Prov 3 5

On Loving Spoilers

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding” – Proverbs 3: 5

Between office work and trying to live my “why”, I always find time to watch series. This was always my entire weekend, being a hermit until lately. I did some calculations – If one episode is 56 minutes and I watch 5 episodes, I would have been staring at my screen for about 5 hours. In my defense, I have perfect eyes, but it’s the thought that when I was done watched 5 hours of TV I would have wasted 5 hours of my life watching something that wasn’t entirely helpful to me. So I learned to limit it to just a handful (except based on recommendation) – Game of Thrones, Person of Interest, Narcos and occasionally Scandal.


Now here’s the thing with Game of Thrones: It’s only ten episodes per season, and it’s only one season a year. In April. And it’s only 10 episodes every year. Obviously I don’t have HBO so I have to wait to download from the Internet. Sometimes, with my work load and other commitments, including sleep, I have to wait for a few weeks so I can watch in “omnibus” mode.


But the wait.

I hate not being in the know, so unlike the other humans who threaten to shoot another person for sharing spoilers online, I intentionally go hunting for spoilers. I like to know who dies next, and  what happens in King’s Landing and pretty much everything, before I watch. No surprises. Can’t blame a girl. There’s too much blood and gore, as if real life wasn’t hard enough.


And it’s the same thing with real life for me. I like to have all the answers. I like to know the end from the beginning. What will happen 3 years from now if I make this decision? Are the statistics in my favour? Will this be a smart move a few years from now? If it doesn’t seem like I’ll get what I want, I don’t attempt. I don’t touch what I can’t grab. I don’t take unnecessary risks. I’m heavily guarded and I like to stay that way.


Thing is, with life, you can’t know it all. I always wish I could google projections or maybe just straight up ask God to tell me what He knows. But I think that’s where faith comes in. It’s in blindly trusting and following God, knowing that His plans are always good. So I don’t know who I will marry, or how many kids I’ll have and all the other details. But I think that knowing God is enough is all I ever need to know.

Just enough light for the step I’m on.


“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.”


The Body Issue: The Case for Sexy

I say if I’m beautiful. I say if I’m strong. You will not determine my story — I will. I will speak and share and love and I will never apologize to the frightened millions who resent that they never had it in them to do it. I stand here and I am amazing, for you. Not because of you. I am not my weight. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I am all of you, and I thank you. – Amy Schumer

I like to think that my body is stuck in the year I turned 23, save for a little weight loss. I’m a 5ft 4 pear shaped woman woman who has a 27 inch waist and 42 inch hips. That ratio is curvy by any standard, and is particularly seen as desirable and sexy in these parts. But yeah, i think I’d be considered sexy.


Sexy. That word is hella confusing. Lately I’ve read articles where men (Reno Omokri I’m talking to you) claim that it is better to be beautiful than sexy. Problem is the word “sexy” is in itself subjective. Sexy may be interpreted as meaning sexually attractive, and we all know that what one person finds sexually attractive may be repulsive to another person. So while one person is drooling, another person is going “eww”. For instance, some men say they are “Ass men” while others say they are “Boobs Men”. And that’s fine. So for starters the notion of telling women to intentionally not be sexy is ridiculous, seeing as we don’t necessarily set these standards.

Before I became curvy, I was straight, like the letter “I” and I still got cat called and propositioned. (To put things in perspective, I weighed 45kg till I was 22). I remember the Non-Academic staff who worked in a Exams and Records and all but threatened me because I’d need him since I was in my final year. And then the senior citizen at NYSC who was to help with my redeployment to Lagos but chose instead to invite me to come and rendezvous with him at Rita Lori Hotel. Then there was the man who gave me a lift once on my way to my grandma’s house and managed to tell me during the short drive that he wanted to “lick me like a tom-tom”. At this time I was about 40kg and struggling to fill up UK 8 pants. That was before all the curves.

Now post curves: I understand that I can wear the exact same dress as my slimmer friends and look like I’m tricking, so I’m a little careful with my style. Clothes will naturally cling and then my skirt will probably ride up my hips. However, your perception is entirely yours. I remember once I wanted to buy a pair of jeans with a back zipper and my then boyfriend told me that that was why I always got harassed. It didn’t make a lot of sense at the time but I didn’t argue. In the last few years, my personality has also grown a lot. I grew from loving my body to trying to hide it under long shirts and tunics to realizing that I am a goddess, and then trying to be modest again for these earthlings. Right now, I’m in the “whatever” phase.

