Fiction


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Still on the Faux locks The dread worms had lasted 5 weeks but now they looked like hell. Normally, my hair frizzed for Lagos (That’s when I lived there). Since I moved continents from the tropics to this temperate region, it frizzed for Europe. When the nice lady made my dread worms she said to wait 6 weeks before the next appointment.   Luckily, I discovered the faux locks a few days ago. Why wait any longer? I thought. I secretly sent her a message to secure an appointment. Easy peezy right? Well, not with this woman. She asked me to send her pictures of the hair. I began looking for the brightest part of my living room to capture the hair. I needed her to see the frizz in the hair. Knowing her, she would not book the appointment if it was not ready to be re twisted. She was such a dread lock guru and from all my previous discussions and consultations with her, she was all about naturally nurturing the hair to reach it’s full potential. Yeah man!   Luckily, I was able to capture all the ugliness I needed to secure an appointment. It was to be 2 days later and I was so happy. I spent most of the evening contemplating on wether to ask her about the faux locks by text or in person. The thought that I could actually install the locks in 2 days was so exciting. Why wait? Was it not my money? My hair?   We were sitting in the living room watching a movie when I decided to send her a message We were sitting in the living room watching a movie when I decided to send her a message. You know how messages help cut out all the small talk? That’s exactly why I sent it instead of calling.   ME: “I have a question Susan, sorry to bother you. I want to ask about permanent faux locks ( at this point I was thinking that there must have been temporary faux locks and I did not want any misunderstanding. Meanwhile, the excitement was building up. I was sure she knew how to make them. She knew all things locks!) Do you know how to install them? How much do they cost?   I clicked send!   Phew, there was no going back now. The message was gone now. Although with this new improved what’s app, I could delete it. I didn’t. Instead I waited for her reply. I went to prepare dinner. As I did, I kept looking at my phone screen for updates.   No reply   I watched another movie   No reply.   I was feeling desperate for an answer but I did not want to send a reminder. You know that thing where you want a message to sound casual and not do or die? That was me.   Still no reply.   Maybe she was not home? Or perhaps she had left her phone at home and gone out without it. Or maybe she was attending to a client. She was a busy woman after all. I decided to stop checking and just carry on. If it was going to be, it would be.   Then BUZZZ!!!!   A message and it was from Susan.   My heart was pounding as I typed in my password to unlock my phone and hit the What’s app icon. Yay, It was going to be real? I hope it would not cost a fortune. Whichecver way, I would pay anything to cut out the faffle of waiting around for my dreadworms to grow, bulk up, and all the hoohaa.   SUSAN: “Yes, expensive plus the hair and I need a day. Approximately 165 depending on the length”.   So much for waiting for a reply. I did not get much from it. Although on a positive note, she was engaging with the idea and not attacking it. She needed a day and my appointment with her was in less that 12 hours. I did not mind waiting an extra day to get what I wanted really. 165? Was that the price or the number of strands she had to make? If it was the price for it then that was fine too. As long as I had it done in the end. I was glad that Susan was not giving me a sermon. At least in the end it would benefit her and she would make more money from it. But I needed more answers   ME: “I understand. Is it super duper expensive? Please tell me the length ranges and prices”.   SUSAN: Is this for you? Oh dear, my message sounded general. Of course it was for me.   ME: Yes, or is it too late? Now that I had done the dread worms? (Oh, I had not considered that. Anyway, she did say she could comb out my locks at the 4 week stage.)   SUSAN: Why do you want to rush the growth? Really, rushing the growth? I still wonder why people like to give unsolicited opinions. Why could I not just make my hair in the way I chose without being given advice. Who said I wanted to rush the growth? I understood that the hair needed time to grow but I did not want to wait with it. I could disguise it while I did. I did nor even have to explain myself to anyone. I am a grown woman. I could feel my temperature rising. I started taking deep breaths to calm down because I did not want my disgust to seep through my fingers into my next reply to her.   Breathe in, Breathe out, In….out……in…..out…. “Hey babe, you ok? You seem to be breathing very deeply”, John asked. Oh dear, I did not hear him walk in. Another adviser. The world seemed to be full of them. He leant towards me on the couch wearing his […]

Dreadlocks : To be or not to be Part 7


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Faux Locks I had never heard of the term before. Of course Faux was not a new term to me. After all, I had faux fur tops and bedding, faux leather bags and throws. But that was all there was to the faux business in my life.   I lie though, Come to think of it. Faux means fake, pretend, unreal. So synthetic hair was faux, synthetic wigs were faux as well. But I cross my heart, that is the extent I can stretch my faux knowledge to.   It was one jobless evening when I was engaging in one of my harmless and favourite pass times (internet strolling) that I stumbled into the concept of faux locks. Not the wig locks but actual dread locks but the faux version!!!   Faux Locks? Come on girls? Could locks be fake as well? What happened to the journey with the hair? Self discovery? Learning to be patient and all that? Well faux locks would be rubbish and easily spotted. Surely their fauxness should make them less popular. Nothing like the real deal!   Well, my curiousity had been aroused. I needed to see these locks for myself. One app later, I was on youtube. Search bar, faux locks and Voila! There the locks were in all their glory. They were painstakingly installed and the process had been filmed in the usual youtube way. In less than a day, the ladies created these faux locks that blended in with the actual hair. It was amazing.   Then I remembered that every time I grew my hair previously I always used hair extensions. That way, I skipped the rigourous part that involved all this penance and patience and longsuffering self discovery. I just hid my short hair in the hair extensions which by the way was beautiful while it grew. The thought that it was also possible with faux locks was ecstatic.   I did not tell John about my discovery. No way! I did not want a Gemini cricket that would talk me out of my new found liberation from my dread worms. From what I was seeing on the internet, the faux locks cost a lot of money. I even looked on ebay and 5 strands cost about £10. That was excluding the cost of installation. Surely, my locktician could install those for me easily. Afterall, she would make more money from doing them. I thought that the part involving her would be fairly straightforward.   So this week, my mind was made up. Faux locks it was. Goodbye to talking to myself 100 times a day to boost my confidence. Who said starter locks were beautiful? Well maybe those who had the support of make up. Interestingly, people had been stopping me on the street to ask about where I made my hair. I had given my locktician’s phone number to them. John reassured me as usual that being asked for referrals should encourage me on my journey. It did if I am honest. It absolutely did   ….until I discovered the redeeming faux locks. I now feel liberated. I do not have to wait for the hair or “learn” to love it as it is. I can make it look exactly how I want it to look in a years time…right now! Who said we cannot cheat nature? Eh?    

