What is there to fear about fear?

Fear is probably the one thing in life that we would never truly win the war against. But really why bother about winning the war when you can successful win the battle each time it arises?

I remember when my paternal grandfather died. I was just eight. And that was the first time to lose anyone that close to me. (We will fast forward to the burial to save you from the agony of the unnecessary narration.)

The day before the burial was of cause the wake-keep. And grandpa’s body was laid in state for the last time; The casket was left open the entire night, for whoever wanted to pay their final respect.

Not me. Not because I didn’t love my grandpa, well the concept of love was really vague to me back then, but because I was scared shit of seeing dead bodies. I was growing up afraid of the darkness and sick people. Now knowing that grandpa was dead, at least I understood that to mean we won’t need to drop our voices or stop running around the house because he was sleeping, and that he was laying there immobile and stuffed all over with cotton wool, even though I had played in the house all day before the casket was brought in, I moved my playing outside and kept it there the moment I sighted the hearse that brought the body in from the morgue.

The wake-keep service ended and yet I would not dare go in for the fear of catching sight of the body. So I was outside in the huge compound feeling lonely because even my brothers and cousins were much too busy indoors to have time to play with me, outside.

Eventually, I was coerced to come through the back stairway to the house. I managed to dodge the living room where he was laid because there was a door from the outer part of the house through the dining room to the back of the house to the stairs and up.

Everything was okay till I remembered there was something I need to do downstairs, or so I must have thought. So I strode towards the inner staircase and took the mighty steps down. Halfway down, I realised my silly mistake. Right there by the side of the staircase was my grandpa in ‘Sokoto and Dashiki’ looking regal but stiff, and wool sticking out of his nose.

I am sure you are asking yourselves how I managed to comprehend that sight if I had been afraid all evening? Well I don’t know but that very instant I nearly went into a seizure of sorts as I flew back the way I had come and out into the veranda shaking like a leaf in a storm. It wasn’t funny then and just thinking of it now still doesn’t make it so.

Well I have flown a few more steps because I had seen a few more before I was ready. And ‘Am I ready now?’ Really cannot tell. But having my maternal grandma die right in front of me has given me a whole new, enlightened if I may say, perspective to living. Watching her take her last breathe and just giving everything up, was for me an awe inspiring moment.

So the fear of death is gone. But I still have to deal daily with the fear of Living; of not Living LIFE!

*whatever*

I feel inclined to write, hopefully, this short piece of art, that’s how I choose o view my writings, to prove to no one in particular that I can still do it whenever I please.

The topic on which I should write then becomes a little bit contentious. Oh and that is not because there is nothing to write about... You cannot live in a society such as ours, Nigerian if you are international observer (chuckles), and not have at least four things or the other to preoccupy your thoughts enough to fill vast pages of books. And though I often try not to be bothered with the technicalities, o yes, of living day to day in such an environment, the practicality of such thinking is far more onerous than imagined.

So why don’t I just write on something that is not so relevant to my existence… But looking at it I bet I will only end up talking about issues that plague our country. Well let’s talk football, soccer if you want to be ‘tush’

Why did we have to drop out in such an unfashionable manner whilst Ghana will go on to win the 2009 championship? Why would we field players above twenty in a tourney for under twenties? Why would the jerseys of our players have just numbers and the names be omitted? Why should we continue to mouth-of as a ‘footballing’ nation when all we can do, at the very best, is drop out in the second round? Really, I’m beginning to sense that I’m embarking on a torturous journey that would only reveal more and more the depravity in our society. And that is a trip I choose not to take. So you can if you so wish, try and unravel the ‘JAMB’ questions and if you do find an answer that is justifiable, I’m willing to listen if, and only if, your answers have sufficient clarifications and do not have the tendency to lean towards the ‘Nigerian’ factor. I know enough about that to not want to hear it being said too much any more.

