Posted in Memoirs

Dear OLA




Dear Ola, I love you.

You were the highlight of summer 2016 which inadvertently became the best summer I have ever had. Can you remember when I lost my contact lenses when we were in the pool together? Can you remember the ice water dump at the sauna? Can you remember when we were under that water fountain singing? Can you remember our first valentine’s day together? Can you remember when I took a trip to the ER and you didn’t sleep? Can you remember the breakfast you always made for me? Thank you for the flowers.



Dear Ola, I miss you. 

How did we meet? I’m not sure of the exact moment everything changed between us. The moment when you were no longer just another face in the crowd. But I think it will be the day you tucked in my hair. I suddenly just knew that I could trust you with my life. At first you were appealing to my eyes, now you’re appealing to both my eyes and heart



Dear Ola, I am sorry. 

You were there during my September 2016 crisis. You gave me the courage to live through it. I think it’s because I was too busy telling you to stop worrying that I was able to stop worrying myself. 

You saved my life a couple of times; I am sure you understand.

I really want to tell you everything most especially now because I’m watching your idol fall apart right before me. I know it’s selfish but please hold on for me a little bit more. 



Dear Ola, I know you’ve been patient.

You never complained. You knew that I never shared everything and you kept a blind eye. Although, I practically always forced you to spill your guts to me. I know the great wall of secrets between us makes you feel less loved and trustworthy. But I know you, you’re afraid of being unable to help. It drives you crazy. You are not less loved. I just think this is better for both of us.



Dear Ola, Remember…

When you said your life literally changed when you got in contact with me. I’m the one that understands everything you’ve been thinking before you say it. Please hold on to that thought. 

When you said I’m all you ever needed. Please hold on to that thought.

When you said you’re forever grateful for the day we met. Please don’t change your mind.



Dear Ola, please smile.

Strongbow and Paris…

Cards and Aberdeen…

Nandos…

Ribs and Butlins…

Downstairs at Plumstead…

Kaspas…

Cosmos…

O2 and the pigeons…

I promise that one day, soon I hope. I will tell you everything.

Posted in State of Mind

And The Man Died (Part 2)

I think the pit of misfortune circling me is getting deeper as the year 2017 gets older. I think I’m getting tired of writing sad stories on this blog all the time. But what can I do? It’s not like I have anyone else to talk to. 

I started off today beautifully. That should have been the warning signal. I almost never start the day well. But I was quite optimistic today, I slept one hour longer than I usually sleep at night so that was a good start to the day. I was happy, I was going to pay a visit to my primary school and enjoy the feelings of nostalgia a little bit. I did. 

It was a beautiful experience, it felt good to talk about what I’ve achieved. Afterall, it had been twelve years. My school motto is “laying a solid foundation” and back then I never understood the meaning or the impact the knowledge I gained there would mean in the future. It sounds a bit exaggerated but it’s true. I think the most important lesson I learned was the ills of procrastination. So in my final year of primary school, I was given an assignment. I put off doing it for a long time until the day of submission came. That morning before going to school, I had wanted to do it but I procrastinated and decided to do it during the lunch period in school. First thing that day, was the submission of the assignment and I had nothing to present. Ladies and Gentlemen, you best believe that I was effectively and thoroughly “thrashed” on my butt. I was the senior prefect afterall. I was supposed to show good example. Going further, let’s just say I started way earlier than normal to start any assignment after that. That was a very necessary skill during my university days.
 

Back to today; so I just discovered that my whole life was a lie a few weeks ago. I thought things definitely couldn’t get any worse than that. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was my life a lie, but the life of my benefactor is also in great danger. 
Previously, there’s been a number of health problems he’s been plagued with due to stress, anxiety and all that. There was always the faint glimmer of hope that perhaps someday things will get better. There will be no worries anymore. He was always hanging onto a slim thread of hope, that little ray of sunshine each new story told him brought.

He’s a contractor for a rather large firm, and because he’s so high up the chain, he was responsible for a number of business transaction inflows and outflows. It all started in 2015. The one that will break the camel’s back. He took up a potentially huge contract that was too good to be true. Fast forward to 2017, that contract hasn’t yet been fulfilled. In the space of two years, he threw everything he owned, everything he had, everything the company had, even a little bit of reputation and at the end it was all in vain.