Dread locks: To be or not to be Part 6



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Some Positives   Did I just admit to myself that there have been some positives? Well, I guess it’s only fair to say so. Considering that I have   spent the past few days moaning about my hair.     Hmmmm….     Everyone has been so supportive. I have moaned about these dreadworms to anyone who has cared to listen. But I keep getting the same answer…. be patient. Let the locks do their thing they say. Everyone’s locks are different.   Even my dad, the King of impatience had something to say about my dreadworms   “Stop comparing yours with mine or others”   I get all that. I do not actually want another person’s dreads. Or am I?   Well I think not…but maybe a little.     Anyway, I am just fussing about how mine will turn out based on the info before me. I don’t want skinny locks but my sections are small. I don’t like the partitions but John says when the locks spring out it won’t matter cos I can style them anyhow I want. So yes, one good thing to come out from my locks has been a lot of love from everyone. I see them all trying to support me. They have helped me reach deep within myself into my shallow bowl of patience. I will say that their kind words have given me strength and reassurance. I feel that in their own way, they have given me more psychological strength and helped me unconsciously add to my bowl of patience. With each passing day despite my frustrations, I feel my bowl of patience grow deeper and stronger.       Another positive has been that since I had my dreadworms installed, I have not had to physically worry about making my hair. I have been more able to get on with life. My work has not suffered and I have been able to spend more time with my family. I have also saved a lot of money as a result.   What I did not bargain for was all the psychological noise that I have been experiencing. I look different, weird. I think that I have to get used to this new look first. When people look at me I keep feeling self conscious. But I don’t think that is to do with the stares. It’s to do with me. Every comment, sigh or glance just reinforces my inner insecurity. To successfully build my inner strength, I have to accept my new look first. I recognise that I will need time to adjust and so I have made plans to help me. I only open up my hair when I feel comfortable. I don’t rely on any validation from anyone.   That’s why I feel that these dreadworms are leading me towards a positive journey of self discovery.       My dreadworms have also made me crawl out of my shell. I have spoken more freely about my feelings than ever before. I feel more resilient because I have let myself use my ever-present support structures to build this resilience. Talking about my silliest feelings with my family and friends has also given them the chance to love me, to be kind to me and to support me. It’s very difficult when you tend to be the one who supports everyone. It has felt quite safe to be vulnerable around them for once!     So this week, my aim will be to focus on positives, love myself more, love my hair more, pray more and accept my dreadworms. I need to rest well, eat well, drink and sleep well. Basically, I have to create a good biological environment for my locks to thrive and do their thing as everyone keeps saying.     I counted John’s dreads and he has 83 locks. He counted mine back and I have 143 locks. I will no longer focus on the fact that 143 means the locks are way too small. But on the fact that it means that I will have very many locks to play with. They will be impressive. I have always had thick hair. I trust it to bulk up when it is ready.   My hair is like a baby. It’s just in its infancy. I can’t expect it to run right now, it has to sit, crawl, stand, wobble, walk, wobble again before it can run!     So lesson 1 on this journey, is Patience. The key to patience is a healthy distraction and that is what I will fill myself up with!   So catchya… as I head off to work!   To be continued   Photo credit Pixabay  

Dreadlocks: To be or not to be Part 5


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No way!   I feel absolutely disillusioned with my hair   This was meant to be a good idea. I lock my hair and live happily ever after. But that’s just not the case   Ok for starters, the lady locked my hair in sections that are not box like. The sections look like hand fans at the back and rectangles in front. I cannot understand why the sections in front differ from the ones at the back.   I hate that they are uneven. That’s the whole reason why I did not make the hair myself !   I kept telling her that the locks were small. She insisted that they will expand as the hair began to form the locks.   Then finally…   After drying the hair, she began snipping off the ends of my hair with a pair of scissors.   No warning…no notice…..   Just snip snip snippety snip!   What she did not realise was that with each snip, she tore at my heart.   I was in so much shock that I could not even react.  She did not even offer me an explanation about why she had chosen to cut my hair. Instead she said she could have cut it shorter but would leave the length as it was…   Seriously?   This woman had assumed power over me. She was controlling how long or short my hair would be. Opon reflection now, I realise that she may not have meant it that way but it did not stop me feeling that way. If she had communicated with me beforehand, I am sure I would not have felt so helpless. She probably thought she was helping… exercising her expertise over me. She was probably doing right by my hair but the fact that her decisions about my hair were hers and not arrived at in partnership with me heightened my anxiety. I felt like I was losing control over something as important to me as my hair.   It was my own hair….It sat on my head and would determine my appearance. I do not customarily add any make up on my face to enhance my appearance.   Can you imagine why my hair was so important to me? Reducing the length of it was an absolute no-no. The dry wintery weather had reduced my hair length already so I definitely did not want to add any deliberate snips to the length… at least not without any warning.   Any error with my hair meant that I risked looking absolutely stupid!   She did not even appear to listen to anything I was saying and it was really sad.   So here I am this morning, grieving my hair, horrible sections and petrified by the fact that the locks will be potentially thin dread worms.   Now that’s sad.  It just makes me feel so unlucky. Why do I always have to pass through emotional troughs just to gain new experiences?   That’s why I like to stick with things I know. Things with preset and certain pathways and outcomes are my forte. My anxiety is now heightened because I have absolutely no idea how this would go.   So this past week, I have spent more time in bed.   I keep staring at the mirror and fiddling with the hair.   Stupid sections.   Stupidly skinny dreadworms.    I just wished that I could actually remain in bed till the hair grew long or bulked up. This dreadlock business was turning out to be a very bad move. I could find absolutely no happiness. My self esteem and morale had nose dived.  I had the hair tied in a scarf to work. I could not even bear to let anyone else see the hair in case they reinforced my fears.   “Hey the hair is so beautiful”, said John, my ray of sunshine   “Well I don’t like it”, I said trying to stop us from having yet another session about my hair.   “What’s up with the dread worms today? He asked.   “The sections are horrible, they are skinny, she cut my hair…..   “I don’t know why you are saying all this”, he said cutting me   short.   “The hair is fine just leave it alone!” he snapped and I fell silent and withdrew back into my thoughts.   That’s it! I can’t even have a moan. I just feel stuck with this hair.   Why can’t I just remove it?   Well that will be £55 gone for starters. But worse than that, my hair has been cut short. I am not sure at this point which would depress me more. Unravelling the dreadworms and beholding my new short hair or persevering with these stupid locks. I would also feel like a failure if I gave up on the hair after only a week. I needed to see this through at least till the 6-week mark that the stylist set me. Who knows, I might feel differently by then.even though I seriously doubt it.   As for the world, they have no clue how I feel inside. There is nothing worse than someone I am paying my hard earned money to making my hair in the way they think is best not in the way I want. It just makes me feel bullied. Then, when I try to say how I feel, people around me make me feel like a complaint minister.   So what do I do? Just suck it up. But do I really have to?   “Babe, come on let me take you out”, John said cutting through my thoughts like a knife.   “Stop thinking about this hair. I am so sorry if I sounded harsh but this hair really suits you. I wish you could see what I see”, he said.   With that I smiled at least week one was over.   To be continued.   Photo Credit Pixabay      

