Friday, December 2, 2011

Future Plans


            I have made up my mind. The next boy I go out with must be my husband (note the switching of should or would to must). Blame the intense levels my heart can reach when it develops sentiments for a man. I am only over my first love because I got the closure. My ex is a different story. Being a cocky fuck and still present at the university I go to has made things worse. I find it easier to forget people things or memories when they are not in sight and in the past, memorable (cc cuba, mitko) or not (bwari etc). this boy, is not going anywhere. To make things worse, he is a cocky fuck. But that is not why I am writing this. Honestly I have lost the zeal in writing about boys when they are not even worth it.
That is the reason why I am writing this: the zeal. I do not understand why I would invest my feelings (for me to use a business term like invest in my blog… is a big deal) yes as I was saying. I cannot invest my feelings, months and months, my body my mind my soul and anything im working on at that particular time (academic career, project, hobby) on a boy, just to have him throw it all away by not being serious.
I have probably reached this stage of maturity, I am getting out of my teenage years after all, where I am realizing that everything matters. I want to have a relationship that will last forever. Sure I don’t believe in everlasting love that is EQUALLY MUTUAL, but if Im going to spend ten, twenty, thirty or more years with ONE person, I might as well build a decent foundation that will nourish and uphold the rest of the building. It’s not easy.
So why would I decide to date thinking ‘he could be the one.?’ Does that even make sense? That is gambling mayn! I know, I have been unfair to all those boys; truly I have lost count… but this is in my best interest. Why would I go out with you because you’re nice, have a nice smile, or cause you’re rich, intellectual, self established, religious, or simply cause you like me?
First off, you haven’t made an effort of truly being my friend, and then you just happened to ‘develop# feelings for me? I’m not twelve, this is not a judy blume book and you, as a man, happen to be an excellent liar. Secondly, you probably have a flaw that I can’t possibly live with: you’re still not over your ex, or you sit down with me and DISCUSS your ex (while you’re still trying to get me to go out with you o) or you’re still a boy with boyish and childish attitudes, or youre so into yourself you just think I’m worth being yours. No, I’m not mentioning these flaws cause of some dude, I’m mentioning them because I have a flaw too: I am impatient and the slightest thing irks me.
So I don’t have the zeal. You want me cause I’m nice, honest, reliable, pretty, intellectual and funny, go get a Television set, that’ll provide you with all the channels that can provide all those entertaining qualities. I’ve been hurt, and that may or may have not contributed to my scrutiny on all things male and relationship wise. But this is the bitter truth, I refuse to become an object of time whiling. You want me, prove to me you’re interested for good. I’m wanted by many and I cannot be bothered saying no when you damn well know the answer.
It’s final. My next boyfriend is going to be my husband.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Intro to A vindication of the rights of woman

I really look up to this woman!!

