren’t good enough. You should be popular or rich, short or tall, slim or fat…but you’re YOU.

You don’t understand yourself as much so even if you had someone to share your miseries with, you would lack the words of description. How are you to explain that it all started with reading something you felt haunted you then led to one thought and another and another till a heap of unsolved mysteries weighed on you? How are you supposed to explain that you feel the society can’t understand you being human too, made of flesh, blood and emotions?

You see, mental torture isn’t about that one chaotic thing that happened to you, say a break up. It’s far much more than that, it’s deeper and most of the times darker. There’s a lot that was already going on and so the break up was cherry on top, the last ticking of a bomb before explosion.

Nobody sees the anguish and restlessness. No one notices the shaking and the teary eyes. Your voice is as normal as ever but your spirit is quickly fading. You have a strong urge to throw, smash and disorient things but you can’t; you’re not in a movie and your parents may have struggled to get them there. You can’t walk out on supper, that’s forbidden and disrespectful so you sit to enjoy your meal being more of a routine thing now. You long for your bed, when you’ll be under the sheets with loud music (that does help). Sometimes, it’s unfortunate that you share a room, and you wish you could just roam the face of the Earth at night seeking for answers and solutions, connecting with the spirits you believe can help …sadly, that’s just in your head because if they did exist, you’d be happier, right?!

Immediately after supper, you rush to your room. It’s comforting that your pillow is fluffy and warmth is in your blankie.

It’s 10:00 p.m by your watch, you reach out for your earphones, you put some encouraging songs on, you’ve got a collection of them including podcasts so it isn’t a problem. You realize that you relate to the words more now, you listen : note by note, word by word but wait, something is still wrong and you feel it. You remember each sermon ever said about a weary heart, you pray, you forcefully have faith and believe then wait for a miracle. Still, nothing’s happening.

It’s 12:00, midnight, you have a long day tomorrow, you should probably sleep. You set aside your gadgets and close your eyes. It’s just that, closing your eyes, no sleep nor the feeling. You manage to wander off in your Dreamland but wake up after a nightmare or perhaps life has decided to torture you in the night.

You look at your watch, it’s 2:00 a.m. Your eyes are already filled with tears, there’s a lump in your throat and luckily, it’s raining outside. You can’t take it anymore, you’re on the edge, everything bores you to death. You let it all out. You let your tears flow out with the sound of the rain, “each tear drop for each raindrop,” you sigh wishfully.

It’s said that the wee hours of the night is your most vulnerable moments, the dark times that actually tell your story, the ones that allow your shadow self to appear. These times open up sown wounds, they tear apart a ‘glue-fixed’ heart till you’re heartless, they torment every single nerve, bone…in you, they break you till you feel no more pain, you become numb.
Remember the story of the angel of death that passes over past midnight to take the souls of kids who aren’t asleep? You feel her presence now. You can almost hear her laughter and pity.

When the rain goes down, you resort to sleep in light of the fact that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be a better day.

Impromptu writings come in handy.

It’s mental awareness month. I hope you are your brother’s keeper. Inspire the aspiring by reaching out to your friends or loved ones.

Save a soul. Be the voice to the voiceless.




Everybody wants to look good and feel even greater in the clothes they’re in. For centuries, skirts have been known to be flattering depending on how it’s worn; they show your curves and assets, fashion and trends…name it.

From the likes of Queen Elizabeth to our very own African women, skirts have proven to be an outstanding attire in a woman’s closet.

Disclaimer; this article is opinionated and is in consideration with my views. I’ve captured a few shapes and clothes because fashion is broad.

Types of skirts

Skirts and lengths

My self-esteem wouldn’t allow me to go past knee length upwards. I’ll just save the micros and minis for special occasions which I may not attend. It is what it is!.

I’ve put together a collection of what I consider, my best type of skirts, the type I can flaunt in unapologetically;

1. Ankara skirts.

These types of skirts will definitely be the end of me. The best thing about Ankara is the fact that it’s your choice that matters. Whether you’re plus sized or slim, hour glass or inverted triangle, Ankara is bound to bring out the cutest and most admirable version of thyself.