It was discovered that there really was no contract all along. It has been a scam all this while. So how do I tell him? How do I break the news to him? How would he take it? He’s been emotionally and psychologically drained. I do not know if he can handle it. I do not think he can handle it. 

He will lose everything that means the world to him. His biggest fear in life will become a reality. But the biggest issue is his reputation. He’s bankrupt, he’s dipped his hands in places he wasn’t supposed to dip into, and the debt is mountain high. This debt could potentially ruin him and I can do nothing about it. He’s become bankrupt because of me and I cannot do anything to help him. And just like him, I’m starting to want to hang onto the sliver of hope that he will bounce back. He will, right?

Posted in Little Steps

Happy Mother’s Day

This is an entry I made in my journal for Mother’s Day 2016 that never saw the light of day till today. The jury is still out on whether I feel the same way now or not.

Today is mother’s day, and up until now I do not know what beautiful message to carve out for my mother so I just told her Happy Mother’s day. I look on Facebook and everyone including Africans have beautiful messages for their mothers but I don’t know what to say or write. It is supposed to come naturally right? But I can’t remember any of them nice things to say.

On second thought, as I write now there are some things I remember mummy doing:

1. She comes at night and covers us properly if the duvet has fallen away.

2. She kills mosquitoes that she sees are trying to suck our delicious blood.

3. When I was 11 and had my most serious bout of malaria yet that came with a migraine for about a week, she stayed with me all through the day and night. I know she hardly slept because I hardly did. I would try falling asleep and then in about half an hour, a fresh wave of migraine will hit again and I’ll scream. Now how the sickness started is a really funny story. I’ll tell anyone interested later.

4. On nights when the seizures were getting worse, she will stand beside my bed for about two hours praying until I lose consciousness or until I sleep off.

5. She gave birth to me. I was the most difficult childbirth she had. Longer hours in the hospital room, pregnancy stretch marks etc.

I am very selfish right. How can I not remember all this till this late at night. I always thought she hated me and that I was an adopted child all through primary school because frankly right now these are the few striking memories I have with her. But then, my brain is not at it’s best right now.

I know she pushes us past our elastic limit and says hard things. Although those things she said broke me badly, I believe that it’s her own way of loving us the way she knows how and probably she meant those words as a way to challenge us. Or maybe you were unhappy too. I never did find out if you were truly happy and satisfied in life. You’ll be amazed at the havoc being unhappy can wreak in the life of those around you. I can truly say that I carry no bitterness anymore. So Happy Mother’s Day Mother. With all my heart.

I promise that from today, any topic or conflicting interests that we have that may cause me to dislike you even more, I’ll never bring them up. I’ll work to ensure that there is some semblance of a friendship between us and I think that maybe, just maybe with time, we’ll become great friends and I’ll finally be able to write a lovely paragraph for you on social media and mean it.

Dear readers, don’t worry I know all about appreciating what you have while you still have it. I am trying my best.

Posted in Bits and Pieces

The Visible Ghost (Part 2)


There is something gratifying about having bread and cold malt in the middle of the night when the weather is hot. So where did I stop? Right yes. 

I always had a bit of a chuckle when people always said;

“Alia I know you. You are smart. One of the smartest women in our generation”


“You’re very sharp, so much so that I envy you”


“You’re very passionate, talented and hardworking and if you should channel this passion to something my dear, you’ll be a pro”

I’m sure if you’re following this story now you’ll want to withdraw your statements.

I wanted to study law. Not because I wanted to help people or anything. It was the money and the fame that attracted me. It was always about the money. That is why I elected to study it in the US. Lawyers in US are pretty much comfortable. 

I had always wanted to be this strong, independent, kick- ass woman. And being a lawyer would have given me that opportunity. 

Anyway, that ship has sailed. Now it’s all about business is it not? Now I want to be a kick-ass CEO, this time around my orientation has changed slightly. It’s not just all about the money and fame. I’ve added a new one. Family development. Some of my plans for the future involves creating an avenue for family bonding and building up broken family walls. It’s quite an unrealistic plan for the current state of my country’s economy. I will perhaps be able to make some of the nice words people have said about me become truths.

Am I a better person now? Perhaps. But there are days, days like this one, when I just want to plunge back into the deep waters. So I slipped into solitariness again by mistake. I faintly remembered when I started having anxiety and when I became socially awkward. I also remembered my first post-graduate job.