As I watched the Ghanaian boys put up a very impressive game against the Brazilian boys, and I thought they really looked under 20 compared to our boys (sorry men!) that were fielded who, sincerely speaking could not have been any day short of thirty, I was really hoping that the shift of focus from Nigeria is not being totally completed by the showing of the Mensah boys. First it was the discovery of oil and their plans to ensure that the likely scenario of our Niger-Delta does not ever happen, then the elections that took place in such an orderly manner such that the 1st black president and the number 1 president, if I am allowed to be so brazen, would bypass the most populous black nation and the number one country in Africa (only in the minds of some tired Nigerians) and stop for 24 hours in Ghana.

And now these nicely branded, well dressed boys doing the unthinkinable.

Of course it would be impertinent to think that they just arrived here. That would be just what those in the ruling class would want us to believe: To forget that some years ago Nigeria was the place of refuge for those who fled this same Ghana when their economy was ‘trash’; to forget that it was the critical decision of the ruling class in that country to make a change that began the rise to fame of that nation... That the collective oneness of the country as kept them going only stronger whilst we grow weaker due to our laissez-faire attitude in putting our foot down and nipping the wrong in the bud, and I’m not just thinking Boko Haram or the Niger-Delta rebellion. That is going too far!

Let’s just start where they make the laws or probably if you think that an ambitious project, start in the rock house - Aso Rock.

All the talk of fight against corruption has remained just that - talk. Talk, however, is very cheap. And the effect of corruption has crept into the one source of unity this country knows, soccer. I’m not even going to allow myself to be tempted by the thought to go on and speak or write about the influence of corruption. If you can’t see it – guess what? You are living in denial. And that is none of my business.

Like I said earlier all I wanted to do was write and I have written. And now here, I rest my case.

Time heals, it does not erase.

Breakfast was supposed to be in bed at 7:20am that morning but it was never meant to be…

The memories of that morning  remains with me, though it happened quite a while ago. The thought of it always brought the tears to my eyes. A sad reminder that even the steeled heart has its break point. But today, today is special…

Today is the fifth anniversary of baby’s passing, a date only to easy to remember for it was also Ugo’s 12th birthday; same age they were. Sometimes it feels stupid, even sissy to have allowed myself to be sucked into the whole thing called love. Shit... It only opened you up to hurts and more hurts. It was so much easier to just be by yourself with no attachment to anyone. Much less a frail looking lad like him. Yes, go on, you can think whatever you want to, even say it out if you’ve got the balls, excuse my pun, but it is only so easy to despise the seemingly weak. Gosh!

It’s been five years of almost daily remembering the one person that almost single handedly turned my life around. The annoying thing is that his face is almost fading from my mind. I never thought that would happen since I always will want to remember him just the way he was before he went and took the long sleep that my calling out to him never had any effect like it did when he was alive.

Looking back over these past years at the writings and penciled, mostly penned thoughts that have been influenced by him, seeing his friends going on to the university and all that, knowing that he is in a much better position and place, is the only consolation for the soul that never wanted him gone, at least not before me… and that not till way into my late 80’s.

The shouts and the screams of the boys woke me up from the sleep.. Yep I had planned on sleeping in a little longer but that too was only my imagination playing well into the future. He’s been taken to the hospital I was told and frankly speaking how I arrived at the place without crashing the vehicle remains a miracle. But the previous night was the last I would ever see him alive, *sob*, though it wasn’t the last time I’ll talked to him. I howled at him, begged, bargained, and then more pleading but he was way too gone to answer me. I knew though that he was in there somewhere just looking at me with a sad miserable face! Almost wanting to come back...

Ha! I can just here you say wacko! Bloody hell, you can call me whatever pleases you… Opinion is like an arse-hole, everyone’s got one. Meaning even the dumb fool (yuck!) will give his if he ever gets an audience. Lol! At least now I can laugh at myself with regards to him but loosing 4-5kg in a week was the most amazing yet despairing singular event of my weight life. That was the week he died…

I won’t go on and bore you with my typed thoughts. It’s true that the ones we love never really die; they live on in our hearts. He came, he witnessed and won, all in the space of ten months; no wonder I still believe he was really an angel and was never meant to be here for too long anyways. Or how else do you describe one who cared more for the comfort of others than he did for himself? If you have got a better choice of noun, please, fill me in.