For hour glass, triangle, pear(any size) , this is definitely the look for you. It defines your shape, and with the draped side hanging, makes your body even seem more full.

Paired with a couple of heels, you’ll be glammed all the way to an outing, party or an award winning ceremony.

You’ll know when to be extra when your gorgeous plus size body i.e oval or diamond, is surrounded by an Ankara, a dropped waist skirt taking the lead( second from left).

Contrary to almost all fairy tales where girls are expected to have a slim waist in order to look good in a balloon/bubble or peplum skirt, this type of Ankara dressing is a plus for queening Mamacita.

Asymmetrical ankara skirt (common design being the high-low) does justice to inverted triangled, straight and to some extent, slim figured women.

Let us just take a moment and appreciate the floor length skirts that have been beheld to us by these beauties.

Ever had that one person you still wish to be when you grow up even when you’re already grown?? That’s Elodie Zone for me (on the right).She is 80% of the girl I grew up wanting to be. Her ambition and passion is a lionesses’ version. Her style, Lord!, Just look at that package. I can literally feel the boujée mood.

I might start manufacturing kids that take after her as soon as they pronounce mama. A pretty weird obsession, right?


Hey you!? Remember the denim skirt that doesn’t fit you now, the one that you gave up on and was probably going to donate it? Well, don’t…at least till you renovate it during this quarantine period.

Make a cut, poke holes, add buttons, leave a small slit as you will then SLAY IT SISTER. If you’re equipped with the skills of making a ragged jeans, do your skirt the favour. You won’t ever regret that.

Are they magnificent or ARE THEY MAGNIFICENT? No force hits harder than a woman who believes in herself in what she rocks.

Do you also realise that instead of a plain belt, a ribbon belt upgrades the whole look? Now you do.

3. Skater skirts.

Who wouldn’t love the feeling of being 8 years again? In an adorable flattering skirt that makes you want to whirl around for the world to marvel?

I can attest to the fact that most African moms are plus sized (my own statistics, might be different from yours and that’s okay too).

Since COVID-19 happened and mother’s day had to be celebrated at home, why don’t you make up for the lost day by giving your mama a new look and treating her out in the best way you know how. If not your mama, then your female Guardian or an adored plus sized ‘she’ figure is qualified too in getting the package.

For just a day, brand your fashion exclusively on that Queen with cutest skater skirts available.

I honestly find it glamorous and chic when micro-skaters are worn by petite ladies. It’s complementary to their bodies, sassy and sometimes brings out a rather playful personality on them.


Pleated princess mesh bubble skirt is what I can describe as fun. Slim ladies (all body shapes involved) with small waists can get away with this quite fine. A crop top comes in handy too with such an outfit.

As for the plus ladies, adding an accessory such as a simple belt should do the trick. The belt should be slightly larger and match with the color of either your shirt/top or the skirt for a continuous design.


My all time favorite Slay Squad CEO, Wabosha Maxine has done it again. I was glued for a while by how she incorporated a sleeveless blazer with a tight leather skirt, added a pair of heels to it and voila! Fashion magic. And of course she was now fully dressed with a killer smile. She might be petite, her fashion sense on the other hand, XXXL a million times.

Walking into a room, dressed up so gorgeously, even in the pink skirt, will have all eyes on you. You won’t have to voice your words because your look will speak louder.

Notice the difference between the four petite figures in leather skirts? Well, one is tight and has an extra cloth as a cover, the other is more of an A-line skirt with a flared bottom or a skater skirt.

Drawing conclusions from this, tight leathers= blazer/coat/sweater; flared/less tight leather=no additional cloth required.

When it comes to a leather skirt on plus size woman, you’ve only got 2 options ; go big or go home. The few models I’ve featured above show us they didn’t come to mess around because they’re dripping in finesse.

The best way to have a body loving leather skirt on is by having a tight fitting top (of your choice)but please, strapless is not it unless there’s something to be added like the first lady on the right. And yes honey, your bomb style will outshine your bodily blessings so don’t you worry. Personally, I didn’t even care to analyse.

6. Peplum

My obsession in life ranges from good food to staying at home doing almost nothing but after coming across this peplum skirt, all that is bound to change.

