And the word became flesh (John 1:14)

Happy Easter!❤️

A little debate sparked up during Sunday school today and it just made me imagine the reaction of the pharisees when Christ declared Himself God. The whole debate which of course was off the course of the topic was centered on if Christ was human during His earthly ministry. And yes, there are some people that don’t believe that.
Jesus referred to Himself as the “Son of man”. That same tag was used in the old testament by Eziekel, David etc and it a statement of humility. Christ didn’t want his disciples to view Him as an absolute immortal because it would greatly tamper with their perception of themselves when the mantle would be passed unto them.
Jesus didn’t descend to earth in a golden box, He spent the months in his mother’s womb, He was born, during his formative years, He was dependent on His parents and He grew (Luke 2:52). Growth is a part of of humanity and Christ experienced it. As much as he was fortified with the Spirit of God, the Bible still tells us that He grew spiritually.
He felt hunger, He felt tiredness, He slept, He did everything we human folks do, let’s not get too explicit. He fasted. And fasting is something done to fortify the flesh and sharpen the spirit and Jesus, full grown man, He had even performed His first miracle still saw the need to fast for the assignment set before Him (Matt 26:41).
One of the places that I believed really displays the humanity of Christ was at the garden of gethsamene (matt 26:36-46). He displayed fear. Fear is that one feeling that every human experiences more than once in his/her life and prior to that, there was no record of Jesus being scared, not even when there was a tempest. That night, He even needed His friends to help Him pray and it’s recorded that thrice that night, He asked if the cup could just pass over Him and remembering that instance made me appreciate Christ even more. He prayed so much that He was sweating blood. Have we been that scared? I think the only fluid that wants to leave me when I’m scared is pee and sweat definitely not blood. An angel was sent to strengthen Him so you can imagine the extent of the fear. Was he doubtful of the glory that awaited Him? Was He doubtful of His ability to complete the assignment? Was He scared of pain and death? Death now not only being physical but also spiritual. Think about it and let me know your thoughts.
He went on despite His fear to say that God’s will be done. A sheer example of courage. Proceeding, He was lynched and what came out from Him was blood and not Icar. He felt pain and humiliation. He died. He died.
So yes, Christ was a man. He became a man so that we as believers are aware of the fact that we have a God that is not an alien to whatever struggles we face. And His life is a proof that we can walk perfect before God despite our faulty nature simply because the self same spirit that worked in Christ is given us. God understands our inadequacies hence His spirit, the spirit that would help us conform to the image of Christ.
Basically, the humanity of Christ tells us that it is not impossible. It’s hard, and there is a lot of deadening to do but it is not impossible. All the things that Christ has done here on earth, we are capable of that and more. Look at the early apostles in Acts, Jesus’s garment healed the sick but Peter’s shadow(Acts5:15) did that also. Recall Peters’ story, the fisherman who became a fisher of men, who even during Jesus’s trial still denied Christ before a mere maiden after years of walking with Christ but after the Holy spirit came upon him, he became the leader of the church and did far more than Christ did here on earth.
The same spirit of God that resurrected Christ after three days is in us to awaken us on that glorious day, just a few moments ahead. We bear the spirit of life, the spirit of life, the spirit that enables us to conquer flesh and the spirit that helps our inadequacies.
It’s of great comfort to me to know that I worship to a God that can 100% relate to my humanity and He is just there, helping me through my flaws and making me more flawless. ✌🏾❤️

Sunday Service

Kanye West’s “Jesus is King” album occupying the void as I drive to pick up Tunde on my way to church. It is the last Sunday of the year so, for obvious reasons, I was excited. I even wore the navy blue and olive green native I’d been saving since October. I looked rich and I felt the part too.

It didn’t take long to get to Tunde’s place and I let out a sigh of relief when I found him waiting for me.

“oh boy, see how you look dapper my guy!”

” Thanks bro”

” You didn’t tell me we were to dress up bro. I look so simple when compared to you…”. Tunde goes ahead, stroking my ego like no other. The black ornamental buttons placed decoratively on the shirt, gave it a touch of sophistication. We drove, getting lost in conversations about the usual topics; Nigeria, weather and weddings. Upon the infamous male “scummery“, I received an unusual amount of wedding invites. Isn’t that wonderful?!

