A commentary on the commentary of "Lady in Red"

As I walked to breakfast this morning, after my eight o clock math class, I came across a letter that I had written, in my head. I felt as though all my sentiments had been copied and typed in neat times new roman 12 pt text and printed and pasted on the cafeteria doors.

Lady in Red, you took my thoughts verbatim.! (just felt the need to blog that!)

oh, and why does one promote a guestlisted party? what i mean is, if you are handing out invitations, and its A-listed, and everyone else isnt invited, then why are you pasting huge posters everywhere and advertising for the very everyone who you arent inviting??huh? food for thought...

excerpt from my novel... 01-01-08.
She sat quietly on one side of the gathering, at the end of the food laden table. Her mother stood by her left, dishing out kebabs and kafta onto a small paper plate, and her dad sat by her right, blissfully absorbed in clearing away the contents of his plate. It was a chilly night, but the heat from the roasting ram made the shawl she was carrying unnecessary. It was gone eleven, and beside the garden in the huge driveway, the boys were having what they called a fireworks war; two warring teams lobbing fireworks at each other.
Smilingly, she watched them, wishing that she had chosen to wear something a little more casual so that she could have joined them. She would feel ridiculous running around with them in the chocolate satin pencil dress that she had chosen to wear.
It was strapless, and clung to her jutting bones as tightly has her own skin would; she had specified that she wanted it that way a few months back when she sketched the design for the tailor who had sewn it. She had worn it with gold stiletto sandals, and couldn’t decide whether falling flat on her face would be more embarrassing than the dress ripping in half. That she would be turning sixteen in seven days in no way changed the fact that she had the body of an awkward, and very tall, eleven year old, and was the prime cause for her taste in clothes far more mature and racy than was common amongst her peers.
She had good features, she knew, a smiling, open mouth, bright, speaking eyes and fair olive skin, but she would never delude herself with notions of beauty or grace; attributes that she tried to compensate for with an excess of personality and what she hoped was intelligence.
Turning back to the table, she meekly took the plate that her mother handed her, full of extra portions as usual.. The night was so festive that she didn’t feel she had the courage to spoil it, with protestations or futile arguments; her mother knew as well as she that her weight problem was not as a result of her diet. Picking at her food, she listened with a half ear to the joke that was being told, and allowed her mind to wander.

*Week 3, Valentines*

**On red label and purple BettyComeFMe stilettoes**
Friday night was the polo party at jireh suites... I must say, it was good... after the red label...:)
Sometimes, I really wish i was a guy, and could do guy stuff, like fighting in the club.
like seriously.... big shoutout to dj quiksilva...(Where dey do dat at????)
Anyway, thats about all about the party... i think i would have appreciated it more if i had had more red label.

**on how i now slack off on my schoolwork because i am too lazy to work during the day and too busy :) to work in the night.**
nuff said
**On wondering why my valentines day sucks each year**
thats not unique to me alone, why do guys suddenly get malaria on vals day>> ??
**on a party in the cafeteria, which is a part of this other party**
im still confused about this
**on demanding friends**
Well.....
**on jeezing in...**
WELL!

extremely random blog. posting my first Writing 101 in class writing excersise on wednesday... "who am I?"

*End Of Orientation*

Hi friends!
End of orientation week, *finally*!
It was a long and tiresome process, involving dozens of lectures, often repeating the same thing. There were social mixers also, dance cum stand around and watch others dance type thinges, and many aimless drives around campus, perfectly sober**. But I've made alot of new friends this week, some of whom will phase out by the end of the month, and some lifelong ones with whom I hope to share the most happy, and sad, moments of my life.

The one thing that struck me quite forcibly during the course of the week was the fact that, try as I might, there are certain things about myself that I simply cannot change.

There are people in my life that I just cannot walk away from.

Trust, to me, is the most important aspect of a relationship. It is based on the pre-assumption that I wont fall down that I choose to sit in a chair, I trust that the chair will carry my weight. Likewise, I presume certain things about people in my life. For example, honesty.

It is therefore based on honesty that I choose to be sincere also, I trust that both our intentions are pure.

My ultimate goal would then be to understand and appreciate you as a person, and love you for who you are, whatever the case may be.

In an imperfect world, however, presumptions are based on pre-conceived prejudices which we already hold.
Concepts that are drilled into our minds from the start of our lives to the very end, prejudices which we try to fight but which exist nonetheless.
What we might like to call our 'instincts' are infact judgements we have already passed about things that we perhaps do not understand, things which we infact are in no position to be judgemental about.

**What makes me a better person than you?**
The fact that I have the right to claim that I made better choices than you?
Or the fact that the choices I have made have made me a better person?

Truthfully, I'm hurt by the fact that you chose not to trust me. Not because your presumptions led you to believe that I held prejudices against the person that you are, but because I know that your presumptions were right, and I failed myself, and my maxim, by not understanding that in trusting me, the judgements I passed against you would have caused me to fail to see you as the

Beautiful
Intelligent
Thoughtful
Funny
and Kind person
that I now know you to be.

**my deepest regret would have been not having you in my life**

static in the air,
cackles everywhere,
the excitement and the fear,

the future so unclear...