Dreadlocks: To be or not to be Part 4



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The Dread worms   Yeah so yesterday night I finally did it! I locked my hair!     But since I woke up today, I have been prettified….   These are not dreadlocks?!?!  They look like worms coming out of my skull.   Dread worms!   Is it me or am I missing something?   These dreadlocks look as skinny as the ones I hear people call sister locks..come on!   I told the lady that I wanted fat locks. Why do I have these as my end product?   Sometimes I wonder why I let my brain talk me into deviating from things I know.   You might argue that it is a necessary part of growing up but it still sucks!   I hear it takes time for the locks to bulk up.   Sadly, when John got his own locks, he had extensions in them so they looked fat and healthy.   These my own locks look hungry and malnourished.   Ok maybe that’s a bit harsh because they are shiny and somehow lovely.   But what if these worms don’t bulk up? I know that I am just fussing but I can’t help myself.   I can’t even express these fears because I had been going on an on about wanting dreadlocks ever since.   This is literally day 1 of my dreadlocks journey and I am not coping well at all.   Sincerely, I feel like washing them off. Perhaps the fact that these locks are temporary is a bad thing.   I keep feeling like I can abandon ship like nowish and maybe that’s not helping me confront this new reality.   “Sweetheart, these are dreadworms”, I blurted out  to John. I finally said it out loud. It felt good to admit it to someone else   instead of just bottling it up.   “Hahahahahha…like literally, you describe things so aptly”, he was looking at my hair as he spoke and could not stop laughing.   Then I think he looked at my face because he stopped laughing abruptly.   “It’s not funny. You were not supposed to agree with me silly?!” I said   “Sorry boo, they just looked like worms and to call them dread worms was just perfect”, he said again trying not to laugh.   I pouted my lips.   “I don’t think you can even relate with the way I am feeling right now”, I said angrily.   “Seriously?”, he said pretending to be amazed as he pulled at his glorious back length locks.   “You know I am the Rasta man!” he said mockingly.   “Sharrap!”,  I said sarcastically, “says the man who masked his short locks with long extensions!”, I sniped.   “Yeah, fair enough, but you remember my hair was short”, he replied, pretending to sulk.   “But did you not come home with a sample lock after the initial appointment, even that one was fatter than this”, I said in   frustration.   “That’s true, he said, but don’t forget that he used the crotchet method. It was permanent right from day one”, he added.   That was very true. Now I began wondering why I had allowed the locktician lady talk me into the twisting method.   She had said, it would give me time to see how I felt because it was temporary.  I could wash it off if it wasn’t for me. That   sounded like a good idea at the time. However, she did not warn me that the output would differ from the locks I was used to   seeing people wear on the street!   She did say I needed to be patient and “let the hair do its thing”. What thing.? This hair stood no chance. These worms!   “See if it’s any consolation, I remember this lady in my office some years ago”, he said cupping my face into his arms and   cutting through my thoughts. “She appeared one day with dreadworms”, he said smiling   “You should so trademark this your terminology”, he digressed beginning to giggle.   “Leave me John”, I said pulling away and laughing.   This guy was just too funny. Trademark? Who says that?   “See…. that made you smile”, he said “that’s my beautiful girl”.   “So wetin happen to the dreadworms colleague”, I asked   “Ehen, so she can to work with the dread….”worms” I said cutting in, “continue the gist jare!”, I said still laughing.   It looked different … and skinny. That was like 3 years ago. You know when I worked with Cooper and Holistic Associates?” I   nodded in agreement.   “Well, I ran into her last year and her locks were as big as mine and very long… intact they were beautiful?   “Really?” I asked   “Yeah” , he said smiling.   “I hope you are not just saying that to console me?” I asked   “When have I ever deceived you?” he asked   “Well…. don’t get me started” I replied smiling.   “You know what I mean boo, be serious”, he said.   “For real, her hair is long and glorious. I think you just need to give this hair time, it’s just day one. Patience is one of your   strongest virtues”, he said   With that we burst into laughter. We both knew there was absolutely no truth in that. I hated waiting…even for the bus.   But somehow, what he said made me happy. Someone with my kind of skinny locks later got huge one. Cool!   I hoped my OH was not deceiving me because, if he was, he had won.   To be continued   Photo credit Pixabay    

Dreadlocks: To be or not to be Part 3


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Finding a locktician  My OH was aware that I had come up with a new life saving plan for my hair. I was going to lock it! Yay! He really welcomed the idea. He had worn his locks for the past 8years and was quite keen to have a partner in crime. I always thought he was a boring guy with it though. He only either spread the locks on his shoulders or he packed it in a bun. Anyway, he decided to help look for a suitable person to lock my hair. One day he came home and handed me a card “Sweetheart, I don find who go help you do this your hair”. Well, he ran into a lady at the fuel station. she was handing out her complimentary cards to people. A locktician she was… “Make sure say you call am to book the appointment o!”, he warned because he knew that I was the queen of procrastination. “Yeah, yeah”,  I replied collecting the card from him. Sister locks specialist…. it read. Hmmm… which one is this again? Sister what? Please… please… I beg! I wanted dread locks not sister or brother locks. The tomboy in me hated the sister locks straight away.  “I bet it would be too subtle and girly girly”, I said “Look at this begger who has a choice”, John said. “Stupid girl! Don’t talk yourself out of calling her now!”,  he added mockingly We laughed and I tucked the card away somewhere. 3 days later passed… “Have you made the appointment?”  “Erm…no …”, I said, “I have been too busy”. “Seriously? Too busy to make a call?” he asked looking surprised. “Ok let me call her now”, I retorted feeling irritated. Talk about pest! To be continued Photo credit Pixabay.