“I hope you smile more often now? And just in case you still wonder if I really meant those things I used to tell you? You bet, I meant every single word! And thanks too. You are one heaven of a guy... Miss you still.”

------

That was written exactly one year ago. Today marks the sixth year of his passing and Ugochukwu’s eighteen birthday. Even as I celebrate with Ugo, Hugo as he calls himself, I am no longer in mourning but it is a day like no other that I will remember for the rest of my life.

The fools paradise

(In his parlor, soliloquizing)

Me? Slapped?

Me? A whole me, slapped

Not even by a man

Oh, we would have racked it out

But a woman? A woman slaps me?

And then not even a big woman at that

Not even rich or on the big side

No! That would have been something

But by a woman 4 feet and six inches tall climbing on a stool to reach my cheeks

She said I owed her

What if I did?

A miserly 50 naira

And then she gives me a slap!

(Friend Enters)

Friend: Ojukwu my friend for life

The one who will not take nonsense from anyone

The one with temper like that of an angry lion

Ojukwu, the three in one man

(Ojukwu does not acknowledge greetings)

What bit you? Or as the sharp witted one lost his tongue?

(Still no replay)

Are you Ill or have the gods fried your brains?

Ojukwu: May the gods fry your brains 2 times over and then mix it with two gallons of water in that big head of yours. You wretched grandson of a cow!

Friend: Thanks be to the gods! So you are not brain dead after all. What is the problem my friend?

Ojukwu: The words will be too heavy for your dull ears to understand.

Friend: Try me

Ojukwu: Ok! I was slapped

Friend: So?

Ojukwu: Won’t you allow me to die before you bury me?

Friend: Sorry o! please go on

Ojukwu: Owootori slappede me because of 50 naira

Friend: (laughs and laughs)

Ojukwu: Go on laugh. Show the world you have a rainbow colourede set of teeth.

Friend: (trying to control his laughter)

I’m sorry . I just couldn’t help laughing. It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. That the great Ojukwu, the one who has no time for nonsense, could be slapped by no one else but owootori. That maltina sized bottle sized woman? Even the gods would laugh’.

What did you do?

Ojukwu: Nothing

Friend: What?

Ojukwu: I said nothing. Or is it the ear that is aching you that directed towards me?

Friend: Ok don’t worry about it. If the great Ojukwu could be slapped and the heavens did not fall after all, we must celebrate.

Ojukwu: May rats celebrate your stupidity

Friend: Come with me. I’ll buy the drinks. I heard mama Kunle has just been supplied fresh palm wine

Ojukwu: You should have said that before you started jumping about like a goat in heat

Friend: Let us go

(They exit the stage)

APPENDIX

Owootori (meaning hands that do not reach the head) – it is a Yoruba (west African tribe) word for a midget, dwarf.

Ojukwu is an igbo name (west African tribe) that is synonymous with strength/warrior.

50 Naira is approximately 33 US Cents

Gold or Not Gold

Yesterday I made a startling discovery – well, till I get the verdict from an expert on in a few days at least. Back to my discovery: I found out that my precious wedding rings are not so precious; I had been under the impression that I wore 18-karat white gold rings and was jerked awake from this dream so very rudely. 

I was still trying to recover from the possibility of having bought white gold-plated yellow rings when I was told that they could actually be rhodium that was plated with white gold! Rho-what?! I was mortified and still am!

This brings to mind how much importance we attach to jewelry, and by ‘we’ I mean men and women; contrary to the popular belief that women are the only ones obsessed with jewelry. I know for a fact that both men and women obsess over wedding rings being gold and all that, but the truth is: most times, nobody knows what you are wearing but you. And hardly do they give a hoot! Asides that it polishes up your own ego.

Now, I am a fan of jewelry that lasts for life and you do not have to give it any particular care except for occasional polishing. But why so much ado if it is possible to buy gold-plated rhodium with a chance of never finding out and everything you were taught to look out for, like the 750-inscription, could be put on any metal at all (even in Dubai)! 