I realize that I’m not responsible for your morality, I’m only responsible for mine. I dress as decently as a modern Christian close to 30 year-old woman should. I have a mind of my own, and such a strong sense of self, and I just let my personality shine through. When I feel the need to show a little décolleté I do. When I think I should show my legs, I do. When I want to wear fitted clothes, I do. Somedays I wake up and decide that I want to dress sexy, and I do. Somedays I want to look like a bum, I can pull that off too. Somedays, I want to be a tom-boy, and on other days I want to look like I stepped right out of Aso-Ebi Bella Instagram feed into real life. I can do all of that if I want too. I dress up for myself, so it’s never about who sees me or who doesn’t. If you decide to ogle, that’s on you. If you want to catcall, please go on. If you find me sexy or your husband or boyfriend or brother, that’s on you or them. I will wear whatever I want to wear as much as my religious views permit, but I will not be held responsible for your lack of self control.

And sorry I’m not sorry about not fitting in the little box you made for me. I am beautiful, undoubtedly. If you find me “sexy”, let’s talk about what was going on in your head when you were looking at me. If my body makes you uncomfortable, either as a man or as a woman on behalf of her man, my bad. You should look away.


Free falling

Free Falling

Never been one to not try to be in control of my own life, or emotions or anything even.

But if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that Love is Trust. Everything I held on to this year has been questioned. And God has replaced all my dreams with new ones and shown me what it means to trust Him.

Free falling is reckless trust, trusting Him enough to say no matter what “Only Your will Lord”. Because sometimes Your will takes us through thorns and thickets, and our feet bleed. It’s the tests and trials that stretch us. But we get home.

Free falling ends this endless striving, because everything outside Him is really just striving. Striving is like trying to lug a million shopping bags on your own and not letting anyone help you. You’re hunched over everything that’s trying to break you apart but you’re still holding dear, because it is your own personal sorrow, to which you feel entitled. And then He cups your face and wipes your tears and says “Darling, let Me help you with this too”.

Free falling is being His ride or die, because there’s really no life outside Him. Like Enitan Bereola says, God is driving, I’m riding shotgun. And it’s an endless road trip, bumpy even, but there’s so much to see along the way.

No parachutes. Free falling is just leaving the brakes, because He got this. Or maybe it’s knowing that even if I needed the brakes and they didn’t work, He’d break my fall. Or my crash.

Like He did that Sunday.

You should try it too.


On Letting Go

“It is beautiful beneath the sea, but if you stay too long you’ll drown” – The Three-Eyed Raven, Game of Thrones

So if you’re like me and your pretend face is really good, and your fall-back game is strong, you can move on in the blink of an eye. But the problem is a lot of times I can move on without letting go. I only just learned that moving on and letting go are two entirely different experiences. (Of course every event or experience is a memory from which you can draw wisdom from in the future, this doesn’t mean that you didn’t let go of the experience/ event). So what I’d typically do when a phase of my life was over was either cry my eyes out, worry myself to death trying to figure out the whys and why nots or just get resentful of everyone/everything. Then one day I’d decide that life had to continue so I’d wake up and snap out of it and convince myself that I had moved on, without really letting go. Sometimes it would be a person or friendship, or a lost opportunity.

What this meant was/is that I could move on from a million things but still be entangled in the same old web. I’d move on but have paraphernalia of the past (everyone who knows me knows I’m a hoarder of sorts) carefully arranged in advance in the future. And instead of just learning from the past and moving on, I’d feel a certain obligation and always run back because I couldn’t stop longing.

What I’ve learned over the past few days/weeks is that looking back endlessly has the tendency to make you stagnant. And let’s not forget that when you look back for too long, you miss out on the present and so many “what could be’s”. Let the past be past, with all its longings and hurt and resentment, there’s so much more to see.

Love and Light.


On Staying Right in the Middle

There’s a middle, and anyone who has been severely depressed and has had to take mood stabilizers would know this. Because you’re trying not to feel the valley lows, you become a bit numb to the really highs. So you’re right in the middle. Survival Mode.


It’s the same way if you’re economical with your emotions. You don’t let yourself hope too much, since they say “He that is down needs fear no fall”. So you don’t open up, and don’t let yourself feel vulnerable. It’s a bit like the scales on fish, maybe just harder to take off. But you’re never going to be able to feel all of the good stuff, if you do not even permit yourself to feel. Don’t be so stuck with the familiar, even that is changing and leaving you behind.

Step outside ’cause summertime’s in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace, take that look from off your face
‘Cause you ain’t ever gonna burn my heart out – Oasis, Don’t Look Back in Anger

Banksy Band Aid Heart

Stay Here With Me

When rejection makes you do a double take on your self-esteem, remember the gifts that you have to offer the world
– Gbemisola Ero-Phillips


My darling, you’ve been looking back way too long. Do you not see how looking back hurts our pace? Our rhythm? It slows us down. Do not relive all the pain, let me take it off you. I have relieved you of all your burdens. Do not try to help me. I do not need your help with that. All I ask is that you hand them to me. Wholly. Withholding nothing . Only then will you be free to see me as I truly am, without the blurring that pain can cause. You do not need closure. You cannot know it all. And if you knew the truth, you couldn’t bear it all. What you need is healing, and there is plenty of that with Me.