Dreadlocks: To be or not to be Part 2



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Trust me, I had said no for too long. I was too scared to enter an adventure where there was no way out. Let’s say I am the kind of girl who likes to enjoy all the options and not have to choose. If I had known that being grown up was all about making decisions, I would have stayed young.  Choices? I hated them. Why do we have to choose? Why can’t we have everything? While choices gave people freedom, they constricted my ability to have everything available. How could one ever choose one thing over the other? Every option had pros and cons. Why could people not just have all the options so that they could enjoy the pros and not have to worry about the cons. So what has this got to do with my day Yes in the dreadlocks journey? Well, Let’s just say… it was a choice I had to make. Choosing to have my hair locked means that I would be choosing to have one hair style. I would be “choosing” long streaks of hair on my head instead of having the varied options and versatility I enjoy with my fro.  See what I mean? With my Afro, I do not  have to choose one look  I can Weave it, Plait it, Pack it in a bun Add some extensions or simply wear it as it is….as an Afro! With the dreadlocks, I will lose these options. However, that said, I find myself feeling frustrated most times. I have no time to make my hair as often as I need to. Now in my second year at university, I find myself prioritising my studies over my hair, as you would expect. To be fair, with student life on full gear. I was combing away the glory from my hair. I literally went from long hair to short hair because I was combing it so often in less than a month. I was not happy with my hair at all. I even contemplated chopping off the hair for the sake of peace. Until… I reconsidered my decision about the wearing  dreadlocks. Since I was willing to snip off the hair for the sake of convenience, this seemed like a more viable option. I heard that all I needed was a locktician say every 6-8 weeks to relock and absolutely nothing apart from oil my hair in between. I heard that locking my hair will allow the hair grow as nature intended I would miss my Afro though, but I heard that with time when the dreadlocks had grown, I style it in different ways.  So it would not even be monotonous after all. That was right up my street. Trust me. I think this was a seriously good idea. But how on earth would I lock my hair. Who would do it for me?    To be continued. Photo credit Pixabay

Dreadlocks : To be or not to be Part 1


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This is a story about a man and his wife…. One day the wife was in their bedroom knitting a sweater for their grandchild. She had woken up very early and completed all the tasks that needed doing around their small bungalow. She made herself a cup of tea and sat by the window knitting. Well, soon, the lovely sunlight lost its rays to a thick cloud that began to form in the sky. The weather man had predicted a possibility of light showers. The woman was not disturbed. She was going to enjoy the different levels of light that were dimming and brightening the room. As long as she could see her crotchet needle, her senses would do the rest. Knitting was a hobby she had enjoyed for many years and she joked sometimes about being able to knit with her eyes closed. The only light she needed was at the start when she made the first knot. She prayed silently that her husband would be engrossed with whatever he was doing. Often times, he came in to commence his switch on activity around the house as soon as he saw the slightest darkness. She hated the lights in the daytime. Nothing beats natural light to her. However, he did it with such love and affection mostly teasing her about preserving her eyes so that she could see him when they were old and grey. Her frown and vehement requests to the contrary were always replaced by his good intentions. No No No he always said. You need the light! Well, as she sat there knitting and listening to the birdsong by her window, she could smell the green grass as her neighbour mowed the adjacent lawn. She knew she should shut the windows to avoid a bout of hay fever but she didn’t. She was sitting at a position that you only got once in a lifetime. She felt so comfortable and did not want to move from the spot where she was sitting. She had struck the perfect balance between cushion softness, hand angling and crotchet needle holding. She could feel her glasses hang off her nose at that perfect angle where it felt like it would fall off but stayed put because of the tilt she had achieved with her head. It was just a perfect knitting morning. Then suddenly, just as she dreaded, he entered the room. “Click” He switched on the light before she could even find her voice. It was too late. She exhaled the deep breath with which she meant to say “don’t turn on the light!”. Well it was done now. No use wasting her breath. As he left the room, he shut the door which she had left slightly ajar. Now the room was quiet. So quiet, she could hear her thoughts. “What’s wrong with this man?” she wondered.”I was listening to the music”. He did not even bother to ask her if she wanted the door shut. He assumed that just because she was knitting, she wanted peace and quiet. Well she did, but not in the literal sense. She wanted just enough sounds to keep her mind from drifting. She wanted the sounds from the lounge to filter in and hang above the loudness of her quiet thoughts. He just assumed… After an hour of knitting, the arrival of hunger in her belly made her jump without thinking. She needed food! Who would have thought that knitting would be such hard work? Well maybe if she did not muster all the mental strength to keep herself from drowning in her loudly quiet thoughts. As she walked into the lounge, she saw that he had set up the flower pot on the large desk in the living room. On the top of the table beneath the vase were lots of old newspapers. He had formed a bed with them and taped them down with some masking tape. He was busy painting the vase. She walked up to him and saw that he was painting the long vase with a brush with bristles as thin as her nail vanish brush. “This brush is too small” she said “I am not in a hurry’ he replied “It’s not about how long it would take to paint, its about how it would look in the end” she said “Well, I am not complaining” he replied irritatingly “Oh dear, who said you were complaining”, she retorted. “Well, you are disturbing me”, he said “What! I was only trying to help”, she replied, sounding hurt. “Well no one asked for your help”, he said “That’s really a horrible thing to say” she replied “Well, I know what I am doing!”, he said still focussing on his painting. She looked at him. She could feel herself beginning to fume. If only she could get him to listen. He always took a brash stand if he felt threatened and it always offended her. “See, I did not say that you did not know what you were doing. We all know what we are doing. However, that does not mean that there are not many ways of doing the things we know. Perhaps considering those alternatives broaden our view about how to do the things we know how to do. It can even make us question them and give us other alternatives”, she said. “Well, I know what I am doing. I don’t know why you are here disturbing me. Considering that when I came into the room and saw you knitting, I only supported and helped you. Why can’t you do the same for me?”he said. “Helped me? She said sounding alarmed. “No you did no such thing. You assumed that you helped me but you stressed me. In fact that’s why I am here to find something to eat. You switched on the light which you know I hate in the day. You shut the door and left me to drown in my thoughts. Now I […]