I choose to take the fact of this discovery as a sign to wear gold on few special occasions. Wearing gold wedding rings is absolutely fantastic if you are certain there is no bank-breaking involved. I say this because obviously some people cannot afford it but still go ahead for appearances, what they need to know is that there are other options that are just as beautiful. 

And for all my lady-friends who would spend insane amounts of money on gold jewellery rather than invest in people and family or at least their businesses, and in some cases owe to be able to afford it, think again! For all you know, that precious ‘gold’ may not be real!

Desola Abayomi-Sosan

dessyjewel.blogspot.com

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What can I say? I couldn't wait to spread the 'news' the moment I saw the tag in my facebook. Now, you would be wondering 'what could have happened?'

'Did they buy a fake?' Or 'was it really an honest mistake?' Well, I can confidently guarantee you that it definitely was not the first. The other question would be 'why can't they go for the jugular of the person from whom they got it?' Well, for one you don't want to start raising some soot that may just leave you in more despair than you could possibly fathom. Asides the fact that that person could also have been swindled, this kind of situation in Nigeria is too far from the date of purchase for any possibility of a money back. The thought of even trying to get your money back alone is a joke. This is 9ja.. Perish the thought! 

Lesson given. I hope it will also be lesson learned.

I Am....

And there I was watching the notorious film and then it struck me, again, what difference real friends make. Just think about someone giving up his life to go to jail so that you can go out there, discover who you are and soar? Crazy? Maybe, but that is such that I crave for.

I don’t know if there are many people like me who just want to live their lives believing that true love can happen to them. I really don’t know what has got into me that most of what I think about is how to be a good friend and how to have friends that love and appreciate me as much as I do them. It’s not like I can’t be all by myself, no sir, but I find myself thinking more about being with someone who shares my passion and convictions about what we are here for, what life is all about, what we can do for each other and how we can nourish and bring out the best in each other.

I never would have though that I would ever be like this; clingy of sorts. Maybe I am not clingy. Maybe it is a phase in my life that I really need to have someone to share my deep feelings with. But what if I chose to spend it with you...Would that be ok? Would I remain your friend even when I am not there or would you always seek for a way for me not to be around you?

It’s so hard sometimes just thinking what you think of me. And then I am wondering if ever I will wake up from this dream and find out that all I have thought about is just a fairy tale. Like one of many we read about that are a just that... stories!

I really want to just be myself. A better version of what I am now. Someone who knows to say the right words, who knows how to love right, who is always there for friends, who never ever forgets why he is here and what he is meant to do. May be my ideals are way to preposterous, may be I only see what I choose to see... may be? But why can’t my ideals be the real thing? Who says that I can’t have all that I dream of? Who says that I can’t choose my friends, and be with them who I am when I am all by myself?

I am who I am.

I am Oluwaseun Akinola Dawodu. 

Getting on

The weekend was anything but great. Not bad but far from what a great weekend should be. It was nothing really except that there was no added value. It was just a boring weekend filled mainly with tweeting and fbing (facebook). That is no definition for great; at least according to me.

Well, it has come and gone and I must be getting on with life.

The more I think about life the more I wonder if we will ever get the hang of it. Sometimes I wonder what I would really miss if everything just ended and guess what? Nothing. Maybe that ain't so true 'cos I am going to miss my family, a few friends and really a lot of my mentees. And hopefully the other way, too.

My life is really very simple. As simple as they ever come. And it is only getting simpler. How you may want to ask. By getting rid of all the un-necessaries. Like what? Like a whole lot of baggage friends that add no meaning to live except take away from you.

I'm learning to major on the major; my family and those close to my heart (and of cause those of whom I am close to their hearts) and give less and less consideration to the minor. This was really a hard one to sell even to myself. Why? Because now everyone says you are proud. So? Now I have to work on their perception cause that is what sells and how the h*** do I do that? I talk with them when I have to but seriously going out of my way to help people to whom I mean little is becoming less and less of a norm.

Life is beautiful and I plan to enjoy it. At least now I can say that of life, I think I am starting to get a hang of it.

What are you doing about your life?

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

 Maya Angelou

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I dedicate this to you 'P'; you have loved the poems just as much as I have. Thank you.