Mary Wollstonecraft

Introduction


"After considering the historic page, and viewing the living world with anxious solicitude, the most melancholy emotions of sorrowful indignation have depressed my spirits, and I have sighed when obliged to confess, that either nature has made a great difference between man and man, or that the civilization, which has hitherto taken place in the world, has been very partial. I have turned over various books written on the subject of education, and patiently observed the conduct of parents and the management of schools; but what has been the result? a profound conviction, that the neglected education of my fellow creatures is the grand source of the misery I deplore; and that women in particular, are rendered weak and wretched by a variety of concurring causes, originating from one hasty conclusion. The conduct and manners of women, in fact, evidently prove, that their minds are not in a healthy state; for, like the flowers that are planted in too rich a soil, strength and usefulness are sacrificed to beauty; and the flaunting leaves, after having pleased a fastidious eye, fade, disregarded on the stalk, long before the season when they ought to have arrived at maturity. One cause of this barren blooming I attribute to a false system of education, gathered from the books written on this subject by men, who, considering females rather as women than human creatures, have been more anxious to make them alluring mistresses than rational wives; and the understanding of the sex has been so bubbled by this specious homage, that the civilized women of the present century, with a few exceptions, are only anxious to inspire love, when they ought to cherish a nobler ambition, and by their abilities and virtues exact respect.
In a treatise, therefore, on female rights and manners, the works which have been particularly written for their improvement must not be overlooked; especially when it is asserted, in direct terms, that the minds of women are enfeebled by false refinement; that the books of instruction, written by men of genius, have had the same tendency as more frivolous productions; and that, in the true style of Mahometanism, they are only considered as females, and not as a part of the human species, when improvable reason is allowed to be the dignified distinction, which raises men above the brute creation, and puts a natural sceptre in a feeble hand.
Yet, because I am a woman, I would not lead my readers to suppose, that I mean violently to agitate the contested question respecting the equality and inferiority of the sex; but as the subject lies in my way, and I cannot pass it over without subjecting the main tendency of my reasoning to misconstruction, I shall stop a moment to deliver, in a few words, my opinion. In the government of the physical world, it is observable that the female, in general, is inferior to the male. The male pursues, the female yields--this is the law of nature; and it does not appear to be suspended or abrogated in favour of woman. This physical superiority cannot be denied--and it is a noble prerogative! But not content with this natural pre-eminence, men endeavour to sink us still lower, merely to render us alluring objects for a moment; and women, intoxicated by the adoration which men, under the influence of their senses, pay them, do not seek to obtain a durable interest in their hearts, or to become the friends of the fellow creatures who find amusement in their society.
I am aware of an obvious inference: from every quarter have I heard exclamations against masculine women; but where are they to be found? If, by this appellation, men mean to inveigh against their ardour in hunting, shooting, and gaming, I shall most cordially join in the cry; but if it be, against the imitation of manly virtues, or, more properly speaking, the attainment of those talents and virtues, the exercise of which ennobles the human character, and which raise females in the scale of animal being, when they are comprehensively termed mankind--all those who view them with a philosophical eye must, I should think, wish with me, that they may every day grow more and more masculine.
This discussion naturally divides the subject. I shall first consider women in the grand light of human creatures, who, in common with men, are placed on this earth to unfold their faculties; and afterwards I shall more particularly point out their peculiar designation.
I wish also to steer clear of an error, which many respectable writers have fallen into; for the instruction which has hitherto been addressed to women, has rather been applicable to LADIES, if the little indirect advice, that is scattered through Sandford and Merton, be excepted; but, addressing my sex in a firmer tone, I pay particular attention to those in the middle class, because they appear to be in the most natural state. Perhaps the seeds of false refinement, immorality, and vanity have ever been shed by the great. Weak, artificial beings raised above the common wants and affections of their race, in a premature unnatural manner, undermine the very foundation of virtue, and spread corruption through the whole mass of society! As a class of mankind they have the strongest claim to pity! the education of the rich tends to render them vain and helpless, and the unfolding mind is not strengthened by the practice of those duties which dignify the human character. They only live to amuse themselves, and by the same law which in nature invariably produces certain effects, they soon only afford barren amusement.
But as I purpose taking a separate view of the different ranks of society, and of the moral character of women, in each, this hint is, for the present, sufficient; and I have only alluded to the subject, because it appears to me to be the very essence of an introduction to give a cursory account of the contents of the work it introduces.
My own sex, I hope, will excuse me, if I treat them like rational creatures, instead of flattering their FASCINATING graces, and viewing them as if they were in a state of perpetual childhood, unable to stand alone. I earnestly wish to point out in what true dignity and human happiness consists--I wish to persuade women to endeavour to acquire strength, both of mind and body, and to convince them, that the soft phrases, susceptibility of heart, delicacy of sentiment, and refinement of taste, are almost synonymous with epithets of weakness, and that those beings who are only the objects of pity and that kind of love, which has been termed its sister, will soon become objects of contempt.
Dismissing then those pretty feminine phrases, which the men condescendingly use to soften our slavish dependence, and despising that weak elegancy of mind, exquisite sensibility, and sweet docility of manners, supposed to be the sexual characteristics of the weaker vessel, I wish to show that elegance is inferior to virtue, that the first object of laudable ambition is to obtain a character as a human being, regardless of the distinction of sex; and that secondary views should be brought to this simple touchstone.
This is a rough sketch of my plan; and should I express my conviction with the energetic emotions that I feel whenever I think of the subject, the dictates of experience and reflection will be felt by some of my readers. Animated by this important object, I shall disdain to cull my phrases or polish my style--I aim at being useful, and sincerity will render me unaffected; for wishing rather to persuade by the force of my arguments, than dazzle by the elegance of my language, I shall not waste my time in rounding periods, nor in fabricating the turgid bombast of artificial feelings, which, coming from the head, never reach the heart. I shall be employed about things, not words! and, anxious to render my sex more respectable members of society, I shall try to avoid that flowery diction which has slided from essays into novels, and from novels into familiar letters and conversation.
These pretty nothings, these caricatures of the real beauty of sensibility, dropping glibly from the tongue, vitiate the taste, and create a kind of sickly delicacy that turns away from simple unadorned truth; and a deluge of false sentiments and over-stretched feelings, stifling the natural emotions of the heart, render the domestic pleasures insipid, that ought to sweeten the exercise of those severe duties, which educate a rational and immortal being for a nobler field of action.
The education of women has, of late, been more attended to than formerly; yet they are still reckoned a frivolous sex, and ridiculed or pitied by the writers who endeavour by satire or instruction to improve them. It is acknowledged that they spend many of the first years of their lives in acquiring a smattering of accomplishments: meanwhile, strength of body and mind are sacrificed to libertine notions of beauty, to the desire of establishing themselves, the only way women can rise in the world--by marriage. And this desire making mere animals of them, when they marry, they act as such children may be expected to act: they dress; they paint, and nickname God's creatures. Surely these weak beings are only fit for the seraglio! Can they govern a family, or take care of the poor babes whom they bring into the world?
If then it can be fairly deduced from the present conduct of the sex, from the prevalent fondness for pleasure, which takes place of ambition and those nobler passions that open and enlarge the soul; that the instruction which women have received has only tended, with the constitution of civil society, to render them insignificant objects of desire; mere propagators of fools! if it can be proved, that in aiming to accomplish them, without cultivating their understandings, they are taken out of their sphere of duties, and made ridiculous and useless when the short lived bloom of beauty is over(1) , I presume that RATIONAL men will excuse me for endeavouring to persuade them to become more masculine and respectable.
Indeed the word masculine is only a bugbear: there is little reason to fear that women will acquire too much courage or fortitude; for their apparent inferiority with respect to bodily strength, must render them, in some degree, dependent on men in the various relations of life; but why should it be increased by prejudices that give a sex to virtue, and confound simple truths with sensual reveries?
Women are, in fact, so much degraded by mistaken notions of female excellence, that I do not mean to add a paradox when I assert, that this artificial weakness produces a propensity to tyrannize, and gives birth to cunning, the natural opponent of strength, which leads them to play off those contemptible infantile airs that undermine esteem even whilst they excite desire. Do not foster these prejudices, and they will naturally fall into their subordinate, yet respectable station in life.
It seems scarcely necessary to say, that I now speak of the sex in general. Many individuals have more sense than their male relatives; and, as nothing preponderates where there is a constant struggle for an equilibrium, without it has naturally more gravity, some women govern their husbands without degrading themselves, because intellect will always govern"

Monday, November 14, 2011

Jewelry



Maya’s Jewelry
Maya logo1-01.png
About Maya’s Jewelry
Maya’s Jewelry is a jewelry company that specializes in crafting various kinds of jewelry such as bracelets, rings, earrings, brooches, lockets, bands, charms, especially necklaces and pendants. The main jewelry shop is located in Abuja. Although the company is new, Maya’s jewelry hopes to expand its sop’s branches to other cities like Lagos, Port Harcourt, Kaduna and Yola. Maya’s Jewelry’s main target is particularly the female youth and so its jewelry is feminine, classy, elegant, yet set at affordable prices. Maya’s Jewelry uses a wide range of materials for its adornments such as gemstones, metals, beads, and shells. It is colorful, absolutely appealing to the eye and comes in different shapes and sizes. The company started off as a necklace making company but recently expanded to other jewelry. In the future, Maya’s Jewelry hopes to expand again to the production and distribution of watches, bigger gemstones like diamonds, and men’s adornments.
About Our Logo
Maya’s jewelry started off as a necklace and pendant only company, and so its logo is a pearl necklace hanging off of a mannequin. The black mannequin symbolizes energy, which the youth all have while the blue background symbolizes stability, security and loyalty; we value our customers and all that we do is in their best interest. The necklace is in two colors. One third of it is white, because white gives off a pure, clean and peaceful impression. This is true about Maya’s Jewelry: no animals or humans were harmed in the making of any adornment from this company. The gold color symbolizes riches and extravagance; although our prices are affordable our adornments exude a higher class, taste elegance and grandeur.
Two thirds of the necklace is gold, which is not only part of the necklace but also serves as the letter ‘J’ from the word Jewelry. The font used for the Logo also shows elegance as it is a cursive font.
Electronic use of Logo:
To use our logo electronically, the yellow part of the necklace along with ‘Maya’s jewelry\’ slowly meet each other at one point in movement. The ‘J’ comes in from the left side, ‘Maya’s’ comes in from the top whilst ‘ewelry’ comes in from the bottom, all meeting on the right side of the mannequin.