I didn’t quit my first job voluntarily. I more or less had no option. It was quit or be sacked. So, this was my first ever job. I loved it. It was the closest to psychology that I could ever get to. I wanted to do some short courses on child psychology to improve myself and probably to get to do psychology that I had liked.

The fact that I got the job was a miracle itself. I had zero experience in learning disabilities and disorders. I was employed because of my passion according to my manager. They usually needed at least 2 years of experience. Anyway, I attended training and all, passed in flying colours. Then I started, the usual me is usually quiet in a new place. But I just had a name change then and vowed that it was going to be a new beginning, therefore I would not be the old me you know.

So, I was actively involved. Team work and all. Read files on all the clients extensively. Maybe a tad too zealously. Did extensive research work. I was on a six month probationary period which was done for new employees.

I was proud of the job although it was quite stressful. Fourteen hours on your feet with only a 10 minute sit down for dinner. Until the day an incident happened, one of my very first and I panicked when I was not supposed to. My team leader then wrote a less than derogatory report about that incident. 

I was invited by the manager into her office.


To be continued…

Posted in Bits and Pieces

The Visible Ghost (Part 1)

Solitude. Solitude is like having a really hot shower in Siberia during the winter. You would never want to leave. There might be responsibilities beckoning on you on the outside but you don’t just want to step out of that warmth. 

Quite often, I like to give myself some time and space to get away from the expectations, the conversations, the noise, the pressure, humans. I do what I do best, I lock myself up in the room and wouldn’t talk to anyone save the occasional non personal chats. I wouldn’t see the sunshine or feel the breeze or just enjoy nature for five days straight. My shopping was done online, both groceries and toiletries. On days when I wasn’t able to shop for groceries, I fed on yoghurt, three times a day. 

The thing about solitude is that slowly you begin to sink into depression without meaning to. You begin to recall past things which will in no way contribute to your future. I continued that way and with time my relationships began to suffer. Picking up calls became a nuisance in my life as I had to sit through at least thirty minutes of forced smiles and mirthless laughter. Ultimately, I stopped picking up calls after a while. Responding to calls and messages became an issue of my mood that particular day. And you know what, I was proud of it. I replied my missed calls when I felt like.



“Take some time each day to go for a long walk and think. Plant yourself on a park bench and look. Take a long, thoughtful road trip. Whatever you do, move away from anything that distracts you from contemplating your life and where you want it to go. In solitude, you should feel independent and self-sufficient, not lonely, needy or afraid.”

Well that is what they said. So I did exactly that. I began to move away from “distractions” slowly at first and with time I increased the tempo. I started out with acquaintances, then friends, then family etc. Everytime I saw a call I would begin to question why the caller is calling. I most especially rejected calls that I know will start along the lines of “How are you?” “What are you up to?” “How is life?” I am weird right. In reality, those questions are fair questions. They are a compulsory part of oral communication. But I hated them.

I had neighbours, yes, I didn’t communicate with them either. I stopped going into the shared kitchen after a while just so that there will be no reason to have a chit-chat with them. I drew plans, lots of them. I was so used to things always falling out for me that I made a lot of contingency plans. And not to my greatest surprise, all of them failed. 

So how did I end the relationship with solitude… I haven’t. I just let the relationship drift apart. I am a liar. I never did work hard to achieve those plans. I lied to everyone that I was trying my best. 

I wasn’t job hunting. I started several job applications and never completed them. Not because I couldn’t or because I wasn’t qualified but because I was scared shitless of progressing to the next stage of job applications. I was scared of interviews; skype, face to face, phone etc. I always fumbled. I never knew what to say. I knew that I had a lot to offer but I couldn’t for the life of me say it. My heart always skipped beats, I stuttered out my words, my palms were sweaty. Funny enough, a stranger looking at me would think I was very poised, confident, calm. I gave off that vibe. I didn’t shake physically, my face was usually stoic and expressionless. But I was really dying inside. 

The sadder part was that prior to those interviews, I always practiced and practiced speaking out loud in my room, I was very thorough, covered the length and breadth of possible questions. I am a pretender. I was giving out advice on job seeking I couldn’t take for myself to people. And at the end I couldn’t prove to anyone that really I would have excelled at that job. It was so bad that I failed a simple MS Excel test. Now, if you know me, you would know that I am good in all things IT. So how would I fail one of the most basic things in Excel. 