The man and his wife- A Story about listening



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It was a lovely party and the music was on full blast. Everyone was so excited. I was dancing really hard. My heart was pounding and I could feel the adrenaline rush. Oh! how I loved parties. This one was being hosted by my friend Nkem. No one could pull off this scale of grove better than him. Everyone was there. Everyone that mattered. There was booze, food, small chops …everything. However, despite all the fun,I had a niggling feeling I could not shift. It was exploding within me but the fun was just too much to attend to it. Dance! Dance!! Dance!!! That’s all I was doing. I was just helpless to the beat. Until….. It exploded…. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me to save me the embarrassment. I was 39 years old. How could I explain what was happening. I ran past a couple making out at the foot of the stairs, brushed past a few people on the corridor. I wished I had wings. From my peripheral vision, I could see that none of them could tell what was happening to me. That was a relief. The door was in sight. Phew… I would sort myself out as soon as I reached it. If only I could get there very quickly. It must have been just five steps away. I could see the door and all I wanted was to get behind it. This explosion was under control…at least for now. Suddenly it began to turn into a burning sensation. Bang! Bang!! Bang!!! I wished my fist could burst the door. I was banging for dear life. The door was locked. Someone was in there. “Come out…. come out….”, I screamed. My voice was inaudible with all the racket.The damned music! I could not believe that I had let the silly beats get me into trouble. The door began to open…. slowly….but it was too late.  I could feel the woosh. The explosion was officially on full blast . I managed to save my face as I slammed the door shut behind me. I had peed my pants. It was so embarrassing. At my age, I could not imagine that I had been so daft. I managed to sit on the loo. My bladder was still very full despite the accident. There was more but it felt stuck. “Why can’t I wee?”, I wondered. I tried to push the wee like a woman in labour. I pushed and pushed without success.  It just did not budge. “Was I sick? What was wrong with me?”, I could feel myself entering panic mode. Don’t do it…Don’t wee… Who was saying that? I could hear the faint cry in the distance There was a burning pain in my groin now. So I tried to push again. Don’t doooo iiiiiiiittttt! “Shut up… who the hell is saying this. What is happening to me?”, I screamed feeling very upset. “I need to gooooo”, I said sobbing quietly. pheeeewwwwwww…….. The sound of my relief as I let the sweet urine pour out from my bladder through my itsy bitsies down the toilet. I shut my eyes and enjoyed the relief. Who was saying that.  But suddenly my legs began to feel wet. Errrm… I was sitting on a toilet, why was my body feeling wet. This was a weird day. I had not drank a drop of alcohol. I felt horrified. “Wake up ! Wake up ! You are soaked!”, That was definitely a man’s voice. It was Noah my partner. How did he enter the toilet? Surely, I locked the door behind me. So I opened my eyes curiously wondering how on earth that happened. I was soaked. It was Noah alright, but I was not in the damned toilet! I must have emptied a truckload of urine on our bed….again. “Are you ok darling?”, Noah asked me calmly but no matter how he tried to downplay the obvious, I was too embarrassed to speak. I picked up the pillow and hid my face. OMG! I was soaked in my own waste! I did not answer… I was still in shock. I am 39 years old and have no idea what to do! Thanks for reading Photo credit: Pixabay

A wet dream


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So today is a Friday like no other. I have had a roller coaster day. It started off very promisingly but waned along the way…. I had an interview to attend. Supposedly the first step into the rest of what has become my new life. I was previously a kept man you see. I had everything being done for me. I did not even need to lift a finger. Money was not an object. Well, that was then… this is now and… the story has changed. A simple disagreement led to a disaster and now I was left to fend for myself. I know what you might think. You will say, is that even a problem? Well I say  it is my problem and a big one at that! I had forgotten how to earn money, pay my own way. I had actually forgotten what it was like to be broke! So that was why I was excited when I got a call from this agency yesterday asking if I could do a job for a reputable company. There was a sense of urgency in the guy’s voice because they wanted someone that could start ASAP and yours truly here- moi was available. We went through all the usual agency-agencee pleasantries. What was your last role? What are you looking for in your next role? Do you think that you can do this role? Those sorts of questions. After surpressing my irritation at these barraging (because don’t forget, I told you that he was the one who called my phone), he decided to put me forward for the role. Come to my office to fill out the formality forms and I will secure you an interview tomorrow, He said. Which by the way is today. So I head up there, fill forms, chit chat, get a time slot for the interview, get the venue details and then waltz off. Happy days! We’ll not until ring ring, my phone goes off. Hello I say Hiya, is this Azuka Mordi? She asks Yeah, you ok? I say I’m good thanks. She says Who’s this? I say still waiting for an intro that did not seem forthcoming! Oh sorry, you came to our office earlier today to fill out forms. She says Luckily for her, that was my only interesting outing and it was not difficult to remember. I have some good news Azuka, She says We have secured an interview for you for tomorrow (Which is today. we had this conversation yesterday …don’t forget) Errrmmm like seriously? Was securing me an interview even in dispute? Don’t worry I did not actually say that. Those were just my thoughts screaming loudly. What I heard myself saying was Oh, that! ok? What time and where? She fills me in with the details as if I did not know or as if it was ever in doubt! So we will send you an email confirmation of all the details. Let us know how you go tomorrow. We are really committed to matching your skills to a job. she says Ok thanks, bye. I say bye bye she says. I hang up feeling like that was so weird! seriously. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx So tomorrow arrives, which is today where I am standing right now and I feel ready for the interview. Mind you, I spent half the night awake practicing all my competencies, scenarios, skills etc for the interview. I then took my time to go through the email that the agent sent me the day before. Suddenly, I felt that spring arrive in my step. This would be a good day. I thought. I would smash this interview and secure the role of my dreams. The agency did say it was temporary but that the firm always kept their candidates on. So nothing to worry about there. I arrived the interview venue 15mins early, good interview ethics in place. I smiled at everyone. I had all my learnt scripts to heart and was waiting to spill them all out. My goal?  To mesmerise the interviewers of course! I aim to please. Come 11.00, interview began. Tell us your skills, tell us a time when xyz happened. How do you handle pressure bla bla bla. You know the usual interview stuff. I had done my research well. I was jabbering away. Good eye contact, good communication, good rapporting. They were smiling, they said they were happy with the spill I gave. Job done! We are happy to offer you this 6 week role! SAY WHAT??? 6 miserable weeks? You mean that all this spill and not sleeping my beauty sleep and I forgot to add, spending the last hour vomiting those first class answers was for only a 6 week role??? GRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrr I did not say that to them though what do you take me for? Composure in tact, smile on point Oh thanks for the opportunity I say I shall make the best of it and who knows with my dedication and hardworking, you may change your mind. We all laugh. Then she says just as we shake hands It will last only 10 weeks. That’s the service level that we need to cover. I hope this will be ok? Oh yes that’s fine I say. Still smiling. She walks me politely out of the office into the lobby where we fill some forms and I take a few ID card photos. In the end I say goodbye, promising to commence on the start date. My face is tearing from the smiles. As soon as I leave the building, I turn the smile upside down into a frown. GRRRRRrrrrr again I am so angry. 10 weeks? I for no just bother myself to day learn script na? I for just do am anyhow anyhow. As if that is not enough as I walk on outside the path that leads to the bus stop guess what happens next?  It starts to rain HAAAAAaaaaaaaa I am soaked to my socks before I even get to the bus stop. […]

No TGIF feeling today!