Monday, November 7, 2011

meat meat meat, oh and family & friends and fun and more meat


I have a headache. And blogging just hasn’t been my thing. But after thorough consideration and an urge from my awesome Leema, Ms. Leema Mason to be precise, i decided to write even the tiniest thing. This weekend was not an ordinary weekend. It was Eid.
My idea of eid would be several slaves doing all the work (in Naija) while i go shopping on an Eid Day discount spree with my best friends in Milan Italy, have a barbecue with my family and more friends, dine and wine(or in this case zobo) with the love of my life in a Thai restaurant, go horse riding on Morroccan sands, and go for a swim with him on a Cuban beach. (notice the time zones and countries) But well shit happens. Here’s the beginning:
I used to have my Eid Spirit you know.
Basically, my eid experiences started like this: Dress up in the awesomest outfit ever, get money, go for yawo, and get more money.
Then it improved to: Go for eidi, MISS SCHOOL! O(it was a non holiday on sallah day country), wear a veil (i never did), visit friendssss, eat like there was no tomorrow, play like crazy, eat amazinggg dishes that filled up the dining table, go swimming, (usually before the food hogging) and then sleep.
And Afterwards: loved having to leave that dreadful boarding school just for eid, getting our clothes stitched and being able to pick my designs myselfffff, going to meet family!!!
Couple years back: missing school too :D kayan ciki from the people from Mali, and well you get the whole ladida...
I cant go on and on about almost a score of my eid experiences you see, it’ll take two books.
Anyhu, the message I’m trying to send is all my Eids these past years have been amazing, peaceful, satisfying, and well, perfect. But THIS ONE. Hian.
At the end of the day i just decided to marry a vegetarian. I celebrated eid in yola, and we’ve got the whole extended family thing going on. My sisters and bro weren’t here and that was not just the only bummer. I had to work. Normally i would run away from nama duty but i was the only available offspring. So i mopped, swept, washed eternal dishes... these dishes never stopped coming in. It was this bad: i was washing dishes from 11 to 2. TWO O. Anyhow anyhowwww, the important thing is i complained cause i suffered, ba kadan ba.
There i was cutting meat like there was no tomorrow, bending down, standing up all for the sake of raw meat. And it was bloody L not cool. Bloody meat. And then we had to cut some more and share it, and cut some more and share it and cut some more for ourselves and my hands felt as if they didn’t belong to me. Bloody meat... Yukkkkk. I mean really? I just lost all interest in all sortsa meat, even tsire and grilled steak o, mind you. I just realized that it was not worth it. It was bad enough i lost my sallah spirit: it wasn’t as if i was going to get any money, that happened eons and eons ago; the whole family wasn’t there; there wouldn’t be the usual yawon sallah; and last and most painful: My tailor butchered my clothes, plus MYRATI WASN’T HEREEE. Haha that was some serious exaggeration, he just didn’t use my measurement to stitch the outfit. I mean he didn’t literally get a knife and butcher the clothes with violence haha.. moving on. So i was left with only one other option that i thought was too cultural but eventually everyone, even my dad, liked. Haha. Ill put up pics.
Anyhowww. I got the whole family vibe. I chilled with my mom and dad which i haven’t done in a long time, if i’m with my mom i’m naggin about everything, if i’m with my dad im naggin him about one electronic device or the other. But this time around, i was with them as a family and that felt REALLY GOOD.
I worked my ass off, and it was self relieving i promise you. I felt this sense of accomplishment of turning the messy kitchen into a sparkly wonder. It was so euphoric and i’m not just spicing up the details. Cleanliness, indeed, is next to godliness.
I know there were more drawbacks of Eid this year than the positive side, but it was worth it. Major worth it: i slept like a baby while Mandonna had to battle a rat, yes a RAT. Haha. I just slept and slept and slept. we watched the Hangover two and literally laughed like crazy people. Heck it was so funny and now i know no matter what horrible phase i’m going through, i have given Mandonna the right to ask me: but did you DIE? HAHA. That’s still funny.
All in all, it’s the principle and simplicity that counts.

Friday, September 2, 2011

some of the best things in life

The best things in life: Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you, waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep, first kisses, making new friends and spending time with the old ones, singing in the bathroom, sweet dreams, hot chocolate, making brownies and cookies, holding hands with someone you care about, watching a sunset, sleeping in, taking long hot showers, and knowing that somebody misses you ♥

Thursday, July 7, 2011

RelieF

I feel so relieved right now you have no idea.
Yes, my previous blogpost contradicts this one: my friends think I am bipolar. I of course highly agree and disagree (yes, more bipolar traits). I disagree because as all you 90210 viewers have witnessed, Silver and her bipolar-ism is just too sickening a disease for one to claim. I agree because I have the ability to change minds feeling decisions and all that jazz in the blink of an eye. I feel very relieved, bipolar or not.
Contradictory or not.
I feel like I have this major sense of accomplishment surging through me right now I could jump and jubilate. If not for the soreness in my body. I had a whole whop of responsibilities on my shoulders this morening, and I accomplished them all. Successfully or not, you be the judge. I passed in various ways- cleaned up the house, arranged the rooms, made lunch (general lunch and specific lunch), had a guest over (okay it was myra and heebah and they’re family but still), gave out the address to my house almost perfectly okay, survived my toddler of a nephew (some think he is my son), he had so much chocolate and candy and sugar he started cabo snooping everywhere. But I survived it all. I even survived watching a close member of mine weep in pain.
I have a very close blood who is ill. I would do anything. I mean it, anything, to trade places with X. Not because I want to. But because X does NOT deserve to be ill. She has a family, a good better half and a lovely child, and a home, anda job and if not an academic career, that X should be attending to. Not weeping away every night in pain. I feel for X. All I can do is say sorry, and give love to X’s son, who is also my son. I feel compared to X, my life is stupid. I complain about friends who betray me, and people who dislike me, and how I got a C on a test, how I cannot date any boy because they all have flaws that cannot be changed, and how I want the latest gadget, and why people get angry and jealous, and every other unnecessary secondary material/ issue- when there are way more important things out there. Like X, who is sick and would give anything to stop feeling the pain and handle their family. I know I should be praying for X, I do that all the time, believe you me. I also know it is naive of me to want to be that ill. X is the strongest person I know. If I had to be in X’s position, I would not be blogging this. I would be long gone. I am weak, compared to X. no I am not under estimating myself. This is the part where one has to understand, seeing is believing. I do wish X the greatest of recovery, because Kululu needs a loving parent.
I put my son to bed, and now I have finished this blogpost, I did things on time, and I feel close religious wise. All I need to do today is take a hot aromatherapy (lavender in particular) shower, and jump into my pajama dress and maybe watch some south park. Today, was great. Thanks to everyone around me.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