We live for the thrill,

for lusts of flesh and what we can feel,

life itself is an unfair deal,

only the present is what is real,



Make a promise you cant keep,

dont be afraid to take a leap,

cuz in a world where words are cheap,

few relationships are ever deep



come with me, i ll show you how,

to forget your past and live in the now,

nothing matters, just me and you,

me and you and all that we do...


I dont need your promises,

false promises of forever,

I dont even need your love:

what you presume to be your weakness.

its now,

its here

it me

its you,

Thats forever.

**havent been blogging as I should, I know, but I've been up to my ears with work and I've had so many contradictory emotions that its been difficult to sit and actually try to write them down.**

**starting this week though, I'm going to make sure that I blog regularly... at least to sort through the feelings I'm having**

**2010 marks the beginning of a new era in my life.... I've just turned 18... and I'm starting college...**

Three days before I take off to Yola, Adamawa, where I'll be schooling (The American University of Nigeria) I sit infront of my laptop, jaded... I dont have my phone, my wallet, my make up bag. I dont even have a toothbrush.....

**Vikki and I walk out of the glass double doors at Silverbird, its a quater to nine, we've been here since five pm. We watched the five ten showing o f princess and the frog, but I lost my phone in the cinema hall and we had to wait until the next showing was done to search for it properly. It obviously wasnt there. My blackberry fingers twitch as I watch Vikki bbm-ing. I feel as though my hand has been cut off, i keep reaching for it, but it's not there.

We walk out onto the dirt road, off to the entrance of the parking lot. This is practically our last night on the town, the next few days will be spent getting ready for college, she's going to Babcock, in Ogun State, and I'm going to AUN in Yola. The road is dark and lonesome, with only a few miscreant rays of light from passing cars. Vikki talks about 'Babcock Rules,' no jeans, no earrings, no chicken, no camera phones... the list is endless, and she doesnt really want to go.

We get to the highway, cars zoom past. Every taxi that passes by has a passenger; taxis dont just drive by here. We decide to walk down the highway to the other street where getting a taxi will be easier. As we stroll down, Im thinking of all the reasons why losing my phone is a blessing in disguise. 'Maybe i was going to get a really bad phone call today. Like a bad business deal or something...' Vikki laughs.

She walks ahead of me to avoid a lump on the ground and as we look up, there is a man infront of us. 'hey wassup..' he looks really doped up and he's twitching. Vikki tries to move past him. I'm about to tell her to keep walking when I notice something in his hand. 'Vikki chill...' my body has gone cold. She moves back too, and he waves it in her face, still twitching. 'Gimme ur bag jo' I try to make out his features in the dim light. Vikki passes over her bag. He turns and faces me. 'you nko?' I pass over my bag and take a step back. 'where is the money?' he is still waving the gun at me. 'it s in the bag,' i say, raising my hands to show him that i have nothing else on me.

He walks away. Slow. Assured.

Us two helpless girls stand rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.

We've just been robbed.**

As i sat in my room that evening, my throat hoarse from telling the story so many times, and the belief that i lost my bag and my phone in one day settling in, i realised why i wanted to be a part of the protest that had took place that morning.

We are not protesting because we think it will make a difference.

We are not protesting because that is the solution to the problem.

We protest because we are violated, because all we have is our voice... we've been robbed of everything else. We've been robbed, and although we know that nothing is going to replace what has been taken from us, we feel that the least we can do is to express our outrage.

The police were unable to trace the robber. (obviously)
The mtn office was unable to trace my blackberry (obviously)

So they got away this time.
The way the government is getting away with holding a gun to the heads of the citizens.

** On the other hand, I got my hair done this week, in a style that is called the 'bob marley braid'

The hair is carefully parted in a little circle and the hairdresser uses extensions to make a long, thin braid. Like a thousand times. I started in the morning and finished in the evening, and as I sat, my back and bottom aching, I listened to the tale that the hairdresser told.

Appearently, i must not trust just any hairdresser in the complex tasking of braiding my hair. Some hairdressers just wont allow their client to use a mirror during the hair making process. Such hairdressers finish in half the time it would take a normal hairdresser. Although this might sound advantageous, its seems that these hairdressers use a voodoo that gives them imaginary hands. So although you can only feel on pair of hands on your head, the truth your hairdresser is getting help from her spirit friends in the spirit world. *chuckle***

So I'm in yola now, doing my orientation. Not exactly what I expected. People are much nicer than i thought they would be, but then again its just orientation week. Im in a four in one room, i have three other roomates. Going for my placement test this week, so will blog a little later on.

This is a very frustrated blog, i know, but im quite frustrated with the situation of things at the moment.People are making a big deal over something i think is quite simple to solve. Our president is sick, so? what spectacular task was he perfomring that he is now indisposed to perform? i think there are a lot of other pressing issues that we are not speaking out about and it seems abit hypocrital to bite upon such a trivial issue so ruthlessly and refuse to let go>>> then again... what do i know???

The month of November

The month of November,
I’ve found,
Is just as good a month to die as any other.
Chilly white winds tease crisp fallen leaves,
And it’s not as sweltering as the summer.

Loved ones cry just as hard,
You see,
Wet spring rains won’t have them dashing for cover,
November comes with a kind of comfort,
Like a good coat in the winter.

For with issues of life and death,
These are the things that matter,
And by experience,
I’ve found,
I’d very much like to die in November.