It in itself screams royalty( blue is my other tolerable color). I always thought that peplums are strict on being just round,sometimes plaited on the ruffled part then I saw this and I’m still awestruck.

Dear petite, rectangle shaped, inverted triangles Les belles who are generally slim, this is what’s up. It creates an impression of curves. I think I’ll give it a try myself; wouldn’t mind feeling Royal for a day or two.

Seems like there’s nothing that can simply go wrong with a peplum. Am I the only one seeing how bold and confident those ladies are?

If that picture could talk, I bet it would say, “let me show you who the real boss babe is.” Period!

7. Tube skirts

The current reigning Miss Rwanda, Naomie Ishimwe, has rekindled my love for tube skirts with one picture and a perfect pose.

Canvas shoes (my preference), a crop top(baggy or tight) and a denim jacket is perfection to me. For the ladies who love a little extra, cropped hoodies should be your next best friend ASAP.

You know mama said don’t worry about a thing

Meghan Trainor.

I’ll leave you with that for now. All in all, be proud of who you are, treat your body with the respect it deserves, nourish it, love it, dress it up beautifully and it will serve you faithfully.

Hoping you enjoyed the article. Which skirt pleased/pleases you?

You’re free to share, comment and like.

Till next time beautiful people.

Bissous 😘

Last Day Alive.

“Hey G, if this was your last day on earth, what would you do?”. Just a chilly afternoon sitting with my dear friend who happened to be in deep thoughts before finally asking that.

“Well,” I hesitated,”I’d probably run to KFC, taste that chicken for the last time, tell my friends and family I love them so much, repent and forgive my enemies, I mean who doesn’t want to go to heaven?!”

“Oh, what about someone you love, a boyfriend figure or your crush? Any last words maybe?”

“Confession will be mandatory if he’s my crush, as for the boyfriend, a candle lit dinner would do, then perhaps a late night movie and only wish to be dead beside him when he awakens…”

“Death would also mean a halt to your goals, visions, dreams… it’ll be over Gwen.”

“I couldn’t say over, I may hand them down to a willing person if for instance we shared the same goal. If not that, then I guess it’s bye bye. But hey, I ain’t dying anytime soon.” At this point we both laughed.

“You do realize you’d have like 24 hours to do all that, right?”


The paradox.

“Dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die today. “

~James Dean

I’m well aware that overthinking can be misguiding and complicated but more often than not, I can’t help it. For some weird reasons, it’s actually eye-opening to me.

I kept on rereading what the legendary James Dean had to say and decided to relate it to what my friend said.

On a normal day, sleep takes about 8 hours of my time including my daytime power naps meaning the movie night is technically a fat lie. I prefer lazing around and procrastinating to actually acting on what I want to do and finish doing them on time, so whatever I may be ‘handing down’ isn’t sensical. I would pass on my intelligence but who am I kidding? The friends I have are brilliant.

I can talk about death and dreams the whole day, but I’m saving that for the next post. Stay tuned.


I’ve had few instances of confessing my liking to some people, didn’t turn out well obviously. It’s not like we’re in the movies, and I definitely wouldn’t want to die knowing that I was never liked back. There are individuals who are good at coping; News flash, I am not the individuals. The pain might actually kill me before the Master Death himself does.

When we know that we’re actually going to die and the reality hits us hard, we go through a death process.

As Kubler-Ross put’s it;

1. Denial; even the oldest of men wonder why it has to be them to go 6 feet under. Not many people have the will power to choose death as their fate unless they’re soldiers or have a ‘soldier-like’ kind of attitude where service to humanity is a priority regardless of risks.

2. Anger; I’m dying, you don’t really expect me to be excited, I’d be mad. So mad that I’ll blame everyone for everything even God.

3. Bargaining; my skills in bargaining aren’t so good but in such a case, I’d have the sharpest mind to reason out with God or maybe the doctors, provided I find a way out.

4. Depression; if odds are against me, my whole being will be left broken.

5. Acceptance; ‘this is it. You’re finally going meet your Maker. How about I make use of the little time I have left with my loved ones?’

Such a process takes days, some people emerge miraculously while others, fortunately or unfortunately, don’t make it.