that inexplicable pressure from within

I just want to scream and shout and tear my hair and eyes out. Okay that was a bit over dramatic. I am not in place at the moment. I want to just weep and weep and weep and sleep off and wake up the next day. Id have a banging headache of course but inside I’d feel so refreshed. Like I was a few days ago. I’m not in place I’m not in place I’m not in place. Everything is just a haze. Because I cannot talk about anything with anyone. It just hurts. I’m in this position where I cannot think or move. I’m in a cube of ice, in a foggy dessert. That’s what it is. Im frozen, in this blistering cold, and to make matters worse, there is this annoying fog that prevents me from seeing ahead. The stupid dessert is making things worse, I’m at this point of equilibrium where I can’t quite tell whether the weather is nice or not
Ive seen people go through worse. But fuck it I just need someone to talk to. Where the hell is my stalker and my other bunch of friends (you that’s reading this) when you need them.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Alert!!

You're bound to find weirdos in public places. Hospitals too, apparently. This man was wearing uber tight clothes. His pants were that of his brother. Brown office pants, that were about to tear into pieces any second. His buttocks were completely traced out. Each bum was clearly visible- you'd think he was a lady from their size. To make matters worse, he had a walk. Chest out, (but really his protruding stomach was in the lead) and bums flying out. Really, it was a horrific sight. His shirt was flowered and botched with all colors of the warm family. Red, orange, yellow, and even brown. His shirt looked like it was sewn from leaves from the trees of Fall. Too colorful for a man, I tell you. his beard was carved out like that of a typical Mexican druglord. Use your imagination. He was lightskinned, and bore small glassy eyes that looked around ever so often. One look and you would jugde him to be gay. Personally, I think he hung out in the wrong places during his salon. A hair parlour, perhaps. When he should have been busy helping out, I bet he was busy making up and trying dresses, and practicing walking an imaginary catwalk.

the two solutions

The world is not perfect. Ya di ya di ya dah. But it should not be this imperfect. Allah knows best. No buts. And so, amping up one's faith and prayer level could be - no scratch that- ARE the main solutions.
Other soltns include, high blood pressure, intolerance, backbiting and ignorance, hatred, loud voices, "utopian" ignorance and finally Babalawo. Ignore the other solutions. They do not have a positive aftermath. As for the first two solutions, even when you are gone; you hopefully have a space in janna (heaven). And 2. You have left a legacy(or an impact, an effect of somesort).

Saturday, June 11, 2011

What a Loser okay fine not a loser just a dysfunctional person who can't love or maybe even feel right now.

and my stalker and i sat there. and streams of tears fell down my face. this was probably the last time i would see him in a while. no, not my stalker: that awesome douche would be seen in fall, and would be heard and thought of every single day hopefully during the summer (sean law yes i called you a douche on the internet, what are you going to do about it? call stan marsh and make a fb ban on my blog? hehehe). him. it was so weird. as dysfunctional as love left me over the past couple years, my heart still throbbed faster for him. of course. he is my first love, after all. it was too late. he was leaving, or in this case, i was leaving.  i would miss the hugs, the cuddling and the kisses. i would miss the movie/cuddling more actually. things won't ever, ever be the same. not here, at least.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Tory Tory