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There is indeed no use wasting time thinking what life has made you become. The past is in the past, the present is now and you can do something about it especially things that are within your control. The future remains unforeseen and we only hope it turns out in our favour. The uncertainties in life mean that nobody can claim complete mastery of it. We just have to keep up the daily struggle that is, for those who are able mentally and physically. We all have our individual idiosyncrasies and sincerely speaking, our paths in life are tailored towards different directions leading to our individual destinations. For me, the past three years have been a mission that only God has been my fortress. The waves and tides of life have tossed me up and down but my resilience has seen me through it all. I am the eldest of a family of four. My other siblings are all married and supposedly happy with kids and affluence. My parents to the glory of God are still alive and kicking. My relationship with Stanley was known to all in my locality, we both graduated from the university the same year but we were posted to different states to complete the compulsory one year national youth service corps. I was in the south precisely Ebonyi state while Stanley was posted to Zamfara state up north were the sun showed no mercy to the inhabitants. Distance did not hinder the love we had as we inter visited during the service year. Four months to the end of service year, Stanley visited and announced he would be with me till some weeks to “passing -out”. I was overjoyed but at the same time concerned as to how he could pull this off knowing how strict the zonal coordinator in his place of service was.  Stanley simply asked me to calm down that all was sorted before he left Zamfara. It was the best time in my life… We went to the pictures, shopped, clubbed, quarrelled and made up with hot sex! Three months flew by so quickly. I was so happy and did not want the fairytale to end. Stanley preferred to stay indoors a lot. It was so sweet that we could not seem to have enough of each other. However, I woke up very worried so I had told Stanley that I was feeling unwell. The truth was that my period was late. We had thrown caution into the air. I could not blame Stanley totally but…my thoughts were cut short because all I could think of was how to leave the house to get some pregnancy test strips to confirm. There was no need to worry him. That windy evening as I was on my way back from the pharmacy, I bumped into Ezekiel. Ezekiel was Stanley’s friend who had recently gone AWOL. It was definitely lovely to see him. As I approached him, he wore a sombre expression. “It’s so good to see you looking strong “, he said embracing me tightly. “How do you mean?”, I asked puzzled. He met my gaze with a surprised look. His next words confused me. “Stanley died in an auto crash on his way back to Zamfara from home”, he said. I burst into laughter. It was the most ridiculous thing ever. “Are you ok? I asked wondering if he was drunk. “I left Stanley in my room and he has been here for the past three months”. I added. The look in his eyes was scary. “That can’t be possible” he screamed. “I attended his funeral personally and assumed your absence to be down to grief”, he blurted. I felt like punching Ezekiel really hard. He was speaking out of character. He was either drunk or sick himself. Stanley was in my room and only stayed back because I tricked him. I felt I had to buy my pregnancy test kit on my own. It was all a bit awkward. I decided to take the silly Ezekiel along with me to prove his craze. This was certainly an expensive joke. We got to the room and it was locked from outside as instructed by Stanley because he didn’t want any disturbance from my neighbours. Stanley was nowhere to be found when I opened the door. It felt a bit eerie when I walked in. I looked around the room but he wasn’t there. His bags were gone, his slippers where not on the doormat. I checked the bathroom and even his towel was gone…gone! There was no trace of him. I was shaking all over and screaming hard. There was just nothing. I was downcast. I sank into my puff. It all made no sense. Buzzzzz! My mobile phone began to ring. It was my mum. I picked it up and she was telling me to be strong because she had some news…. “It’s not true … don’t say it mum” I cried, interrupting her. “Is Stanley really dead?” I was weeping like a baby now. It was then that I felt his hands. He held me close. I turned around but Ezekiel was still standing by the door where I left him. Shhhhh…..Shhhh…. he whispered. I relaxed into the puff and my phone fell beside me but I could still hear my mum. Her voice pierced through the quietness in the room. Very softly….very distant … but very definite. “Yes baby, Yes…I am so sorry. His mum just left.” Mum said. “Are you still there?” mum asked I was whimpering. The sorrow hit me hard. It all did not make sense. I shut my eyes and I was in his arms again. It was warm. It made me smile but I knew I had to be strong. He was gone… I began to cry hysterically as the realisation hit me. I cried….mum could hear me. “Sorry baby…are you going to be ok, or will you come home?” mum asked. I just cried…. I woke up […]

A day never to be forgotten… The day my cookies crumbled!!!!