And with this I will rest, for now, posting of my top favourite poems. Cheers!

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us

Your playing small does not serve the world

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking

So that other people won’t feel insecure around you

We were all meant to shine as children do

It’s not just in some of us it is in everyone

And as we let our own lights shine

We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same

As we are liberated from our own fear

Our presence automatically liberates others.

Marianne Williamson

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I heard this first in Coach Carter (go watch if you haven't) and I just couldn't resist going back and back more than a few times just to hear the words, and the delivery was perfect too, again and again.

It blessed me and helped me to open myself to the greater opportunities of life by growing into a much better me. Hope it does for you too.

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
And if you dare to dream of meeting
Your heart's longing.


It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dreams,
For the adventure of being alive.


It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life's betrayals,
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.


I want to know if you can sit with pain,
Mine or your own,
Without moving
To hide it or fade it or fix it.


I want to know if you can be with joy,
Mine or your own,
If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
Without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.


I want to know if you can see beauty
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if you can source your life
From God's presence.


I want to know if you can live with failure,
Yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes!"


It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
Weary and bruised to the bone,
And do what needs to be done for the children.


It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
In the center of the fire with me
And not shrink back.


It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
From the inside
When all else falls away.


I want to know if you can be alone
With yourself,
And if you truly like the company you keep
In the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

-----------

This speaks my mind so loudly that I can almost go swear in court that the 'whoever' stole it from my mind. Yikes! That doesn't count for intellectual property stealing I guess? So I will just content myself to just make some noise about it.

Counts for another of my favourites. 

When she stares ...

When she stares at your mouth
Kiss her

When she pushes you or hits you like a dummy cause she thinks shes stronger than you
Grab her and don't let go

When she starts cursing at you trying to act all tough,
Kiss her and tell her you love her

When she's quiet,
Ask her whats wrong

When she ignores you,
Give her your attention

When she pulls away,
Pull her back

When you see her at her worst,
Tell her she's beautiful

When you see her  start crying,
Just hold her and don't say a word

When you see her walking,
Sneak up and hug her waist from behind

When she's scared,
Protect her

When she steals your favorite hoodie,
Let her keep it and sleep with it for a night

When she teases you,
Tease her back and make her laugh

When she doesn't  answer for a long time,
Reassure her that everything is okay

When she looks at you with doubt,
Back yourself up

When she says that she loves you,
She really does more than you can understand

When she grabs at your hands,
Hold her's and play with her  fingers
When she bumps into you,
Bump into her back and make her laugh

When she tells you a secret,
Keep it safe and untold

When she looks at you in your eyes,
Don't look away until she does

When she says it's over,
She still wants you to be hers


When she reposts this bulletin,
She wants you to read it

Stay on the phone with her,
Even if she's not saying anything

When she's mad,
Hug her tight and don't let go

When she says she's ok don't believe it,
Talk with her because ten years later she'll remember you

Call her at 12:00am on her birthday,
To tell her you love her

Treat her like she's all that matters to you

Stay up all night with her when she's sick

Watch her favorite movie with her or her favorite show even if you think it's stupid

Give her the world.

Let her wear your clothes

When she's bored and sad,
 hang out with her

 Let her know she's important.

 Don't talk about other girls around her

 Kiss her in the pouring rain

 When she runs up to you crying, the first thing you say is:
 "Whose ass am I kicking baby?"




------------------


I didn't write the above, but I sure wish I had. Having decided to just post poems that I absolutely love and that have inspired me, for this week, it was a pleasant surprise finding the above on facebook. I tried to find out the original author but that was impossible. 


I just couldn't resist posting. Call me a bloody romantic, I don't care. I am not sure I can fulfill all the above but I know I can and will try. 


And guys, I would love to see your write up for "when he stares ...".


Bytʹ horoshim

People Centered

Let me start with a little story of a recent happening…

It was a little late in the evening I needed to make some calls. However the call credit on my phone was depleted and so I took a work down the road to get some voucher credit.

Imagine my wonderment at the first recharge card shop I came to; the shop attendant, who could have been the owner for all I cared, was having it real hot with a potential customer.