To be continued….

Posted in Bits and Pieces

How Do I Want To Be Loved? (Main Body)

Story, Story, Story….

So I was talking with someone today and just in passing he said, “I think it’s better for someone to love you the way you want to be loved and not how they think you should be loved”. Not exactly in those words though. It got me thinking. I’ve been deliberately “single” all my life.

I had always thought it was because I had a problem with sharing and intimacy but now I just realised that it is because I have never asked myself “how do I want to be loved?” I always knew what I wanted and who I wanted but I had never thought about how I wanted to be loved.

And I began to ponder. How will someone love me the way I want to be loved if I haven’t first asked myself this question to really know how it is I want to be loved? How can someone possibly love me the way I want to be loved if I don’t first love myself how I want to be loved?

After some serious, and I mean serious thinking. I have only come up with a few ways I want to be loved.

1. I want to be accepted for who I am; a headstrong, spirited, spontaneous, outspoken, idealistic and sarcastic individual who builds walls so high and pushes everyone away when I need them most.

2. I want to be loved with respect and affection.

3. I want to be loved for the messy and quite a handful of sparks I have in me.

4. I want to be loved freely, without judgement or expectation. God knows I am physically sick of expectations.

5. I want to be loved by my partner showing an interest in my life and allowing me also show an interest in his. I mean communication is a major key.

6. I want to be loved by little acts of service; trying to anticipate what I need and want. It makes a massive difference.

7. I do not like my birthday forgotten. I’ve not had really pleasant birthdays so a few memorable birthdays would be nice.

8. I am not particular about going on dates in fancy restaurants. I love restaurants yes, I also love food. But it really doesn’t matter to me where the date is going to be. As long as we’re together.

9. I want to be trusted to make the right decision on matters. If you feel I’m going the wrong way, either you let me make a mistake or show me the right way non-judgementally and without coercion.

Now I’ve got a few more to add which I can’t publicly discuss. But these are the basic things I guess. As humans we all want to love and be loved. Love is something I never took seriously till late last year. I didn’t know I was capable of receiving love in diverse ways and manners. To me before, it was just a word in the dictionary that got used a lot. Perhaps if I had answered how do I want to be loved earlier, I would have been more attuned to receiving and giving love.
And that is the end of my story!!!

Posted in Pinches of Salt

What Makes Me Nigerian?

Nigeria my country has a lot of Nigerians in her. So much so that if you auction out half of her population to the highest bidder, she would still have the highest population in Africa.

My sister told me that she isn’t sure she likes me anymore. That I have become too British and too modernised. That I’ve become mysterious. Her reasons were somewhat cogent and understandable.

One would assume that having the green passport would be enough proof that I am Nigerian, or having the Nigerian accent or even the colour of my skin. How wrong I was!

Apparently, to be called a true Nigerian, I need to be able to verbally abuse someone and call it a joke or a “yab” and I also need to be able to stomach such abuse should I be on the receiving end.

To be called a true Nigerian, I need to learn to be utterly lawless. Throwing food or garbage out the window, spitting out of my car, disobeying some simple traffic laws at my own risk etc.

To be called a true Nigerian, I need to be downright racist, tribalistic, homophobic amongst other things.

To be called a true Nigerian, I should be quite loud and boisterous. I need to speak at a sound pressure level of 82db at least if the person I’m speaking to is less than a feet away from me.

To be called a true Nigerian, I should never show a moment of weakness. I must be tough. Yeah very tough.

To be called a true Nigerian, I need to throw all norms on social etiquette out the window and become rude. Rude to the air hostess, rude to the market seller, rude to the security man, rude to the driver etc.

To be called a true Nigerian, I need to participate in twitter fights, nairaland abusive comments and listen to some extremely overrated and clichéd comedy skits.

Okay, don’t misread the intentions of this post. I love my heritage. I love my culture. I love my cocoa butter skin with a hint of vanilla. But I hate the stereotypes associated with being a Nigerian. 

There are a large number of joys associated with me being a Nigerian:

1. Buying a cold sachet of water from hawkers and drinking it while stuck in traffic in an extremely hot weather.

2. The joys of eating Gala and Lacasera

3. Eating bolé with fish and other side condiments. This right here cannot be compared to anything. N:B if you’re not from Rivers State, I am deeply sorry but you’re missing out.