It didn’t make sense. This was the second time I was missing the last prayer of the night. What had gotten into me? This was weird. It was so unlike me. Sometimes I even prayed before time just to feel good about myself. I know it’s bad, but that’s not the point. I was beginning to get really worried. I sat down on the office chair, and revolved around it every few seconds. This was embarrassing. I thrust my upper body forward, which made the chair roll towards my studying desk. A bunch of papers were scattered across the mahogany desk. Most of them were test scripts that been returned to me over the week. Math, Biology, Chemistry, Literature and History. The results were marked at the top right corner of the now crumpled papers. 68, 70, 55, 80, and a whopping forty. My grades had fallen. From straight A’s, my grades had pummeled down to C’s and D’s. How pathetic. But that also was not important. Maybe I was failing cause I was always skipping prayers? I mean, if I didn’t pray, who would help me pass school? Or… maybe it was cause I wasn’t studying. It was all due to these meaningless yet useful distractions. Speaking of distractions… I leaned over and picked up a pink frame that I had recently added to my collection of framed photos at the very edge of my desk. The framed photo was a picture of me and Ahmed, on the party that happened during the weekend. i was wearing my viridian green dress, which was obviously and shamelessly revealing. Aisha said it was ‘sexy.’ And it brought out my curves, and Ahmed liked girls who showed their shape and skin.
But I was too embarrassed, so I donned a pair of black tights underneath the dress and wore my Giuseppe Zannoti lace ankle boots. They cost 500 pounds. Damn. That wasn’t much, really. But as a humans right aspiring activist, now no more, I know what five hundred pounds could do to a bunch of hungry little village children. My cousins, aunts, and uncles back in my hometown that I had not visited in forever could benefit. Was that not 100,000 naira or more in fact ? but I had used that money to buy boots. Oh well, the sad people are only into voodoo and my father’s money. The boots were definitely worth it. Anyway, Ahmed was the problem, I was sure of it.
He was only free from 7-10, so we’d spend time hanging out and smoking shisha doing other fun stuff, and by the time I knew it, praying time would pass, and I would miss it. He never cared, he probably only prayed on Fridays and on Eid. But suspecting him was not the problem. He was the problem. He was so beautiful, and wild, and mysterious, and naive, he made me feel so good about myself and that was all that mattered. By 11, I would sneak back into the house, after having “study dates” with Sharifah and Maryam at their house. Fadil’s mom didn’t really notice, as long as the good grades were coming in nothing really mattered. Besides, she was too busy trying to take care of herself.
Aqila, what the hell is wrong with you? It was just wrong for a Muslim to miss prayers just like that. Of course I knew a lot of people who missed prayers and didn’t practice their religion well. But for that to come from me, it was so… unorthodox. What happened to geeky Aqila who did what she was told to and had pleasant thoughts and prayed? I stood up and decided. It was time to pray. Yes it was past one in the morning, but I was still going to pay the three prayers I had missed consecutively. Asr, maghrib, and Isha. I rushed to the bathroom to perform ablution. Hands, mouth, nose, face, arms, hair, ears, feet. I loved rinsing my ears. It only had to be cleaned once but I just loved tracing my fingers around my ears. I felt so good. Step one down. Step two, to pray.
I went back into the dimly lit room; only the studying lamp was lit and ahmed’s red bandanna was covered on it, the room had a red glow. I literally had to steal the bandanna, a dare from Aisha. Aisha was such a bully, I swear. She could make me do such wrong things. I didn’t even want to think of how I took off the bandanna from Ahmed’s neck. I looked at the blue hijab folded on top of the prayer mat at the end of my corner, right in front of my balcony which overlooked the pool.
I wore it. Unfolding the mat took seconds, I faced the Alqibla and started reciting the iqamatu’salat. I raised up my hands in proportion to my ears. Allahu Akbar (Allah is great) I had not gone past the first surah when Ahmed came into my head. not again! When I missed prayers, I worried. When I did pray, most of it wasn’t reciting the surahs from the holy book, I would stand there and daydream about McHottie. This time around, I was trying to take off the bandanna from Ahmed’s neck. He was on the couch and I was sitting right next to him.
“I like your bandanna,” I giggled. I did not like this. But Aisha was there by the microwave, making popcorn. Although Ahmed could not see her, she was ushering me to keep flirting with him. All I told her was I had a crush on him. I didn’t think things would get to truth or dare and ‘let’s get physicial.’ Seriously, my religion condemns all of that, unless you’re like married and stuff. So yes, we played truth or dare and instead of even doing the dare Ahmed wanted me to do (run around making monkey noises, yes he was a child and I loved it!) I whispered, in quite a husky yet girly tone, ‘let’s tone it down a little. We’re in a monkey jungle alright, but I’m not quite your average monkey.’
‘oh yeah?’ he grinned, he was obviously excited. How unmoving. Childish really. All I said were a few embarrassing words. Monkey? Where did I even get that? Oh, Ahmed brought it up, Aisha was the one making me look at every word in unholy ways. i climbed over him, well I was playing monkey, and reached for his neck and slowly unloosened the bandanna around his neck. With my teeth.
“Whoa,” he grunted, he was liking this. A lot. His hairs on the name of his neck were up, and after a while I was beginning to enjoy this. As I loosened it from his neck Aisha, from nowhere, appeared in front of me and tugged at her ear. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Lick it. I read the words she mouthed. Oh dear lord just cause I enjoyed this unholy game of monkey the bandanna from boys neck didn’t mean I wanted to taste him. Ew. Astagfirllah (God forgive me). I nodded no, Ahmed was busy grunting, for what I don’t know, I was only breathing on him, the bandanna was in my mouth. Aisha was impatient, she crossed her fingers, indicating the dare she had told me to complete. Fine.
Once she uncrossed her fingers she ran out the living room, leaving me alone with Ahmed. One, two three… this wouldn’t be that hard. It’s Ahmed, Aqila, he’s like your dream boy! Okay… once I was done arguing with my self, I took a lick. A very light one. Salty. his big hands were not on the leather couch anymore, he had pulled me closer to him with them. Horny little **** I sighed in my mind and continued. This dare better pay off. Why was I even friends with Aquila?
“Aqila!” I heard someone yell my name. wasn’t Ahmed, he was busy panting and grunting and groaning all at the same time, and possibly even hyperventilating at the time. Fadil. I got back into my senses and saw him standing a few feet from me, I had been stretched on one foot, leaning ahead. I straightened myself up but I couldn’t hide the surprise from my big eyes. Fadil had obviously caught me daydreaming, or in this case late night fantasizing when I was supposed to be praying. I’m sure the angels had cursed my future generations for this act.
“What are you doing?” he asked me with a very disturbed look on my face. That was the end of me. Fadil was going to make me never forget this till eternity. 

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

my life isn't just about men books and insecurity. it's a positive one too, you know.

sooooo, we all know this blog is mostly about a confused little child who doesn't know when to study for a test, be tactical or date. it's either i'm pibzing when i have to study or blogging too when i have a research paper due the next day, like now... awkward much? or its either i like this boy and he likes me back but we're not doing anything about it cause it took him ages to fess up or i like a dude and he likes me but he's just a hopeless douche who has no ambitions and direction, or i like this dude and he likes me but i'm too flipping scared to say yes cause i don't see my self getting hurt anytime soon or well you get the complicated point. so here is a post, about contentment. 
and yeah well spring break was BUSY of course, what with the career fair, polo, friends, e-lounge, famos, sleep, drama drama drama, so this is just 1/100 of what happened during the break :D 





Spring Break -Contentment
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping around the orange tree near my window. It was such a beautiful sound. The drapes were wide open, and although it was just around nine in the morning, the sun shone like it was past noon. I could not help but smile. I was in a happy state. As much as I wanted to fly to Abuja for the Career Fair, most of my intention was bent on getting to my family, even if it would be by hook or by crook.
A few days ago I was in the midst of midterms. I was flustered, baggy eyed and miserable. I lost track of how many hours of sleep I was getting and everything was just not in place. Normally, the birds outside annoyed every part of me. They were just noisy, their fluttering around and noise making gave me headaches. This time around, they soothed me. They were not just birds, they were birds from home. Each chirping sound was a reminder that I was safely at home.  
The term home has different meanings to various people. To me, it means everything. It is not just the place where I can get some shelter food and clothing. It is a shrine. It is a warm and cozy place where I can meditate. Home is where I can be myself, be very comfortable and be stress free. Home is where every imperfection is accepted. Most importantly, home is where the people that love me reside. That is why it was imperative of me to get home as soon as possible.
Now that I was finally home, I did not need to think about anything. I was able to stay in bed all morning, just listening to the birds go about their ways. There were no instructors to give out more work than necessary, I did not have to be bothered by my roommates’ friends barging in and out, I did not have a schedule, I certainly did not have an alarm and most importantly there was no need to wake up to such a ridiculous time of the day. Lazing in bed all day was all I could ask for the first few days of spring break because I needed it. I needed to feel human; I needed to recall what procrastination and laziness felt like again. And my room was doing just the trick. The more the birds chirped the more I snuggled back under my covers. I could not care less how loud the birds got. I was content.




