Saturday, 24 November 2012

Water!!! Wash It Off Me!

This piece is a bit tricky to explain.

I have always wanted to express my thoughts on water. It is for me, fascinating, cleansing and symbolic on so many levels. This is what I aim to explore. The various ways we turn to water for succor. Be it on health, religion, shame, relaxation, freedom or relief grounds.

Make whatever meaning you want of it. Interpret it your own way. Adapt it to your situation. However you decide to analyze this piece, don't fail to enjoy it!      24th Nov 2012 3:50am

Wash it off me, wash it off me
The grime of a hard day's work
The proof of my sweat and toil
Water, water, wash it off me.

Wash it off me, wash it off me
The sweat of the forbidden one
Further evidence of my loss of fabled innocence
Water, water, wash it off me.

Wash it off me, wash it off me
The oils and grease that pass through me
That make me dull and big and slow
Water, water, wash it off me.

Wash it off me, wash it off me
The screams of the little being piercing through
And blood that will be spilt again
Water, water, wash it off me.

Wash it off me, wash it off me
The coloured mud on my painted face
That masks hurts and fears and pains and tears
Water, water, wash it off me.

Wash it off me, wash it off me
The steam from my burning head
With thoughts and dreams and hopes and fears
Water, water, wash it off me.

Wash it off me, wash it off me
My impurities and earthly lusts
Break me down and make me whole
Water, water, wash it off me.

Monday, 8 October 2012

Of Boundaries, Stones and Bridges

Based on events of Thursday, 4th October 2012.

On Boundaries...

a limiting... line (

Life is full of routine, exploring further is hard work. And so, when we take the same route to work everyday, really, of what use is seeking out alternate routes? When we always succeed by doing things a certain way, somehow, the quest to seek other ways of doing things more efficiently dies in us. In turn, we build invisible boundaries around ourselves, our aspirations, our dreams, our patterns. We fail to challenge. We'll rather not dream BIG. We fail to stretch. We constrict ourselves.

Other times, our boundaries are visible. We encounter a wall and then turn around. Not peeping over the wall to get a peek of what's on the other side. Our bosses stonewall our suggestions and rather than push a bit harder for conversation, we avoid. I by no means intend to sound sanctimonious. Pushing through boundaries does indeed require extra effort. And it is hard for ALL of us to make a conscious effort to do it. But what if we at least try? What if we seek new paths? What if we talk to that seemingly "cold" person? Maybe, we would fail and be let down.... Or maybe we would succeed and be delighted beyond bounds... Definitely, we would have tried, and we would have learnt.

On Stones...

Stepping stones, they call them. Intended to raise our feet above the surface of water or mud while walking. (

Very apt, I'll say as we all indeed go through quite murky circumstances.  Now I think... How often have I made use of all the resources intended to guide me through life, education, love, finances? Do I wade through the murk when I could be better aided by these stepping stones and come out on the other side smelling of roses? Or do I ignore the stones and being headstrong, decide to chart my own way through, praying to come out on the other side successful? Am I even aware of the presence of these stones?

And when I do get on these stones, slip and fall, do I curse the stone and vow never ever to get on it again? Or do I posture myself better and get a firmer grip? A wealth of knowledge abounds. From researching, from discussing with other people, from meditating, from doing. How often and how well do I use my stepping stones?

On Bridges...

a connecting... route...between two adjacent elements (

What bridges have I crossed to get to where I am? Have they been shaky or sturdy? What have I left behind? What have I walked towards? Have I walked alone? Have others been of help along the way? Have I scurried along the bridge fearfully? Did I appreciate my surroundings and circumstances as I walked? 
Would I make use of these bridges again? Do I never want to see what I left behind? Has my journey been so so rough that I now wish to reconstruct this bridge for others? With every progress we make, every success we celebrate, we cross a bridge.

Tuesday, 31 July 2012

What Is a Peacock Without Its Feathers?

"I feel for the peacock. Upon all its pride, they have cut it all off. I can't imagine a peacock without its feathers"

Those were the words of my younger sister as I was dusting the peacock feathers in a vase in my room.

And it got me thinking. What is a peacock without its feathers? A crippled dog is still a loveable pet. A blind cow can still churn out milk. An old lion is still king of the jungle. A beak-less chicken can still produce eggs. But what is a peacock without its feathers?