I love you, and I could never unlove you. Do not ever forget this. If you walk hand in hand with me, you will see how my heart melts for you. How I value you and how I’m especially fond of you. I know that you get weary from worry about what the future holds, but trust me to give you just enough light for the step you’re on, and then the next. I don’t want you to run off on your own.


You think that I don’t understand what it feels like to be rejected. You forget that I was rejected too, spurned by my own people because of my social status. I got whipped and spit on and mocked by the very ones I came to save. But I did not take it to heart, and you shouldn’t either. When the world shuts the door in your face, remember to turn around into My waiting embrace. The plan was, and still is bigger than a few wrong turns. My arms are always open. And when the world makes you doubt who you are, do not ever forget that I made you perfect.


“You’re altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you ” (Songs of Solomon 4:7)


Love in the Time of Internet

I wanted to title this “The commodification of love” but I don’t know if that quite captures it. So I played with Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera.

Sometimes it does feel like love has been commodified though. Every once in a while I meet (or hear about) some guy trying to “sell” himself as husband material, but a story for another post.

I’ve lived alone for 4 years now and mostly had only my phone and TV for company for half the time so if anyone would eventually try to shoot her shot on the Internet, it should be me. Before #ShootYourShot though, I had met quite a few people on the great Internet, both male and female, and I’m now best friends with some of them. So I think it’s safe to say that I have a fair understanding of these streets.

Anyways, since the plan this year has been to leave my comfort zone (which can be interpreted literally to mean my bed or couch), I signed up for Tinder (Drum Roll). Before Tinder though, DMs were still lit, occasionally (I kid, once in a blue moon). Anyway, Tinder was/is a whole new experience for me because it felt like I had to consciously choose who to like. The experience of swiping made me feel like I was looking for a dress to buy on a rack with way too many clothes. And what if I like the dress but it doesn’t fit (translate to what if I “like” his profile but he doesn’t like me back so we can’t match). Besides trying to physically duck when I see someone I know in real life, I think I’m having a good time, except the one time one guy’s first question was “U short yh?”. I unmatched in 0.5 seconds 🙂  I still think Tinder is the best thing in a while.


I’ve matched with a few good men and unmatched some. And I’ve probably only liked one person who didn’t like me back (pats self on the back). Safe to say I think 1 or more persons will make it out of Tinder. Tinder is really like when someone introduces you to another person and they text you on Whatsapp or BBM before you ever speak. Only difference here it is just as much your call to make as it is your virtual friend’s. Expect the same mix – the good, the bad, the obnoxious, since all you have is a profile picture to decide.

Major Key Alert: It is so important to never get to the point where all your validation comes from how many matches you have.


Got to go, phone’s buzzing 🙂

My "bad person" face.

Why am I still single?

 Short Answer: I’m a bad person.

Long Answer: I’m a really really bad person.

I’ve come a long way from thinking I’m a really nice person and people should look inwards to my beautiful soul to understanding and knowing and accepting myself that I’m a bad, petty person. And I actually like myself as a bad person.
Only bad single women nearing 30 get offended when someone who they’ve just met decides that 10:50pm is the best time to call. Shouldn’t you be at least grateful that someone is asking for your number and trying to get to know you? And speaking of calling, only bad women get angry when men demote themselves from people who can call to people who only whatsapp. Did we meet online? Who sent you to whatsapp? Do we know each other that much?


Only bad single women get angry when someone they’re texting with types in “retardese”. Because I don’t know what “xup wif u” means. And I don’t like that sometimes I can’t tell if you mean “been” or “being”, or “am” and “I’m”. And I want my man to PUNCTUATE, even if we’re texting. And DO NOT “K” ME. Go and K your sister and your exes. And do not tell me “Happy Buffday”. As my friend says, it’s not the act itself, but what it represents. Only bad single women don’t like men who can’t speak well. Only bad single women want man with clean, cut nails, or with an amazing sense of humor, or men who can just relate. Only bad women find it absurd that a man introduces himself with his professional title, “my name is Engineer Bla Bla” or “Barrister…”.

Only a bad woman has opinions. Opinions are for men, and feminists, who are also really bad single women. Good women accept that the man makes the sole decision on love, so it’s usually enough if the guy likes them and looks acceptable. And only a bad woman thinks that it’s okay to be choosy about who you want to annoy you for the rest of your life.

So yeah, I’m a bad woman. And I’m single because of all these petty things.