Thursday, May 26, 2011

The Emotionless George Bush Likes Connecting, Lighting up Incense and Listening to Nostalgic Music

The incense was just a tiny piece of wood, basically about a third of my index finger. However once it had been ignited its wonderful scent filled the room up. It seemed as if one had walked into the home of a newlywed, particularly that of a Maiduguri home. The shisha pot sat on the blue and gray carpet, now untouched. The carpet had not been intended to be a shisha carpet. But a couple of barely seeable burnt marks had been made. The ashes on the now dying coal continued to increase and shuffle down like a mellow avalanche on a mountain. The pot was small, ruby in color and beautiful...
Soooo, after a miniature writer’s block, i could only come up with this.
I’ve got so much to write about. Like a certain nightmare. But i can’t seem to mix up my words. I still don’t know why.
“but you broke me, now i can’t feel anything”
I was watching the Vampire Diaries, and Jeremy and Bonnie were having a moment, and the background music hit me. It was broken strings by james morrison. But of course i could not remember who had sang (sung? Hehe) the song. So i obviously googled it up (god bless the web) and the funny thing is although i couldnt remember who had sung it, the lyrics ust flowed from the tip of my tongue. Back in high school i was so in love with the song, and the song didn’t even speak to me then. Not that it does now.
I mean everyone wants to believe the quoted line from the song is what is wrong with me. But it is not the case. I was not broken the way you’d think. I just invested my emotions on temporary matter. And now i refuse to feel, let alone allow anyone to feel me. I refuse to be felt. Get your dirty mind away from there. and this isn’t because i don’t want to be hurt. Not everyone has an agenda to hurt me. I’m not george w. Bush. The thing is, i don’t want to hurt whoever wants to make me feel happy.
Weird right? But that is it. I can’t reciprocate anything. Kiss me, i’ll just stand there and look at you. Hug me, and i might sense a teensy bitsy bit of care. Tell me you care about me and i’ll appreciate it. i won’t tell you any of those back, or express myself. As much as i’d want to. Thing is, i refuse to be felt.
I doubt i need time to heal. I need to forget. That’s what i need to do. And its about time that occured because as much as i’m sure it’s in my awesome people’s best interest, it sure as hell is more in my best interest. Time isn’t going to wait for me. The more i linger in this blunt feeling im feeling the more the people the give a damn about me will leave me. Okay they care about me, they wouldn’t leave. But patience isn’t permanent. So Maryam Y, get your butt out of that saddening stage and feeeeeel!
Like today for example, i called papi. YES I DID. I suck at keeping in touch. My excuse is i need time for myself and by the way communication is a two way thing. BUT. Okay it is, whats your excuse?
But anyway yeah the thing is i suck at remembering stuff  (you’d think i’d use that and forget the last 14 months of my emotions. Yes i know it’s a long time. But yh. C’est l’amour. ) so remembering to call someone or get their number email and blah blah or home address was kind of hard. But i felt SO good about myself, this time I was the one who called him and he was so happy. It was so obvious from the other end of the line. Really miss him. I should do the same with family and friends you see. It’s not when you need things or when youre with your family n stuff that you remember to ask how other people are doing.
Just the way i got a phone call from my kilishi buddy. it had been forever since we really chilled and gisted and everything.
 A phone call does the same thing a smile does in Nigeria, heck the world over. En’du Saro mada, the fulani say. I think this is enough for today.
Yeah it didn’t make sense, i talked about three things in one blog, or even more than three. So this is a start for someone who was on an involuntary (or was it? ;) ) hiatus.
Ciao
Oh bali, seychelles and canary islands for me, iodised moi moi, and megaphile paedophile.  J
One love.

Friday, April 29, 2011

emotionless - okay i don't know what to say about that so. just read on.

My head is banging so hard I am sure my brains would split and leak out my ears.
Okay I wrote the above sentence simply because my life has been drama free for the past few weeks and I wanted a minor reminder of a dramatic life.
I don’t want the reminder. I feel so good. And bad. Life without drama has not been peaceful. It has just been… emotionless. I used to be hurt, angry, tearful, vengeful sometimes, happy, ecstatic, wild, and prayerful almost all at once. And the result led to chaos. A chaotic and complicated series of events.
Banging head thanks to shisha.
Raging mind thanks to Bio’s incomprehensible tests. Tests that I banged. Consecutively. Not that I don’t care. I just don’t understand.
A scarred plus scared heart. A heart scared to love again. For fear of being shut out and crushed in the blistering cold.
A broken heart. Okay I’m lying. I’m not heartbroken. My heart is just twisted. And confused. Baffled really. I expressed myself, got positive results and then got unfathomable results from the dude that I, the not so courageous Chiquita managed to blurt out occasional te quiero’s, or je t’adore’s. and my friend called me a “giver upper”. I give up easily, yes. But at least I tried for this. I gave it my all. But that’s that and nothing can change this. And no I’m not giving up on lost like. (daman it was never love from both sides) I am facing reality.
Let’s see what happened.
I lived, I laughed, I kinected with good friends, I snuggled in kilishi with someone whose name, presence and memory ‘s engraved in me in gold and blue. I know why it’s blue (favourite color) gold, I dnno why. I clubbed till like 6 a.m. heck I danced all night long I needed to get pulled out of the floor. I aced my tests without having to jack like crazy. (ok it’s cmd 100, ba laifi)
I watched inspirational movies, fantasized, windecked to windeck, wept at save me, made hoops with hookah, smiled at private entertainer, traveled, peed in the middle of nowhere (haha gombe en route adamawa) swam to the deep side of the pool (and made it back alive and), flirted, gazed into those eyes, prayed devotedly, guilt tripped myself, made new friends, walked to the AUn gate twice in one night – Camby, Mcube we should do that again!, woke up at six … to work out! Binged on five chocolate cakes in three months… and counting!  I lived, really.
I did more things, but honestly speaking I’m as emotionless as an ex bipolar girl could be. I can NOT feel. And when I do feel, I can’t even express myself.
All I know now is I am sick. I’ve got malaria. And I managed to get two injections. One in each butt cheek. Yes, my bottom is swollen up and I am in pain. (I dislike drugs, you would prescribe them to me but I wouldn’t swallow them to save my life.) my eyes hurt. Dunno why but it sucks. But on the upside I don’t have bags under my tiny eyes so yayyy, I’m happy about that.
I watch southpark. A lot. I love the cartoon. It has almost the same effect as a beats by dre headphone. My problems fly away and I just need to concentrate on fantasy, rather than reality.
Expressionless, I rest this post’s case as it is because I truly canNOT contribute to anything further. Plus I told my newest friend I’d blog so here it is, Camby :P 