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Wow…what a pleasure to have you here this week for the conclusion of this story. For those who do not know we had a Part 1 and Part 2 before this one. It may be worth catching up on those to give you the full gist. So without any further ado, here is how the story concludes… Now it all made sense! The call earlier … the insistence on her attending today. He did say the next appointment was in two months time. What he did not say and should have said was that she did not have 2 months. She had cancer. Surely she had no lumps and bumps. Amamda sat for the next half hour panicking and worrying on that seat while smiling at anyone who walked past. She was trying to hold it all in and not break down. As she reached for her phone in her bag, a nurse walked up to her. Why is she smiling at me like she is pitying me already? Amamda thought. “Hi Mrs Oki, my name is Nikki your nurse for today”, she said “Hi Nikki, you can call me Amamda”, she replied “I will like you to take a seat for me on this armchair”, the nurse said “No I am very fine here where I am”, Amanda replied “Please seat on this chair because I want to take bloods from you and its more comfortable”, the nurse added “No thank you”, Amanda said “You see, all the patients seat here. This seat is meant for patients”, the nurse said a bit sharply “No thank you”, Amamda said to the nurse again but this time with her voice slightly raised “I am not one of your patients”, Amanda added sternly. With that the nurse agreed and looked at Amamda rather surprisingly. She was not really sure why the lady was being upset about sitting on a chair but if she was fine there, then she did not mind doing the bloods from her current position on the smaller chair. Amamda was a bit upset about the nurse. Why was she being so pushy? she thought. It was really surprising to hear the nurse confirm her worst fears. She just addressed her as her patient. Amamda was very happy that she rejected it. No way! What will happen to her family if this was really true? She could feel herself trembling all over. She needed to get some fresh air. It was all a bit too much for her to handle. She reached for her phone again but the battery had died. She cursed the silly phone under her breath as she made her way back to the lobby where she sat in initially. There was a water dispenser on the side and so she made herself drink 2 cups of water to calm down. The nurse called Amamda later. Amamda was quite thankful that she had walked out earlier because she felt a lot calmer and ready to face her reality. The nurse turned out to be a nice lady. She offered her a cup of tea which she accepted. The blood tests were endless. It felt like 100mls of blood had been taken from her. The nurse filled many bottles and labelled them carefully before leaving. Later she ushered Amamda into the doctor’s office for her appointment. “Hello Amamda, I spoke to you on the phone earlier. I am Dr Gupta. Thank you so much for attending. I just thought it will be easier to get your appointment out of the way so you won’t just be left wondering endlessly about the next thing to do”, the doctor said Hmm what a nice sermon, Amamda thought. He is obviously preparing me for the news. “So how are you in yourself generally?” He asked “Fine thank you”, Amamda replied. “No coughs, cold, pains? You know all the usual signs of ill health?”,  He asked “No… none at all. I feel very fit and well”, She said “Ok that’s fine”,  he said reassuringly I wonder why he is not dropping the bombshell! “So why did you have the blood test for B12 done.It seems a bit unsusual”. He asked while he tapped away on the computer at his desk. Really? He is still making small talk? I wonder how long before he spills the beans! “Well, I was experiencing severe abdominal pains and decided to go to my doctor for tests. I had swabs taken and scans were done but nothing was found. In the end, we did blood tests and nothing popped up apart from the high B12. I was told it could not cause me any pains but there you go”, Amamda explained. “Are the pains still present?”,  He asked looking at her for the first time “No they are not. They turned out to be as a result of my contraceptive coil. Sorry I forgot to mention that”, Amamda said “Oh that’s ok”, Dr Gupta said, “go on”, he urged “Well, the scan showed that my coil was lying very low in my uterus and the gynaecologist confirmed that such low lying coils could cause abdominal and back pains”, Amamda replied. “Do you still have the coil?”, he asked “Yes I do”, Amamda said “That’s fine then”, said the doctor “Why? Is it a problem? Only I have an appointment to replace it in a few weeks. I am in the process of doing my gynaecology swabs to make sure that I have no infections before the coil swap is done you see. Should I just get rid of it and not swap the old coil for a new one? Could it be why my B12 is high?” Amanda asked looking very worried. “Oh no, I was just asking routine questions. The Coil is fine and not the reason for the high levels. There is really nothing to worry about. Sometimes these levels go up and down. With the absence of any other symptoms, and the previous […]

The appointment part 3



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Thanks for joining us again this week. For those just joining us, the story began last week here. So for the rest of us, let’s dig in… The receptionist asked her to wait in the second waiting room. Amamda felt very alarmed as she walked in. There were very huge arm chairs all around the room. They were a very sad looking pale blue colour. They were arranged in a circle around a large hall. There must have been about 15 of them. On each arm chair were 2 large white pillows. Beside the large armchairs were smaller chairs, a foot stool and some magazines. They also had a drip stand next to each arm chair. She noticed a fan in the centre of the room. A large wall painting hung on the wall across the room too. As she walked towards the circle of chairs, she noticed that  the armchairs behind the large fridge were occupied with patients. They sat on the chair with their arms resting on each pillows. Their drip stands were in use as drips in grey cellophanes hung down from them while the drips were inserted into their left or right arm. Their arms looked very comfortably placed on the large pillows. Some of the patients had their second pillow behind their heads while others rested their other free arms on the spare pillow. They all each had a relative sitting next to them on the smaller chair. While some patients rested their feet on the footstools provided. As Amamda entered the room, she noticed that the room was bigger than it looked to her as she approached. It was surreal. All these people were having their chemotherapy treatments for cancer. As she sat on the chair next to the door, she made sure it was the smaller one meant for the relatives that she sat on. Although she reached the large armchair first before the smaller one, she did not allow herself to be lured by its plush and cosy look. Amamda was sure that sitting on it would tempt her fate. “Jinx her”. From where she sat she wore a solemn and troubled expression. She had not still been told why she was here. The Doctor who called her earlier was nowhere to be seen. The last blood test she had in her local clinic showed that she had elevated b12 levels. She remembered the doctor’s worried expression as he scanned his system for her results. He seemed concerned but clueless as to why these levels were elevated in her blood. His replies to her questions proved he had no idea why. She remembered asking if it was to do with her vegetarian diet. However, the doctor said that would have dropped her b12 levels rather than pushed it up. Amamda remembered searching the internet for reasons and it all pointed to cancer or liver problems. It was all so alarming because she really took good care of her liver. No drinking or smoking. She exercised regularly and drank lots of water. As far as she was concerned, she did everything right. What she could not still understand was why she had been brought to a cancer ward. Did she have cancer? The thought made her gasp. Then suddenly the realisation hit her. Perhaps the city hospital doctor knew exactly why her b12 was elevated. It was cancer! …to be continued next week! Thanks for reading. You can also find the first part here People who read this article also clicked on others like it here. Photo credit: Pixabay