I intentionally walked into the shop to get the gist of the whole matter. As the story unraveled, it became apparent that it was a simple case of misunderstanding gone bad, and the next thing would have been the two of them going at each other’s throat! I can just visualize the heading in the morning news “Man kills woman recharge card seller in fit of rage”. Sounds amusing? Maybe, but stranger things have happened.

However I was able to save the day (I thought that you would clap for me? Laugh!). I pleaded with the attendant to keep her peace and ignore the tantrums of the not so gentle gentleman, if you get my drift. The fault was not entirely his though, in fact considering that he was the customer he was faultless!? I took my time afterwards to tutor the lady, or should I be using the word woman? Her behaviour and attitude were so un-lady like! And without over flogging the dead horse, her Customer Relationship/Service was absolutely in need of overhauling.

The question I would be asking then is how far would you go in giving your customer/ potential client/customer the red carpet before pulling it away from beneath their legs? How much of people do you need to suck up to to become successful?

Looking forward to reading your comments.

Conquering fear

Fear is probably the one thing in life that we would never truly win the war against. But really why bother about winning the war when you successfully win the battle each time the horn to arm sounds?

One of my biggest fears became obvious to me when a Nationalist died and the ceremony was transmitted live on TV. I found that I couldn't watch the TV the entire period. Then it became an issue when my paternal grandfather died. 

I was just eight. And that was the first time to lose anyone that close to my family. We will fast forward to the burial to save you from the agony of the unnecessary narration.

The day before the burial was of course the wake-keep. And grandpa’s body was laid in state for the last time; it was opened the entire night, for those who wanted to pay their final respect.

Not me! 

Not because I didn’t love my grandpa, well the concept of love was really vague to me back then, but because I was scared silly of seeing dead bodies. I was growing up afraid of the darkness and sick people. 

Now knowing that grandpa was dead, at least I understood that to mean we won’t need to drop our voices or stop running around the house because he was sleeping, and that he was laying there immobile, even though I had played in the house all day before the casket was brought in, I moved my playing outside and kept it there the moment I sighted the hearse that brought the body in from the morgue.

The wake-keep service ended and yet I would not dare go in for the fear of catching sight of the body. So I was outside in the huge compound feeling lonely because even my brothers and cousins were much too busy in doors to have time to play with me, outside.

Eventually I was coerced to come through the back stairway to the house. I managed to dodge the living room where he was laid because there was a door from the outer part of the house through the dining room to the back of the house to the stairs, up.

Everything was okay till I remembered there was something I need to downstairs. So I strode towards the inner staircase and took the mighty steps down. Halfway down I realised my silly mistake for right there by the side of the staircase was my grandpa in ‘Sokoto and Dashiki’ looking regal but stiff, and wool sticking out of his nose.

I am sure you are asking yourselves how I managed to comprehend that sight if I had been afraid all evening? Well I don’t know, but that very instant I nearly went into a seizure of sorts as I flew back the way I had come and out into the veranda shaking like a leaf in a storm. It wasn’t funny then and just thinking of it now still doesn’t make it so.

Well I have flown a few more steps because I had seen a few more before I was ready. And ‘Am I ready now?’ Really cannot tell. But having my maternal grandma die right in front of me has given me a whole new, enlightened if I may say, perspective to living. Watching her take her last breathe and just giving everything up, was for me an awe inspiring moment.

So the fear of death is gone. But I still have to deal daily with the fear of  not Living Life and a few others.

But I win, one at a time. That is it for me....

Have a great weekend.

Mushy Mushy

This is the first time I'm writing for an audience (not sure that's appropriate for readers though) so please pardon the inevitable goofs. 


I had to decide on the subject of this write up myself. I didn't think it would be that hard. Yet there I was seated at the system, for quite a while, and with all the liberty to choose, I find myself at loss. *scratching head*...

Finally I end up deciding to write on LOVE... And no, it's not the conventional *mushy mushy* love stuff you read about (see I am rather an unconventional person and I quite like it!)...

Love means different things to different people at different times... However, there's one definition of love which in my opinion explains it all, every time... 