4. Having roasted corn and pear by the roadside… you’re in heaven already.

5. Akara and Bread…

6. NEPA bringing light just as your phone battery is at the brink of death.

I could go on and on, but if to experience all this little but phenomenal joys does not count as being a Nigerian and instead to be a Nigerian, I need to throw homophobic and racial slurs at people, I need to traumatise a human being psychologically. Then by no means do I want to be called a Nigerian. Afterall, “who naija don epp?”

Posted in State of Mind

Monday 13th March, 2017

I started this blog as a journal. So I do apologise to the readers if occasionally I tend to go too personal. So today, I heard a particularly disturbing news. It’s disturbing because I discovered that my whole life was a lie. I discovered that without willing to do so, I’ve become indebted to people I had never wanted to mingle with. 

If I had known that this was the price I had to pay, I would never have made the choices I made. I would have preferred to suffer. I know someone might say look at how far you’ve come, look at the phenomenal people you’ve met along the way. Well yes, my journey has been smoother than it probably would have been and I love those I’ve met along the way, but how do you expect me to pay such a price. 

It wasn’t enough that I had to do things a certain way. I have had to adjust to a certain lifestyle that wasn’t the lifestyle I wanted for all of my life. And now, I discovered I’ve just been in heaven all this while. It was merely the beginning. I’m not saying outrightly that I regret my gene and heritage, but hearing things like this tends to make someone feel a little bit funny.

Perhaps if I was warned before hand, I might have had a rethink on my life choices. But I was allowed to live a lie. I wonder if you know how it feels to be very much a “slave” all your life. I wonder if you enjoy someone reminding you that you are who you are because of a certain someone. I wonder if you ever imagined that maybe I would like to be my own person someday. 

Maybe it is my fault. Because I have had that nagging feeling for years but I had always dismissed it. I thought maybe the reason you wanted us to behave that way in front of them was because of something entirely different. How wrong I was! Maybe I should have probed you further. I always wondered why you never answered my questions straightforwardly. You were always giving some background story.

Now that my life is barely starting up, and I already have made elaborate plans that may or may not involve my life shareholders, all those plans are now gone with the wind. I’m scared now. Scared of getting married, because I know that whoever I choose or whatever I choose to do will have to be approved by the board. I’m also scared because I don’t want the cycle to continue with my future kids. I have always wished a better life for them than what I had. I just want this cycle to end now. I am tired of it. I know you probably thought it was for the best. It wasn’t… 

Posted in Memoirs

My Hometown

I do apologise for the possible watery nature of this post. It’s because I do not want the memory to fade before I write something.
I went to my hometown today. This is particularly an exciting news seeing as I haven’t been there since I was almost six years old. Memories I have of that place were just fragmented pieces.

The day before, I was buzzing. I couldn’t sleep, eat or even think about anything except seeing my hometown. It felt like I was about to go out on a date with the love of my life. Although the circumstance which prompted my going there was less than ideal, a funeral, that still did nothing to kill my ecstasy.

On the day, I got up early, went through my morning routine with a speed that surprised even me. And I was dressed before the driver’s work shift had began for the day. Okay first hurdle of the day; what shoes to wear? I looked at my collection and realised I didn’t have anything simple enough to wear for a funeral. I definitely didn’t want to look like I came to party and I didn’t want to look homeless either. I picked a pair of plain black shoes and made a mental note to myself to invest in some simple pairs of shoes and I was hoping I had made the right choice with those shoes. 

We started the journey, then I met the second hurdle. How to get a tea stain off my blouse. I had accidentally spilled tea on myself from a pothole. Describing the state of the road as deplorable is merely an understatement. Plus it felt like the shock absorber of the vehicle wasn’t existing. I started feeling nauseous both from the tea I was drinking and from the fact that I was in a car with completely sealed and tinted windows. Then as if that wasn’t enough, the traffic was terrible. I just noticed today that in Nigeria, motorists do not have respect for the road demarcation. I couldn’t for a moment decide which path was meant for us who were going and for those who were returning. I also noticed the way which gambling has increased in Nigeria. You couldn’t go a few metres without seeing a bet9ja shop. Three hours and half later we arrived at our destination.