There is danger in ONE. Being defined by one thing. Plowing our whole being into just one aspect of life and neglecting the rest. What is a 'spinster' without marriage? What is a wife without her husband? What is a mother without her children? What is a career-oriented person without that job? What is a sports person with failing health? What is a socialite with a battered reputation?

How many aspects of being can we sum our lives up in? Or are we truly lost when our one part is gone?

I couldn't help but wonder - can we still define ourselves when one important aspect of our life is cut off?

Sunday, 22 July 2012

Breaking Free!

Who needs another one, who runs you down and makes you feel never good enough?

Who needs another one, who hurts your soul by their incessant coming and going?

Who needs to hold on, to the hurts and pains and regrets of dreams dashed?

Who needs to hold on, to the bags of hurt gifted us by those we once cared deeply about?

Who needs to be, bogged and haunted down by the memories of times past?

Who needs to feel, forever guilty for no just cause and happenings that couldn't be helped?

Shaking free from unpleasant memories, stepping lightly forward. Cutting ties from those who batter our being so badly, reaching out to embrace true love. Getting up, when we stumble and fall, keeping faith when all hope is lost. Re-prioritizing our definition of what is dear, unburdening our hearts and embracing life as it comes.

Who needs to be blinded by hurt, when life's true blessings unfold before our eyes daily?

Friday, 18 May 2012

A Peek Into Life's O.R.

:-) I'm back!!!! Been watching a lot of Grey's Anatomy of late. Maybe in my next life, I will become a surgeon. Happy reflecting, y'all!

Everyday is a surgery. Every surgery is a gamble. Between life and death, hurting and healing.  It starts with an incision. An opening of the body to hurt. Towards the greater good of healing. And to heal, we must hurt.  For we must taste the knife to live the life.

Every time we challenge ourselves. We create an incision. And a surgical process begins. We have opened ourselves up to be, to learn, to accomplish, to hurt. And we ferociously attack the tumours called obstacles. Even when they threaten to bleed out our blood, we dare them. And when they throw our hearts into v-fib, we jump-start it with a higher power defib. And when all’s tried and done, we bear the scars of success.

Or we immediately close up the incisions and vow to attack the tumours another day. With better knowledge. With more sophisticated equipment. With a renewed zeal. After more comprehensive tests have been carried out. With more, With better, With newer... And when all’s been spoken and promised, we bear the scars of disappointment resulting from untried ventures. Never having known. For the lucky ones. Others are doomed and consumed by the tumour.

Everytime we choose to love. And open our hearts to tender feelings. We create an incision. And a surgical process begins. We have opened ourselves to experience happiness, friendship, companionship, hurt, betrayal, hatred. And we ferociously fight for our bodies to absorb and retain this feeling. And so when we are punctured, we heal fast. When we don’t possess the right instruments, we improvise. When we are totally uprooted, nerve ending and all, we regenerate. And when all compromises have been made, upheld with numerous plasters, surgical pins and casts, we heave a sigh of relief. For at last, we have fought for a steady and sure supply of the feeling.

Or after various rejections and complications the surgery presents, we slowly wean our bodies off the feeling. Or we try to try again but remember the pain of complications and we dismiss the thought. Or we forcefully implant it at all cost but our bodies violently reject it and shut down completely. Or we never even try at all; after all the success rate is below 40%. And when all’s been tried and tested, we either smile with the thought of knowing we tried, live with the pains from the complications, or are dead from the disastrous rejection.

Everytime we wake. And open our eyes to a brand new day. We create an incision. And a surgical process begins. We have opened ourselves to living or being. A battle for self actualization. And so, we promise ourselves to rise up to our fullest potential. To pack moments of bliss into every single hour. To fight for our sustenance and perhaps live something over for the kids. And even when the maze of veins and arteries do not seem to make sense, we forge on. Hoping and detangling as we go along. And when the day dusks to an end. We proudly bear the scars because through it all, we made it to the end.

Or after various pushes and shoves, we move from OR to ICU. And even when discharged we land back in OR because we breathed the frigid, unkind air outside which hurt our lungs. And our scars become abscesses. And as the mornings turn to noons, we are still being tended to. And as the noons turn to dusks, we panic, as we still are being helped along. And as the dusks introduce the moons, our abscesses become festering sores. Surgeries to be continued. Further consultation needed. Our scars become gaping wide holes. Longing to be filled with some sort of meaning.  

Everyday is a surgery. Every surgery, a gamble. We are the surgeons. Processes undertaken during the surgery, a determinant of the outcome. Some outcomes delayed, with complications that present themselves over time. Some others, great windows of opportunity for the diagnosis of hitherto hidden ailments. As with all surgeries, a better quality of life is the aim. 