A couple of minutes into the praise session, my waist ached but my energy not a bit diminished. I was so happy to hear the choir singing praises in my dialect, Ogoni. And what was even nicer was that they got the lyrics correctly. I’ve gotten used to people butchering songs from my place especially in cities like Lagos. As long as what they’re singing sounds like the correct thing, it does not matter and this applies across.

The praise tempo slowed and we moved into a worship session. Oyinye, the choir lady I’ve set eyes on for a while, takes me to heaven with her voice as she leads the whole church in worship. The whole atmosphere changed as we all with one loud voice sang songs of thanksgiving to God. Tears, laughter and joy… What a year!

The minister to lead the prayer session, mounted the pulpit. Like an unspoken rule, she led us in another song and we followed suit thereafter she started giving the prayer points.

“Brethren, we are gathered here today. Its not by your power, or might but by God’s mercies…”

She goes on, giving the usual speech of thanksgiving, the line that the average Nigerian churchgoer has become very much acquainted to;

“some are in the mortuary but you’re here in the sanctuary…”

I don’t know why this particular statement has become a crucial part of the normal Sunday service but regardless, I bow my head, reflect and give thanks.

” You think it’s because you work hard, ask the thugs and Street hustlers, they don’t count as much money as you do”

Now, that isn’t sitting right with me.

” People are crying and mourning, but you’re here happy and dancing. Better thank God”

That’s quite presumptuous to think that we all have it together at home.

” People lost properties and jobs, but…”

She goes on and on. At this point I was lost. Are we here to compare and contrast? Why must thanksgiving always be comparative? We are a relatively large assembly and such prayers in my opinion are said best in close gatherings.

I take a sit and bow my head as the prayers continue. Zoning out completely and reflecting on the past year. Yes, I lost dear people, I lost money, I struggled with my sanity but He kept me going. That was enough reason.

“Now, let’s pray for our enemies. Let’s pray brethren that God should put an end to them before this year runs out except they repent”, the minister said almost with a shout.

Like a wave of strength washed through the church, people started praying. It felt like I was witnessing the modern day of pentecostal. Shouting, wailings, tongues of all sorts, all praying for the demise of their enemies and honestly I found this really entertaining.

So the love of Christ in us doesn’t extend to our enemies? The part where Jesus prayed for his enemies on the cross is alien to us? What then is the difference? We are also blood thirsty but it’s okay since it’s in the name of Jesus.

I sat there, totally disconnected from the prayers and my mind wandering. As nice as I am, there is a good chance that someone considers me to be an enemy. Is this how the person is praying for me?

The particular fellow besides me, brought out oil and handkerchief, chanting “die, in Jesus name, die“.

It’s funny how frequent such prayers are made and funnier how we tag all our problems on these so called enemies. Maybe I wasn’t being sensitive, maybe I was parading with the “holier than thou” attitude.

“Brethren, let’s pray for the year 2021. Say father, 2021 is my year!!!”

Upon hearing that, I picked up my properties and left.


Seasons greetings everyone. What a year 😅. Regardless of our individual experiences, there is a reason to be grateful. The fact that we are still fighting. I picked up a little slogan once upon a time which is, we live to fight for another day.

Bearing that in mind has helped me curtail certain expectations and prevented me from several disappointments so with that said, I have no expectations for 2021 (except the witcher season 2 and season finale of money heist… They better be worth the wait😭).

Thank you all for the support. Have a good one! ❤️


I pick up a hanger from the evening wears section of my wardrobe. For ease of navigation, I have all my clothes in my wardrobe arranged accordingly. Its a pair of sweat pants and a presumably matching shirt. I was heading out for my usual evening stroll that I now embark on unaccompanied. I have mastered the route so perfectly that I can walk with my eyes closed. Literally. I grabbed my tinted glasses and my cane and head towards the door.