I always felt strangely aloof at funerals. Well at least the two I have attended. But this was different. I cried. Not because I missed mama or because a funeral is always sombre. I cried because I couldn’t get to meet her. I’m sure I would have loved her. And I hope she would have loved me too. A woman who death had got nothing on, lying there in a beautiful white dress, she still looked strangely beautiful. From the stories I’d heard about her, she was probably one of the first self taught psychologist from my hometown. 

Dear mama, If you were alive now, perhaps this year I would have gone to see you and would have sought your advice on a few things. I know your legacy still stands because everyday I can see some of your attributes in the children you left behind. I hope to learn a lot from them in the future. Hearing the story of your life has today renewed my will to live. I hope to someday become as loving, kindhearted, humorous and quick to forgive as you were. I hope when I become all those things, I’ll be able to feel you smiling down at me from heaven. I know the shoes you left behind are too big for me but I promise you that in my own corner, I’ll try to be the woman that you were.

There’s one thing I am sure of right now, I’m going back to my hometown in a couple of months to see everyone properly. Hopefully I’ll be able to live there for a month at least. It was a short visit but I thoroughly enjoyed myself no matter how much of an outsider I felt as a result of not being able to communicate in our native lingo. There’s something therapeutic about seeing a major part of your family you haven’t seen before.

Also to C.E.O, I am deeply sorry. I saw you fleetingly today and my heart was broken for you. I couldn’t even imagine being in your shoes. I just wanted to walk over, hold your hand, allow you rest on my shoulder and tell you everything was going to be alright as you sat and bowed your head. Perhaps soon, I’ll get to tell you that. You are very much like mama in ways you don’t know, maybe besides being humorous. I watched as you held papa’s shoulders protectively and I knew instantly that papa was definitely going to be okay since you were around him. I know it’s a difficult process, but anytime you want to talk, midnight, midday, early morning, I’ll be always there. 

Posted in Pinches of Salt

Everything on Fleek

I do not intend to use this post to ridicule or insult anyone and I’m not a hater. I do apologise if you feel like I am taking a personal jab at you. 

There’s a trend that is currently on among black women. Yes, I used “black” because I am not in a position to write about another race. Although it is not outrightly bad, it isn’t flattering either. Probably it’s something that a lot of people have talked about.


The Brows

I have no problem with good looking brows. My problem is what is mistaken for good looking.
There are two extremes in this brow game. There are those who shave everything off and draw a line and there are those who draw the eyebrows to the point where your nose meets the eyes.


Contouring and Highlighting
My beloved sister, how can you makeup to the extent that your face is considerably paler than your neck. At least if you’re contouring and highlighting, let it be realistic. You would see a plus sized lady with highly defined cheekbones that make her face look like she’s a size 6. A size 6 face on a size 20 body. Wow! Just wow!


The Lips
Why would you like to make your lips look fuller. I mean, an average black has rather large lips. So what do you want again? And by God, the pout kills me all the time.

They say makeup makes you look older and mature. In the Nigerian terminology, “who looking old and mature don epp biko”. If anything, I like to look small and babyfaced at least seeing as I already have an intimidating height, I definitely do not want an intimidating face.

I mean I’m sorry that my brows, contouring and highlighting are not on fleek. But how on earth can you expect them to be on fleek when my life is not on fleek. I’d rather go with the face that suits the current state of my life right now thank you. I’ve mentioned this to someone before and the response I got was bewildering.

I honestly think makeup was invented to highlight your natural beauty and not to completely cover it. In my opinion, people who wear too much makeup seem insecure and unsure of themselves. If you just woke up and you’re just going for a jog in the morning, wash your face, put your hair up and go. But if you’re going to a dinner, obviously kick it up a notch but not too much.

Your eyebrows and face are on fleek and yet your personality is quite similar to the respect an African rat has for books. If you do not exude beauty from within, no amount of makeup can cover it up. Now don’t get me wrong, I love clothes. I love buying them. I almost dislike repeating clothes frequently. I mean every girl loves something right. I also do not have anything against makeup, I’ve got a few of those myself. But seriously, is there really a need for a perfect face all the time. I mean you go from being naturally beautiful to generically pretty. There should be days when you dress down and have bloodshot eyes, eyebags and black spots. All that reminds us daily that we are human.