Back to my 24 hours, I think I’d be stuck in the denial till death does me apart. Like damn, I’m only a student, I’ve not gotten my degree certificate nor my first salary. I know people die young and It’s sad but Lord, I need my generation to continue. Consequently, if my boyfriend dared sleep beside me, he would walk out on me. I would be ranting, I mean how do you even think of sleeping when you’ll find me dead in the morning? Did sleep mean more to you than I did? Yes, I sleep a lot and I’m guilty but finding the audacity to sleep peacefully, on my deathbed is a whole new level on disrespect.

So much for wishing to be found dead in the morning.

‘Love your enemies as you love yourself. ‘

‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’

~The Lord’s prayer.

We’re always being urged to forgive our enemies even if the memories of what they did to us is fresh in our minds. This too, depending on situations, is a gradual process.

There is simply no way you’ll compare someone pissing me off by stepping on me or stealing my favorite bracelet to another person murdering my loved one. The former is easier to forgive and mostly forget; the latter, salvation would be needed to get through such a trauma. If it had happened on that day and the very next day I’m dead too,be rest assured, I’ll be buried with the anger and hatred.

To man is to err I guess. Human beings aren’t wired machines in that a switch will turn on/off a steaming anger. Necessary skills such as anger management, are normally acquired. It’s like mastering an art when you know how to control your emotions. Sadly enough, the 4 walled classroom doesn’t have the subject but the school of life eventually teaches you. No pain, no gain.

Family is forever.


The one thing that I may actually do right in all my sentiments is telling my family members how much I love them. I may not daily say it or even show it due to the distance between us but I’m quite confident that they know I love them. To me, family is everything and the bond I share with mine is what I may actually miss most even in my spirit form.

A friend of mine once said that if there was something awful he was hiding from his family, he wouldn’t say it. Why?! Because it would be better if the idea they have of him in his absence is positive and beautiful. It’s caring for those you leave behind too, having them smile rather than grieve more when you’re gone.

“Gwen! Hey Gwen!” called out Cassy.

“Yes, oh sorry. I was carried away,” I said bringing myself back to reality. Thank goodness I’m still breathing.

“You know what Cassy, if this was last day on earth and it’s unknown to me, I’d just do the usual stuff, right after this, we’ll take our supper, study a little bit, watch a documentary if I get the time and retire to bed. And as usual, I’ll say my daily prayer, thank God for seeing me through the day,thank Him for what I can control ask for strength for what I can’t.”

“Taking life as simple as it is. No one knows when or where they’ll die, it’s best if you live one day at a time,” Cassy added, to which we smiled.

“How about we go for an ice-scream spree?”

“Best idea ever!”

As we headed towards the ice-scream shop, I realised it’s more of ‘dreaming and doing as if you’ll live forever, and living your dreams as if you’ll die today.’

That is it for today.

The comment session will be waiting for you, how about you share after reading. I’d be glad to have an active conversation with great minds.

Till next time loveys.

Au revoir et bissous.

The Chase.

It just happened like it always does,that he met her and was attracted.

He mastered his usual skills and tricks to get her,but being a tough nut,she wasn’t that impressed.

He went further, buying gifts, taking her out,availed himself at the slightest call, letting everyone know of how he felt of her,but still,she sought something beyond the man standing in front of her.

He did what he couldn’t do to his own blood,he cried when the pain of rejection weighed down on him. He was growing tired of cursing himself for not being good enough and eventually he stopped. Figured out that sometimes,there’s good in the goodbye and despite being her trash,he could be another’s treasure.

She noticed, not because she was not into the guy,or loved the free favours but because she loved the game more than the player.

He started posting her,thanking God for her and wondering where she had been all his life. She noticed all that too and was crushed.

Things turned back around. She constantly checked up on him,sacrificed her time just to talk to him,begged for attention, yearned for that love. Sadly, he was long gone.

She cried too and cursed and regretted but she didn’t move on as easily as he had. And what made it worse is that, he rubbed his new affair on her face,as she presumed. Made it seem like he was busy chasing after a diamond when he worth having a gold.

So now,she hangs on to the hope of finding someone just like him and maybe,just maybe,loving the player this time and not letting go.