I opened the door and felt the cool evening breeze, how calming. Lifting up my head, I saw the sky, pretty hues of orange, blue and pink. God’s subtle reminder that even the best of us can’t compare. A nice sight for sore eyes.
About 35 steps from my porch, I’m in front of Mr. Badmus’s home. The time is about 5:35pm so he should be watering the flowers in his late wife’s garden. I hear the sounds of water and as if to announce his presence, he calls out my name, “Barisi my dear, how are you doing?”
“Uncle, I am doing so very well. In fact, I had a nice day at work. So, I’m just taking my normal evening stroll especially with this perfect weather” I reply, going on to tell him about my day at work. I teach art history in the community college and I was just promoted to assistant head of my department.

“The sky feels like its not just plain blue and white today Uncle. I can see the subtle shades of orange, pink and violet. Can you see it too?”
He hesitates before he gives me a shallow yes in response. I felt the change in the atmosphere, that brooding sadness.

“How do you keep doing it Barisi?”
“Doing what Uncle?”
“I mean, you’re still happy, you still love God. How do you still love God after everything?”

After a brief pause, he continues rambling, “See everything that this God made you pass through. I have watched you grow up, I was there through it all, I saw everything. You lost more than just your sight Barisi, you lost people, time, money,opportunities. How can a God that love you let this happen? Once God let my dear Maria die, I stopped believing in His so called mighty power to save. He didn’t save her neither did he save your sight. So why?”

His words struck me because not so long ago, I used to ask those questions. I lost my sight a couple of years ago in an accident where I suffered massive head trauma that permanently damaged my optic nerve. It felt like hell for me.
So, as I stood there with Uncle in a very loud silence, memories of the accident and its aftermath rushing through my mind, a tear slipped down my cheek. When I lost my sight, a major part of my life went missing. I lost my identity as a person and as an artist. Who is an artist without vision?

I had friends that left saying that my condition was too much for them. The worst part was for me becoming very dependent on people that stuck around. Months of depression, self loathing and hating God, the self-proclaimed Almighty made life a tad more reasonable.
Support groups, therapy and all sorts didn’t help. Darkness was all I saw, darkness I became.

Then, my mom finally convinced me to join the support group in our local church. Most of the rest had all body parts functional so hearing their stories angered me. At least, you know what your problem looks like.

As the session went on, a man named Charles started to share his story. One word to describe him, happy or perhaps satisfied. How can a fellow blind person sound happier than the guy who broke up with a girl he had been dating for only two weeks? I was genuinely intrigued so, after the grace, I requested to talk to him.

We talk like old friends, he told me about his blind date who ended up being his wife. The jokes made me at ease.
“How are you still happy after everything Charles? How can you still love God after everything?”
He chuckled for a bit, “He has given me more than I lost Barisi. In Him I received my sight. Think about it Barisi, I’ll see you later” With that, he is escorted away by a woman I assume is his wife by the manner of their felicitations, I also didn’t fail to catch the irony in his last statement. I am left with more questions.

I couldn’t sleep that night because I was still pondering on my conversation with Charles. He had the picture perfect life, wife and 3 kids, nice job and house, great social life and happiness. I wanted that too but… But what Barisi?
It had seemed to be reasonable to pin everything on God, after all, He is the Almighty creator, surely giving me a new pair of eyes would do Him no harm. But Charles isn’t blaming God and he sems happy. Let it go my child.
I can’t forgive God for this. Take my burden, its lighter.
He left me blind and alone. I will never leave you.
I’ve been imprisoned in this darkness, now it is all I know. Who the Son sets free, is free.
I am tired of this burden, this burning hatred, the anger, the isolation but I’m scared. God has failed me before… I never fail.
My life is over now and all plans gone with the wind… Your ways aren’t my ways, neither our thoughts similar. I have plans for you, trust me.
Jesus, take the wheel.