Bottom line, if you look good with your hair up, eating food out of a box and wearing pyjamas, then you definitely don’t need makeup. Let’s say your partner is in the mood for some hot and spicy action and comes to nuzzle your face and neck, why on earth do you want him to feel like he’s kissing a face mask?
Okay now I’m ranting. Grazie! Ciao!!

Posted in Pinches of Salt

Happy Women’s Day

So today is International Women’s Day, it commemorates the struggle for women’s rights. Before today, I had never put up posts on any social media platform wishing happy women’s day to myself. Because I never felt I deserved to be put in the same boat as the selfless heroines of the USSR or the famous figures of the Paris Commune. 

Today however is special, my protégé just taught me a big lesson. In her words:


“Happy women’s day. This time last year I remember putting up an Instagram post and you commented and asked, in Italian as well “so in your head you think you are a woman?” I think you were joking but have I finally qualified as one? I remember when I was in Sixth form and you kept saying “don’t worry when you come to university you’ll understand” and I was so sure there was nothing to understand and that you were just blabbing. Six months into university I have learnt so freaking much. So much has happened but hey-ho I’ve survived six months here. Half a year mate! University ends in six weeks mate. Year one is done. 


Am I fully an adult now? I can get married, can’t I? Am I a woman now? 


Happy Womens Day my lovely and favourite woman. I have learned a lot from you and just want to let you know it is much appreciated.”
 
Now the lesson I learned, I don’t need to be publicly known for my acts of feminism and gender equality to celebrate women’s day. In my own little corner, I have exacted change somehow in someone’s life. I have made amazing contributions to the world and the future generation. Probably through my lifestyle or my ability to give sound advice.

Secondly, words, no matter how little, no matter the mood with which you say it can either make or mar an individual’s perception of themselves. So choose your words wisely.

Finally, for the past couple of months, I had always thought I’m useless. Not able to provide for myself at this age. I look at my peers and see how independent they’ve been since they were sixteen. I was the child born with a silver spoon, so becoming an adult was quite scary for me. And especially when I lost my first job, it was as if my physical self was saying to my inner self; “you worthless child, you can’t even do anything right”. But today, something has changed I believe, I am not going to wait for someone else to come and speak for me, I am going to change the world myself and I already have devised a means and a plan. 

So to all the lovely sisters out there, Happy Womens Day!! I am inexplicably proud of you, afterall I do know it’s tough being a woman.

And to my protégé, I know you are going to read this. And I just want to tell you that I really appreciate you. I know I probably don’t act like it all the time. You’re the Robin to my Batman. And surprising as it is, I’ve learned a number of things from you over the years and I thank you for that. Tutoring you has been and will always be a pleasure. And yes, you are a woman now. Happy Womens Day.

Posted in State of Mind

Anecdote

Sometimes I wonder why I waste/(d) my time with you. You’re about as considerate as a gust of wind in the Sahara. Probably one of the most insensitive creatures I’ve ever known.

I was by myself, basking in the euphoria of being finally able to live a carefree life when you popped the question. Let’s be clear that previously I had never even for the life of me thought about you in that way. So when you asked me, I’m just like okay. Maybe I should start treating you like a human being and not an occasional play toy. And then I fell, maybe a bit too hard. 

I mean besides the fact that you’re incredibly talented, your smile could light up any room, your touch sends shivers down my spine and other areas, your lips taste like the morning dew with a hint of cinnamon, your body is a representation of what could be the love child of Adonis and Aphrodite. Your kisses were proof of your love for perfection as I was always left breathless and utterly exhausted when you were finished. What more could I want. You were everything I wanted and more. You were the main composition of all my wet dreams and fantasies. I don’t think a night ever passed by without my imagination going wild at the thought of what you could do to my body.

But now, each passing day, I have noticed your subtle withdrawal. You don’t call or write as you used to. You grow increasingly impatient, I do not get the frequent compliments and love notes anymore. Your sarcastic replies to anything I ask you hurts me more than dysmenorrhea. You play with my feelings all the time and think it’s a funny thing to watch. I smile and laugh because there’s little else I can do. Anything to make us share a “moment” as they are becoming less frequent.

I don’t know if that was your plan all along. To make me fall and then move on. I’m very much used to you now that I do not know what I will do if you ever leave me. I’m much too shy for my own good to come out plainly and ask you. I’m holding unto the hope that just as you used to before, you will be able to see right through this ruse. If you are unable to, then it really is over between us.