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

small gallie

sometimes,
you just have to grow up and solve your own problems. you can vent all you want to your friends, and they will have their shoulders all opened up for you to weep on. but then manning up is left to you. or in this case, womaning up.
avoid anything that won't turn that frown upside down, and cheer up.
you know what, imma do it like a dooooooddde (dude) or once again, like a doooodette !!

 sonrie chica!

Put some beats in it.

i feel. overwhelmed. *inhale* *exhale* *inhale* *exhale* (kush song... hehe, love the video.)
but no on a serious note. i'm very very overwhelmed.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

and the crowd went OOOOHHHHH .

Sex makes the crowd go wild.
Sex sells. We know. For the fact that someone from a conservative family knows that, everyone else knows it too. I think it is shameful and pathetic.
Last night, there was a Wizkid “concert” at the community hall. A bunch o people went. Maybe a bout fifty people were present a hundred?. Arriving fashionably late, and even later than that to an extent paid off after all. The show was a waste of time and effort. Aun students were running the show. Whizkid was nowhere to be found, only his musical yet premature voice reverberated round the more than loud booming speakers in the hall. Students with talent, that is. Performers performed, singers sang, dancers danced and fashion designers walked the runway with lit lighters above their artificial hair. Where’s the irony in that, you ask me?
The dancing part was the one that got to me. I enjoyed it, personally. I enjoy watching people flop their routine, go a bit off point, or coordinate their disco ordination so perfectly your jaws cannot help but fall off. Literally. Just kidding.
The horrible dancing is not why I am writing this. As a self conceited writer, writing this is important. So I shall diverge no more. There this Chiquita was, dancing around like some short Ciara. She even “whined” like the professional singer/ dancer. So the normal breaking started and people were all “yeah”, hands clapping. Then her waists started working. Twist twist, shake it to the left, shake it to the right and “if you wind for me, kas…” her body stopped functioning but her waist, hips and bum. And the crowd went “ROOOAARRRRR, YEAAAAAAA, AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”” my ears might have fallen off. But I suppose I would not have felt it because they were numb with all that noise and cold AC blowing at them poor softies.
Okay. Guys are fuckers. They go nuts for these things. But then the girls too? I think maybe the next survey making courses (cc CMD !!) should take an interest on the level of lisbianity. Lesbianism? on campus.
Then whizkid (FINALLY) came. Urgh.  Rephrase. Then whizkid “FINALLY” appeared. And the corwd went yeaaaa, then he stood up in front of this mami and also did his dude version of winding. YEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, maybe some girls died. For some ordinary Nigerian who made you pay 3 – 10 grand for a fifteen minute show. A show that started late. A show that was supposed to be hours long of whizkid but ended up to be fifteen minutes of his short scrawny self (I do not stereotype, I do not judge, but I dislike short celebs. Sorry it’s this thing in my head. if you’re successful, be tall mana. But then hey, it’s the genes.). Fifteen minutes of him stressing the obvious fact that he lacked a daily supplement of tom tom or lemon plus: his voice went off point quite a lot of times. I suppose we could excuse him for being fashionably late, or even more than that because that’s what he did. I suppose we could forgive him for making us wait for an end result of fifteen minutes of him running round the hall, and also for deafening us with a croaky yet childish voice (how did he do that shit?). but he is a nice singer. I do love his song tease me, and I occasionally shake my dead to don’t dull. I do praise him for not lip syncing, like all the other pathetic singers do during “concerts” I do appreciate his picture taking wiv fans at the clubhouse. Oh well. Twas another normal night. Fun funny, then boring, and tiring. 

Thursday, March 3, 2011

OOH THE TERROR... "I"m... cringing like i'm about to get a seizure."

I have been scarred forever. My sense of sight, touch, sound and taste have been damaged. They didn’t deteriorate, they’ve just seized working, possibly for good. At the expense of what… Experience? Boredom? Why am I even in school? I should just drop out and die. For all anyone cares. Okay a lot of people would care. But why did I do that? I not only will get a seizure right now. I’ll just cut myself up just like in all those disturbing scenes from black swan. And this room is cold. Brr. Goosebumps. In all the wrong areas.  Oh yes, I NEED A DOCTOR.  February was a disastrous month.
Cc @iodised_moi_moi and @megaphile_pedophile 

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Her- I need hair pins!... Me- I need Grizzly Bear.

It is so weird how I got betrayed by two of the four men I love the most. On the same day. This is not the first time it is happening to me. This is, in fact, the second. Sometimes I ask myself why I blog about these things. Sometimes I think if I need to vent, I can do it indirectly. Directly, via a diary. But the consequences have been experienced. ‘So your diary entry on so so day was so funny. Didn’t think you were pissed about that…’ yes, embarrassing much? So I’m thinking, why give people permission to read it. It’s not like it’s private. Okay no. It is private. But I just don’t like holding these things to myself. I’ll just self destruct. So read my pain, and suffer it! You opened the page, you decided to peruse this. So SUFFER AT YOUR OWN WILL.
Anyway. I do not like lying. I am honest. I have been raised like that. That is one quality of mine that I shall never lose. I lie, of course. I’m human. But not big lies. Honesty… That is one thing I know I cannot ever change. And I am proud. Believe you me. You raised me to be honest. But for you to use that quality of mine to hurt me…, that does not really say good about you. My hand smells like chicken. BRB.
Ahh. Fresh much. Yes, I’m keen like that.
Adamant. Yes, when you said that my anger for you got devoured. Could you please speak to me forever?
ANYWAY.
I told you the truth, and now you are going to use it against me. For all I’ve learned now I should just start lying to you. If that is what you want, fine. Leadership by example.
I have cried for you three times in just four days. Pourquoi moi? Porque tenias que ser irrestableh!