The appointment part 2


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What am I doing here? Amamda wondered as she sat in the reception at the City hospital. She remembered walking in through the door earlier on. It was supposed to be a routine check up to see why her blood result came back high for vitamin B12. She wondered if she had walked in through the wrong door. Amamda was a 35year old mum of two lovely boys. She was in a very good place in her life. The boys had finally started school- big school. It was time to start focussing on her for once. She was not sure what to do with all the time she suddenly had. What she knew though, was that she was going to have fun. Adi was the man of her dreams. They had been married for 10 years. They first met back at university and again during their placement at the local hospital. Adi was a medical doctor and Amanda was a nurse. They often met in the car park. It always seemed like they worked the same shifts. Although in different departments, it was not unusual to cross each others’ paths daily. It was a small hospital after all. They struck their relationship one day at a colleague’s party. It wasn’t long before they became an item. After seeing each other for a year, Adi proposed. Their wedding was the talk of the hospital. They invited everyone to Greece where they tied the knot. It was a lovely weekend away for nearly everyone in the office. To be fair, they all needed it with the kind of hours they worked. The only people who missed out were the ones who had shifts that weekend. Amamda smiled as she remembered her nuptials. She was not sure why she was having these thoughts. She knew she was scared. She wished Adi was with her but he couldn’t have been. He was babysitting the boys because she had to attend this appointment. It was a mere formality- this appointment. Her doctor just wanted the specialist in the hospital to go through the blood test results with her. She remembered chatting with Adi an hour earlier. They had an argument about what pyjamas was better for the boys because the weather was a bit warm. As they argued and giggled, the house landline rang. Adi picked it cursing under his breath as he did. “Are you expecting a phonecall this afternoon?”, he asked “No dear, just pick up quickly before it cuts off “, Amamda said feeling a bit irritated by Adi’s constant moaning over picking the house phone. Sometimes, she wondered why they bothered paying for the landline if no one cared to pick it up. “Pimmmm Pimmm”, the phone buzzed quietly. “Hello”, Adi said Silence… “It’s your call”, Adi announced triumphantly as he handed back the phone to Amamda. He dashed out the living room. He needed to sort this Pyjamas mix-up out so the boys could get an early night while he tidied up some work. “Hello… Amamda here, who is this please?” “Oh hi, Mrs Oki, Is it ok to call you Amamda?” ,the caller asked “Yes, certainly”, Amamda replied “I am Dr Gupta from the City hospital. I was wondering if you were running late as your appointment was for 4pm. It has just gone past four now”, the caller informed her. “Oh dear, I beg your pardon because I completely forgot”, Amamda said apologetically. “Can you still make it today? Only the next appointment is 3 months away. I can wait another half hour for you”, Dr Gupta said kindly. “Oh that is very kind of you. I shall be there shortly”, Amamda said thankfully “See you soon then”, Dr Gupta concluded. “Ok, see you…and thanks” Amamda said finally and hung up. It was after that phone call that Amamda rushed off and found herself sitting in this room. She had followed the directions the Dr gave her during the phone call. She remembered that he did say it was the Macmillian unit. He also said it was directly opposite Uriah Ward for clarity. She looked up on the wall behind the receptionist who had asked her to sit here earlier just to be sure and the sign still read “MACMILLIAN UNIT”. She was definitely in the right place. It would have been a shame to keep the nice doctor waiting. …to be continued. Those who read this also clicked on others like it here Photo credit: Pixabay

The appointment Part 1



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My relationship with Flora started sixteen months ago. I was initially troubled about this whole idea but at the same time eager to keep it secret from my wife and three grown children. The relationship blossomed beyond my imaginations and i wholeheartedly looked forward to our meetings with much gusto!! Flora my midnight lover is the sweetest thing after lollipop. The love we shared was equal to none. It never lacked a spark. Poppy-love  is a speck when compared with the undiluted love between Flora and yours truly. We had memorable moments anytime i had her in my mouth. I kept Flora away from the reach of unwanted adversaries (my wife and kids). I made sure her ambience lacked nothing. She has been my everyday solace and escape from this hot planet set on fire by humans.  No day has elapsed without me having a taste of her ever since i met her at the shops in the ever busy Trident mall in Cardiff. Sadly, our love went sour last night when i came back from work. There had been a power failure all day and nobody was around to have it fixed. Flora had lost her cool and wasn’t in any mood to cheer me up.I couldn’t have her that night as a result and that made me sick. To be frank, i was miserable all evening resulting in me having nightmares when i finally slept. I reached for Flora in my dreams to no avail. I was shattered , cried all through the moments of rejection in the dream and woke up sweating profusely. As i opened my eyes today, i prayed and vowed to always keep her sweet at all cost. I rushed to the secret room we shared only to find that Jonathan my nephhew was all over Flora.. I almost exploded with rage but held my steam as he explained the whole room was smelling when he walked in and had to empty my Flora yogurt in the bin….. Dr Love as we all call him is one of our WH writers. He is a professional by day and clutches his pen and paper by night… Thanks for reading. Do you know that you can now submit a post like this? To find out how, click here. Perhaps you fancy reading from others in the community? Find other articles here. Thank you Photo credit; Pixabay

Flora my midnight lover… By Dr Love Asiok


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I am going to be brutally honest with you. I sat across you on that sunny afternoon listening to you talk about Him and your current situation and it was the most painful thing I’ve had to watch because you certainly deserve better. You were hurting and there was nothing I could do, I hated that feeling. I always felt I could put a smile on your face no matter how bad you were feeling, that was one of the things I was good at. When you had a bad day you would run straight to me and I would be myself all through but you wouldn’t stop laughing and giggling like a little girl. Moments like this I always treasured. So, to have you sit across me and tell me how sad and bitter He had made you feel and all I could do was listen. All through the time you spoke all I could see was the hurt in your eyes, how dejected you had become. You were resigned to your fate and it was tearing you up from within. You needed an outlet, an escape, I used to be that outlet but today all I could do was watch and listen to you pour your heart and soul out. Something that wasn’t very common with you. You would tell me about your horrible day at work or the difficulty you had coming back home in this crazy town and I would make jokes just to make you feel better. Yet I would always have to probe further just for you to tell me something really personal that was on your mind and now that you came to me with your biggest challenge, I wasn’t ready or I was clueless as to what to say to you. Days went by, weeks even and I still had not recovered from watching you look so gloom, so defeated, all because of Him. I would apologize that I did not check in to see how you were faring because I handled this encounter differently this time around and I couldn’t bear to see you this torn. But for you to question my friendship that really hurt me. I have been here for you for every single step of the way since we have known each other, even when you know how difficult it is for me to do just that. Or do you think it is easy watching the one you want, be with someone else? Your happiness was all that mattered and I decided as long as you were happy, I was okay with that. Now you are not even letting me explain or talk to you, you feel that cutting me off is the solution to make yourself feel better. Is it because this time around I didn’t sympathize with you as you hoped? I did not cheer you up since that will only be a temporary solution to what you are going through. Did I really hurt you that much or are you just deflecting? I don’t think it’s fair for you to treat me like the enemy. Anyway I guess you need time to yourself. You need time to sort through your issues and I suggest you face it head on and stop hiding behind whatever you call “this thing” we have. I won’t have it this time around, I want you to know that I would continuously be praying for your marriage and I hope you can sort it all out soonest. You know I will always be here. Thank you for reading. You may also like others from this series About the author : Ezimen is a professional in the daytime. He loves writing, travelling and having fun! Do you know that you can now submit a post like this? To find out how, click here. Perhaps you fancy reading from others in the community? Find other articles here. Thank you Photo credit: Pixabay

She knows I love her but she is his wife…now she hates me.