“Barisi, oh I am so insensitive. Please forgive me. What sot of questions was I pandering you with? Please come in for a drink.” Uncle Badmus ushers me into his home. I imagined the walls yellow or peach,to complement the personality of dear aunty Maria.
I gulp down the orange juice and I smiled, turning my head to his direction.
“I was not sad uncle. You just reminded me of me. I spent a healthy part of my life blaming God for my loss. But once I received him, He brought in so much light and color, restoring my sight of the things that matter and giving me a sense of satisfaction. That is why, think about that.”


Isaiah 55 verses 8-9.

Thanks for reading ❤️&💡

Father catch me lest I fall II

” Getting lost in my imaginations is my favourite activity.”


Diverting my gaze away from him, I try to focus my attention on something else. That offering basket looks interesting, maybe?
I can’t focus on the sermon anymore and I’m definitely sure that I don’t want to engage in a staring competition. So, I do what I like to do best when I need to pass time. I let my mind wander, over and beyond.

So, it is after service and I pack up my things and change into my flip flops. Pastor has no meeting with us today so after the normal end of service pleasantries exchange with some familiar faces, I head to my car.

He is there, tall, lean and handsome, a pair of dark shades obscuring his eyes, brazen skin that looks shiny and not burnt under the hot Lagos sun. He is posed like he is on the cover of forbes magazine, legs crossed as he leans slightly against a black car that I figured would fit his taste. He spots me and starts walking towards me.

Target locked and loaded, ready to fire.

I’ll pretend to be oblivious of his presence but of course, that’s not going to stop the conversation.

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t expecting a conversation”. His voice, I imagined to be have a baritone edge to it, laced with a bit of an accent. British or australian, I’m quite unsure.
Taking a sharp turn to look at the mister. I’m surprised to be greeted with a warm smile which calms me down a bit. The fiery woman in me was guilded up to take on the not so uncommon cockiness I’ve had to deal with before in times past.

We fall into an easy conversation as we grab some snacks from the tuckshop in the church premises. I imagine that we spoke for hours and ended up trading phone numbers. Late night texts and conversations would eventually become the highlight of my day and the return of the butterfly effects that have become very absent in my life. Surely, that feels good.

One random weekday, he stops by my office and we go grab lunch from my favourite restaurant. I introduce him to my favourite meal and watch him gobble it all down. I buy him more of it just to spoil him a little.

We spend a Saturday at the cinemas, watching the highest rated movies that just dropped. For that day, I decide that my pretty sunflower playsuit is ideal. The way the bright yellow contrasts with my dark ebony skin is surely a treat for the eyes. We watch movies till our eyes get sore and grab a meal, lie on the hood of his car, under the pretty twinkling stars.

Ah! Young love. Such a fortuitous affair that bears multifarious expressions. Like a dream, I’m getting everything I wanted.

We even attend services together and it seems like the whole church might be rooting for a marriage. I’d never oppose that.
During one weekend, his company organises a dinner and I’m his date, obviously. That black dress that I got on sale last year would finally be put to use. Adorned in a dapper navy blue suit, my favourite colour, he comes to pick me up and drives us to the venue. He introduces me to his bosses and colleagues and I have never felt happier. He looks so good in my eyes that I deem it rather impossible to keep my hands/eyes off him and I think that feeling is definitely mutual.
Exiting the party rather early, we set off to my apartment. All the way, loosing myself and my religion.


Oyinye! Oyinye!”I hear a fairly distant voice calling my name.
“Where is your mind Oyinye? It is time for offering and you’re up”.

It is Brother Kamsi. I detect the slight tone of annoyance in his voice.
It takes me a minute to regain consciousness of where I was.

Oh! Service is still on.

Shaken back to reality, I walk to the pulpit and with a rather hoarse voice, I lead the praises. I take one final look through the congregation, hoping to spot his face but, I don’t. A part of me felt disappointed, a little part felt sad. All the same, I sang.
“Thank you Jesus, for all your wonderful works.”

Lord, catch me.


Hope I gave you a bit of satisfaction with the ending. Make sure to stay tuned, feel free to leave a comment and support with a like. ❤️ & 💡

World Suicide Prevention Day

“We live to fight for another day”

Recommended song; Listen Before I Go by Billie Eilish.