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Cigarettes are for nervous people, ... Hookah is for the Sensually Apt

"Cigarettes are for nervous people, competitive people, people on the run [�] When you smoke a narghile, you have time to think. It teaches you patience and tolerance, and gives you an appreciation of good company. Narghile smokers have a much more balanced approach to life than cigarette smokers." (Ismet Ertep, 71 years Turkey)

I got a hold of that sentence when I googled up the history of hookah. I was so sure it was invented in the Middle East. However, because of my trust issues, I still googled it up: hookah is made in India. MY India. J
I am not saying shisha is the love of my life. Frankly smoking gives me headaches. But in the end, it still calms me down. When I take hekka, I have this feeling that all my problems float away along with the smoke. Shisha is beautiful. It is an artistic way of expressing oneself. Faster way to die, so the rumors have it, but it still counts as beauty to me. I love taking it with my legs crossed, on the floor. That gives my spine the chance to be upright cause when I cross my legs my back is straight. I close my eyes when I take it; I close my eyes at sensual things. The only hard part: trust me this is not hard, I like to think it is; is the inhaling part. I like blowing out loads of smoke, so I have to inhale a lot. I am still not good at making visible shapes like rings ad stuff, but I am very good at getting my face covered up. Hehe. Basic. Basic is the best. Sometimes.
I simply cannot even describe how shisha makes me feel. All I can say is that it is the newest artistic thing in my life. I know I should stop taking it. Frankly I barely ever take it. But when I do take it, I just can’t get enough of it…
I want shisha to be a part of my life. Shisha music and horses…

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

'I Always Fall for Your Type'...

fall for your type is such a sensual song. oh my god, i cannot describe how i feel when i listen to it, really. 
I'm not advising you guys to get with your boyfriends with this song wo! Ah toh, be original... :P
i cannot relate to the song... trust me i have no type (not anymore, the nerds have proven incompetent, so the hottie hot hotties are also on the list and if i might are currently proving competent) but i don't know if it's the beat or the way the lyrics just flow smoothly... sincerely... ai que cancion sensual! 

Friday, February 4, 2011

I might be dumb. Or I just bore easily.

So it occurred to me, I dislike math. Because I suck at it. And it takes a lot of steps to work out the problems. Science, well I’ve always loved bio. Want to torture me, keep that saw down, believe you me I would rather hack off my toes that sit down and understand chemistry and or physics for you. They do not make sense to me, not one bit. Economics? Please drop that graph. Demand and supply make perfect sense to me, just don’t doodle lines and try to explain it to me. I would still not fathom the unfathomable.
But for me to drop literature, one of my favourites, for biology? Talk about from frying pan to fire. Frying pan because it is American literature. I am good wiv literature, American literature on the other hand consist of painful, saddening history. Oh and weird vocabulary.
And I thought bio would be bio bio. NOT molecular bio. Not bio with some chemistry in it. And I am in a class with brain boxes. They are too smart for me. I only work with smart people that can help me without feeling all posh. E.g. Saba, Eric, Urooj, Aliya, Afsheen. They are the only ones I can rely on, and none of them are even anywhere near west Africa. Thing is, we barely keep in touch anymore.
Ho lawrd. The only thing I could do here is actually dedicate two hours of my nights studying these things. I got up early to finish my bio assignment today, which my newest pal boss helped a bit with; he’s super genius by the way. But I can’t seem to complete it. Even though I got helped. Ho lawd. 

Thursday, February 3, 2011

i wanna blog, but i don't have anything to write.
I've got malaria, i'm suffering here.
i've got bags under my eyes.
they're bad, and really obvious, i'm obviously lacking sleep, i am being over worked, and i'm being stressed out. i think i know one thing that can help me relax.
Lui. :)
But yeah...
well it's two thirty, was supposed to be asleep by one. but i had a bio thing to do.
i just had to write these boring things down cause i just feel like type-rambling about nothing
nighty night, arividerci :P

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Adrenaline Rush

I don’t want to think about anything right now. Do you know what feeling in like means ?? stress, worried expressions, weary and misty thoughts, constant agitation, an over pumped heart, along with supersonic heartbeats (bear with my supersonic exaggeration).  For me at least. But for a week or so now, I felt NONE OF THAT. That feels so good, well, it felt so good!!! That adrenaline rush was no more caused by a testosterone oozing being; it was (FINALLY) caused by achievement, fun, fulfillment and glee. (Are achievement and fulfillment the same??) My boyfriend (as of now I still do not know if I can still call him that, and he is the cause of my being over my first love. And just NOT thinking about either of them felt… so GOOD! No one caught me day dreaming, and even if they did, it was for some delirious moment my friends and I managed to imprint in my memory for some particular (usually wild) reason. J
Obviously I am boyfriend-less because the both of us are POOR at being in relationships, he does not care, and I do not push. So we’re both hanging somewhere, not that I cared for the past week or so. The guy I first fell in love with was no more in my head, simply because I already had my ‘boyfriend’ to think about. But ….
I saw my first love today. He was the epitome of freshness. At least the holiday did him good [ I look a mess, not to mention the GREAT ZIT between my nose and upper lip]. Oh well so I just have to rush things cause if I sit down and describe him y’all will prolly say ‘oh she’s still in loooove’, but no I am NOT. So yeah he looked pretty good and the genuine hug ended up being really genuine with a RUSH but pardonne moi… mea culpa… so yes as I was saying.
I ended up smiling all the way to my destination via the great big bus (from caf to north campus to dorm … blame my lazy but lovely friends… we couldn’t walk under the not so sunny sun) and yes, I had to admit the obvious to my friends, he makes me happy. The way they made me admit it made it look like I was committing a crime, when really, I was not. The other thing was they KNOW    que esta pasando, how happy I get when I see him, naughty brats just wanted to hear me say it!! Brrr, imam kick their butts! Lol
But think about it, is being elated after seeing you ex-first-love a crime?
No I think not. But since I believe the world is a free planet, you can have your own opinion.
Cheerios!

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

HURT

yes. i am hurt. okay no not really, kawwai i just want to register into my fifth class of the semester. but since that isn't possible, i just have to find something to not make me feel hurt.

About Me

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I'm just trying to figure out metamorphosis as I grow up. It's very last minute. So i can barely predict much.

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