I want to love the people I love, and I want to grow old loving them. Yet, here I am, exploring my friendships as a travel between time, past and present; those who were, those who are, and hopefully, those who will be.
That Sunday afternoon, frozen in my mind- a small moment in history that cemented the idea of human relationships to be a real and complex thing
Now, let's say you are living happily with your stoic resolve to never complain, but one day, in the never-ceases-to-be-surprising mysteries of life, this your colleague breaks through your wall of silence and seeks your opinion on her perceived talents.
43 minutes! That's almost a full episode of Game of Thrones. Enough time to give yourself a pedicure, make jollof rice, iron your clothes for the week. 43 minutes! Why will someone even want that?
Love in my idealist perception is too much of a cementing, solidifying process to enter into simply on a whim, on the impulse of something as flimsy as emotions.
In the spirit of love and sharing and everything good, Chef Emeka, in conjunction with Thomas and Ray Whiskey Bar, is set to make...
You start be saying that you agree, that marriage can be overrated, that not every filtered picture depicts the perfect happiness many people like to portray. You also tell him, that humans can make a successful enterprise of life without the encumbrance of marriage. It is fine, and it is free, to be quite happily unmarried.
There I was, rallying my thoughts for the most appropriate response to an act that hurt me, nursing the grief, but only long enough to avenge it, to make some visible mark on the violator with my own words, something to show that I did not just take it, that it was not okay that she did what she did, that I would have the final say because silence was surrendering myself to a death of abuse.
Am I saying hide the truth? No. But truth can be communicated without becoming a theme song, without filtering into every conversation, forced and unwanted.
2015 was Seize the Bae… 2016 was Commit or Commot… And now we’re at 2017… Marry Me or Die.
I read of Deborah sitting in the office of a prophet and judge, read about Jesus and see how he was so unabashedly anti women-shaming and pro-humanity. Thus I know that the problem is not with faith, but with people who manipulate tools for their personal prejudice.
Over time, the question “what do you think about sex toys?” has been posed to various people, male and female and I’ll just let you read some of my favourite responses.
I’m used to this narrative swung in the opposite direction, where women tirelessly insert themselves into awkward contests to win back a man’s love. So shamelessly I will admit that there was a soft gloat in my heart as I watched these two men so out of character, removed from their social composure, and degenerated into the dirt of combat, all because they discovered that each of them had been played for a side beau.
What I'm trying to say is that the New Year will probably not be different from the last one, and this is why. You and I are still very possibly the same, with our human capacity for foolishness and error.
Having someone constantly poke holes at your vulnerabilities almost seems like a benign price to pay for the laughter they bring you, except that what you have isn’t even real.
Some women thoroughly enjoy having their man quake and tremble before them, even though they mostly perform that function on their knees. Still, others think it truly reduces a woman's worth.
First let me say that the journey to all that I learned this year really began with rediscovering the magic of small things, and how, through the major storms and disappointments of life, smallness always comes through. You know, little things we (especially me) have taken for granted. Like conversation with a friend over the Atlantic, the sheer possibility of it, the fact that one can be so far yet so near, so readily accessible.
You have always known how to swallow your words. Your thoughts learned how to ram violently against the walls of your mouth, seeking escape and sometimes they do, they escape. But your truth somehow becomes your fault, something you need to apologise for, a conversation you should not have had, something you should not have said, a favour you dared not refuse. You keep falling for the blackmails until you crash, a bruised soul and a body tattooed with wounds. Yet, you do not know how to say goodbye, how to escape a falling building.
One date. That is what you tell yourself; one simple date to see where things lead. You wrap yourself in the brilliance of this decision as you dash out in the morning, ready to make things happen. The only problem is that you are not quite savvy with the rudiments of a first date...