I thought it was nothing when it started.
Subtle mood swings that imperceptibly morphed into long melancholic dispositions.
They were just songs for the cloudy days until the lyrics became a mirror image of my thoughts.
Its was just a plot for my next big story until I became the character of my imagination, the center piece of my sad creation.
Its real and it’s painful especially because you are already neck deep into the dark dreary abyss of desolation and getting out of here is a mission so impossible, Tom Cruise can’t handle it and the only way out is south.

Saturday evening around 5 o’clock, I took a walk to visit my family. I bought 3 bouquets of flowers; white lillies, pink cherry blossoms and purple lilacs. Husband, daughter, son.
Standing above them, looking at their names engraved into the tombstones, I started to feel jealous. The accident that took them away 730 days ago left me behind and alone. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to be happy and it felt like a memory of another person.
I took a stroll around the cemetery to see the dates of the others that laid there and to check out the latest additions. Truth be told, the feeling of jealousy grew stronger. It was a cold beautiful and quiet place and deep within me I felt that this was what I needed. A perfect self isolated chamber, sealed into oblivion.

As I got home that night, the thoughts, pain and tears returned. Prior to that day, I have never hurt myself.
And then, for the first time I was holding a blade, the same knife I used to chop onions for breakfast became my key to happiness. The voices in my head raging with joy as my broken self saw her liberation like that bright light at the end of the dark tunnel. Amidst the turmoil, I felt that nagging persona still trying to warn me of the torments of hell. The internal struggle began, conversations with myself.

Mind and body detached from each other. My fingers were working with a mind of their own as they began to place pressure on the cold sharp blade that was against my pulsating vessel but my mind still contemplating.

Then, I heard footsteps that broke me out of what seemed to be a trance.
I wiped my tears and put on the brightest smile my broken self could muster at that point in time. It was my mom. She always promised me that I’d be alright and yeah,for a while I thought so too until I started slipping.As I looked at her in that moment I imagined how she would have felt if I had set myself free. Her darling daughter, bleeding out her life.

I had never been so dissapointed in myself. I needed help, who would care?
I tried to speak up, I prayed, I screamed, I cried, I really believed tried. It only got worse. Dealing daily with my soul banging and pleading to be free. Echoes of my mind.

In a world filled with individuals dealing with their personal problems, you have to seek your solutions alone sometimes and, it doesn’t always make sense.
So yeah, I did it again. No blades this time though, I didn’t want to cause my mom extra pain by making her mop my blood. So I settled for something a little neater.
I locked the door, and I brought out the bottle of oxycodone. 5?, 10? everything?
I swallowed the pills, layed down after.I felt the rush, I felt the high.
I felt the calm as my heart slowed down.
I embraced the pain, I knew there was something I had to gain.
I saw the light, I embraced the peace.

PS; Dear mum, I really needed this, I’m sorry I hurt you.
Xoxo. Salome.


Let’s help each other stay sane and alive.

For those 0f us struggling, let’s turn those lonely hours to moments of fellowship with Love Himself and watch how those vile feelings wash away. He hears, He cares, He loves.


Father, Catch me lest I fall

Maybe the fall of man was a test of repentance“.

Ebube dike, daalu…” I sang with all my energy as I led the congregation in praise.

It is the first thanksgiving Sunday since the lock down and words couldn’t describe how psyched I was. The energy in the atmosphere was electrifying and our Pastor dedicated this particular one hour service to high praise and solemn worship. The previous day, during the choir practice, we compiled a list of songs that would resonate our gratitude to God in our various dialects. Our instrumentalists perfected their transition from one key to another. By the end of our practice, we all had good vibes for the service.

The thanksgiving service was situated outdoors in compliaince with the pandemic guidelines as we were expecting a fairly larger number of people and due to that, the service time was set for the latter morning hours which gave me sufficient time to clean up nice for the occasion.
I put on my newly sowed iro and buba, after my roommate, Danielle, helped with my make up. Just like cherry on the cake, I wore my brightly coloured coral beads and anklets. I took a look at myself in the mirror and I could imagine God saying from heaven, “This is my beloved daughter, in whom I am well pleased with.”