Love for me is not the expensive gifts or the *inexpensive* credit he sends with the cheesy message attached. It's not the midnight calls (that deprive me of precious sleep minutes or even hours). Neither is it the text with rhyming words... It's far deeper than all of that...

LOVE for me is THE CROSS... The freedom from the clutches of sin, the hope of eternity... There is none greater than that (never has been, never will be...) 


Since I'm only human, that's obviously a feat I can't achieve, however I can do my bit... I can *love my neighbour as I do myself* and if I can love only as much as 1st Corinthians 13:1-10 says, then I think I would have done a good job...

Have a FAB day y'all...

Peace and Love,
AYO!
yewwy90@yahoo.co.uk
www.twitter.com/yewwy

Of Hope

Emotions riding high...

Tilting, falling, oh

Whispers of sudden gloom

Filling the air, choking

Like the smell of smouldering iron

Yes of acid on metal...

The pain, the shame

Sharp and lasting

Like piercing to the heart

Leaving alive, just barely

And yet he lives,

Scared but alive

Like a damaged good

Only more valuable

The senses awakened

Traumatized and fragile but still with life

Hot tears stream down the cheeks

Wetting the parched facial skin

And the heart?

A mosaic of a bittersweet life!

Hmmmm

I started writing on Friday, and on Saturday following I get a book that says we must watch out for every resistance that will try to stop us from doing what we know we should really be doing. (By the way I urge you to get the book. It is titled "The War Of Art by Steven Pressfield)


At first it felt really spooky because even though I had wanted the book for a long time and actually asked for help in getting the book, the contents was unknown t me. I had only read a book that mentioned it and I just noted it down. But then I started reading it and knew that it was more than just a coincidence. This was the fates at work. *Blah Blah Blah*


For me, it is not about the nothing to write, now don't go thinking some thoughts like that, it is more of getting my backside down on a seat and actually writing. I still have not gotten a hang of doing that, but I will insist that my backside take rest as often as and when the writing needs to be done.


What would the world be like if everyone just did like 10% of what they really would love to be doing? A lot less jealous people, envying and strifes, are what I am thinking would happen. 


So then why do we hold back from freeing ourselves from these things that hold us down and do not let us be free to explore the realms that are mostly conjured only in our dreams?


And just in case you are wondering 'what kind of a title is that?' I don't know. You can go ahead and comment in your title probables. *Smiling*


Gracias a ustedes

Remembering...

It is just has though it happened yesterday. Let me re-post the story that was posted by me else where that tells of one epoch point in my life. 


Here we go...


This all happened about three weeks or so ago i.e about the second week or third week of August, 2007. I had gone to join a christian fellowship at their camp ground. The venue was a school. 

Later that night a vigil of sorts was going on when i saw this little boy, i'm sure not more than 14, at the entrance to where we were having the programme. 

Of course i invited him in. that is just the begining of the story. After the programme that night we offered him some food. He refused and only asked that he be allowed to sleep in the auditorium where the programme took place. That we didn't see how we were going to allow to happen. We didn't know him from anywhere and what if he was planted by some crooks so hat whn we were asleep they'll come in and clear the room of all the instruments that were being used? 

Much later we got to know the truth. He had walked a distance of more than 10km! Much more. It was then i understood why all he wanted wa to sleep. i could feel that. I had a similar experience of being lost at about the age of ten, though i'm sure i didn't do 1okm, yet it is an experience that has stayed with me. 

He was even threathend with being handed over to the police. His reply was "i don't mind if i can get to sleep there" (translated from my native language, yoruba). 

He slept there that night and was gone before dawn. His story, he was going back home (from our observaion he was completely lost) because the guardian he was staying with was abusive. All these didn't come out until after much threats. 

Today i still feel pained. My heart still weeps and my eyes too, that there was nothing i could have done to make sure that the boy does not become a street boy. I still remeber his name, Tijani. 

I pray and hope everday that he finds his way home. 

Let's make our world a little better. Show some love.
--------


That was then. This is now and I still feel just as strongly about those issues and even more.


Just keep on with me.  Life is only as beautiful as we make it to be for others.




Ciao!