We were just five minutes into the 30 minutes praise session and yet, everyone in the room was hyped and pumped. From the regular dancers to the shy ones, old and young. It was indeed a time to be grateful for everything that God has done for us as a church. Besides, we all missed the fellowship.
The instrumentalists really did not dissapoint as they poured in all their energy; variety of drums, gongs, local flutes, shekere and tambourines . With the permission of the pastorate, we were finally able to incorporate local instruments into the choir so, most of the songs during the praise session were taken in the people’s local dialect; igbo, hausa, yoruba, ogoni, ibibio, efik and so on.

As I switched to yoruba praises, the many handsome men guilded up in agbadas stepped up to help sweep the floor along with some ladies and for some minutes, the talking drum tools it’s mandatory lead.
As the drummer worked his drum, I let my eyes wander a bit across the room, to appreciate the cultural variety represented by each member of the congregation. Our pastor encouraged us to discard of our suits and gowns and represent our culture. Absorbing the joy in the atmosphere, I danced with slow rhythmic movements while scanning the area, looking for what was not lost.
Then my eyes met his, the weakness in my knees. Typical cliché. Dark brown eyes that seem to freeze time. How could I ever forget that? He was just another face in the crowd.

Or maybe not.

From my sitting position on the choir stand, I could get an almost direct view of him without needing to turn my head. I took my time to study his face; dark, long, a prominent jaw line, fairly visible tribal marks, beardless, thick eyebrowed, slim nose with narrow nostrils (unlike mine that can literally take your breath away), full black lips and everything nice.

I like it.

Remembering that I was in church, I tried to remove my gaze from his face. If you have ever scrapped gum from under tables, you’d understand how hard it was for me to redirect my eyes and attention to the minister.

Two, three or maybe four minutes of paying attention to the minister, my eyes pleading with my brain for some eye candy. Diverting my attention to him, I stared shamelessly for a while until he lifted up his gaze to meet mine, locked and loaded.
And like a lion that has spotted his next meal, he gave an endearing smile.

Father, catch me lest I fall.


What makes you slip might not be a person, it might be a thing.

Thanks for reading ❤️.


Silent Minds

Silllentt nightt, Hoolyy night

All is callmmmmm….

I cringed as i felt the pain at the right side of my head, i felt it coming, i had been noticing the signs for a while, it was a new thing. I felt i was okay, but had piled up hidden problems. I knew i needed help, but i didn’t want it now, at least i enjoyed my own solace.

Alone in my room cuddling with my duvet with the Christmas spirit in the air. My last tear drop fell as I drifted into the world of the unknown.

It was a silent night indeed!!!

A lot of people are going through mental health issues ( many don’t classify it as this, because they do not think its a big deal or an issue). Psychologist treat these issues by assessing, observing and treating these issues. The question now is, what if i…

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Who Am I?

I find it quite difficult to answer when asked to describe myself. Now, don’t think that I am some sort of enigma with a kaleidoscopic personality. I’m actually really plain. I often describe myself to be bland like peanut butter (quick question; why should someone like peanut butter when Nutella exists?).

So, today, I would be introducing myself to my inexistent fans and readers. (God help me if I get up to 30 views and likes but that won’t deter me regardless.)

Last night, I spent some hours thinking, What makes me, me? What are the building blocks of my personality? What makes me who I am?

Is it the things I do?

The things I believe in?

And I figured that your persona is structured based on so many factors. You are what you do, you are what you believe in, you are what you look like, you are what you say, you are what you are. It’s simple and at the same time very complex and confusing.

Or the way I look?

I don’t know much about myself. I tend to confuse myself more and more and that is one characteristic trait of a personality, it is dynamic. Your personality is influenced by lots of things; family background, school, friends, social media and your social circles, yada yada yada.

So, I’ll be introducing myself based on 3 paradigms. Get your mental canvases and paint brushes ready people,lets paint a picture shall we;

1.) What I look like?

I am a Nigerian, from Rivers state so that should give you the hint that I’m dark skinned in complexion. I’m a plus size girl, around size 12-14. I’m tall (about 5’10). I have really pretty eyes, unfortunately my eyes and Ian Sommerhandler’s eyes are not the same colour but I’ve been told that I’ve got enchanted eyes 😂😏. I have pretty nice lips too, and I have long thick legs that could be turned into a weapon when the need arises. I don’t have a flat tummy so, let your mental image of me be accurate. I don’t look like the dark curvy and exotic Instagram models but please, I look better than many others and I derive consolation in that.

I hope that you have a relatively accurate picture of my physical appearance.

2.) what I believe in?

I want y’all to understand that I believe in a lot of things and most of my beliefs are influenced by the Bible.

So first of all, I believe in God, Jesus and the Holy spirit. Ding ding ding!!!! I am a born again Christian. So my dear people, expect a lot of spiritual talks here.

I believe in love. The mere fact that I believe in God, who is love, makes me know that there is love. I believe that everyone regardless of their past is capable of love and can be loved.

I believe we are all created for a purpose. Each human being is important. You are important, believe it or not. But as much as I believe that we all have purpose, I also believe we can also devalue ourselves.

I believe that the world works in dualism. Man and woman, good and bad, heaven and hell, wealth and poverty, sickness and health…. So,yeah, I think you get the picture.

I believe that human beings are not permanent fixtures. Asides from the fact that people die, relationships die too. I mean one day we are our favourite people and the next I don’t even have your number anymore. People grow apart, we find different interests, we make more friends, we grow into different parts and yes, people change. Another proof that personality is dynamic. I know all of us here don’t even talk to our so called BFF’s from secondary school or the guy/girl we started talking to last week is now the only reason why you bother checking your WhatsApp messages.

I believe in feminism. I believe it is something everyone should support. It is a cause that fights for equality and not chauvinism.

I believe misandry and misogyny are two very dumb concepts.

I believe that your past is not a defining factor of your persona. It’s a tricky subject for me actually because when you see someone and how they behave then you hear their history you’d be like ohhh, no wonder. But then, someone with a similar background but is very much different now and you’d be like wowww. My point exactly is that, however I respond to things that happen to me is totally my call.

And very importantly, I believe that someway somehow, I might be related to the royal family (the ones that reside in Buckingham Palace and not your father’s village in Ijebu.)There is probably no proof but I feel the royalty flowing in my blood and seriously, that should count as something 😭😭😭.

But do you know what I don’t believe; I don’t believe you’re still here reading my stupid blabbing 😂😀. Regardless, we move.

3.) What do I do?

I am a 2nd year medical student in Nigeria’s Premier private University, IUO. I’m sure when y’all picture medical students, you’d probably imagine a young Derek shepherd or a Callie Torez 🤡. Let’s be guided please.

I am an average singer, a below average writer, a deep thinker ( or so I deceive myself). I cook a lot.

If one could make money from sleeping, I’d be a billionaire. Four months under lock down and what can I boast that I achieved? Sleep, sleep and more sleep.

I am a chronic procrastinator. I’ve been meaning to start this blog since last year but guess what, this is my premier post.

I am a day dreamer. If I share with you my dreams, you’d probably laugh so I’d just keep my mouth shut.

I read novels and I love movies so, you should probably paint me to be a couch potato ( I hope your paintbrush is still in your hand).

These are a few things I really know about myself. One great thing I want you to know about writing and expressionism in general is that it helps you discover yourself a little more. So dear reader(s), try and use these 3 paradigms to define yourself today.

I haven’t done a lot of things youths my age have done. But that doesn’t make me feel so bad, it just gives me more things to look forward to and it drives me to keep pushing and keep ticking things off my to do list.

So hi, nice to meet you, my name is Glory, the future wife of Keith Powers. I’m excited to start this journey and I’m glad to be sharing my first steps with you. I hope one day this becomes something bigger than I imagined but if it doesn’t, who cares right?

Thank you for reading up to this extent, I promise shorter pieces next time. Stay safe and for your own safety, keep your hands to yourself ♥️.

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