Heart dead, brain dead, full recovery mode. You decide. 

Pic: Getty Images 16th May 2012 00:27am

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

Musings: The Road Mirrors Life

The road fascinates me. No one can claim ownership of it, yet everybody present on it owns a piece of it. At least for that moment in time. The road is a theater. The ultimate Broadway for the the exhibition of character in its rawest form.The road fascinates me. Because through the lenses of the road, I view the mini society.

I see the naked pedestrian who is the slum dog. She is vulnerable to every sort of hurt. Unprotected, unshielded, she does not have the wheels to run. No metal encasement to provide armour. Just her one or two or no miserable feet. And a sharp tongue against which to fight off the road bullies, those bloody bastards who had just the slightest of fortunes to be able to afford wheels. And so, when it rains, it is she who nature blesses with a bath. She has no encasement, with which she can mock nature. She has no wheels with which can run from nature. If she's lucky, she shields her head with her umbrella, while nature mockingly beats at her from underneath. When the road is busy, she is chased off by the wheeled monster. After all, her road-land ownership is minute compared to that of the two wheeled owners. And when she dares to run her tongue too much, the wheel owners tauntingly move to run over her legs, brushing her into the gutter. The pedestrian on the road is but a bloody civilian. The pedestrian is the hungry unemployed. The pedestrian is the student kicked out because he cannot afford the fees. The pedestrian is the disillusioned orphan. The pedestrian has the saddest fate of all. The pedestrian is the slumdog.And when two pedestrians collide, they hurt none but themselves.

The two-wheel owners are are step higher. All road occupants must know that. Those little devils who never fail to rub their little power into the face of all. "I am a two-wheel owner, yet I'm far privileged than you miserable trekking bastard" he seems to say. He is right though, after all he can lay claim a higher mileage on the road.  And though the privileged four wheeled miscreants may wish to oppress him with their shiny armour, he will make a mess of their ride and flee on his own two wheeled pride. "Catch me if you can." The two-wheel owner is for the most part, drunk on his 1-step advantage on the totem pole. The two-wheel owner is bitter at the multi-step advantage of the four-wheel owner. The two-wheel owner has no regard for the pedestrian and constantly aims to spite the four wheeled owner.  The two wheeled owner is filled with a poisoning pride. Yet the two wheeled owner nurses a bitter regret.And so, when it rains, the two wheeled owner can flee faster. The two wheeled owner is that young chap, just admitted into a D grade University while his peers write JAMB for the 5th time. The two-wheel owner is that government worker on a 20k monthly salary who acts as a "self pronounced liaison" to his boss. The two-wheel owner is that bitter housewife with a "supermarket" opened for her by her husband. The two-wheel owner constantly, aggressively fights for recognition on his own share of the road. And when two two wheelers collide, they are but a nuisance; hurting themselves and holding up the road for a few seconds.

The four-wheel owners are a lot more difficult to analyze. Their personalities are as conflicting as the sizes and types of the four wheeled monstrosities they are encased in. Perhaps, because they are a great number with varying models, they exhibit varying characteristics. While some four-wheel owners bully the miserable pedestrian off the road, others remain permissive to them of some space. Some block out the two-wheel owners and condemn the pedestrians to remain at a standstill as they whiz past. Other four-wheel owners are considerate of the pedestrians and two-wheel owners. Or could it be they chose to ignore their antics out of pity? The four-wheel owners are secure but not safe. While in a "safe" encasement, they are still at the mercy of the two-wheel owners and the pedestrians who can destroy their shiny encasement in the blink of an eye. The four-wheel owners watch cautiously for changing pulses on the road. And so, when it rains, the four wheeled owner huddles up in his encasement. And can afford to splash a little dirt on the disillusioned pedestrian as he stands by helplessly, hoping for a more compassionate four-wheel owner to drive by. And offer him a little taste of his four wheeled luxury.  The four wheeled owners is that middle class employee. The four wheeled owner is that youth corper with 5 months to go on his service calender. The four wheel owner is that specially appointed government commisioner. The four-wheel owner is secure but not safe. And when two four wheelers collide, the road is brought to a mini standstill while alternative routes are sought.

The 16-wheel owner is King. Ignore him at your peril. He has no care for bloody you. You who three of which will never equal one of him. You who seven of you would still be but a speck near to him. And so. Dare him and you spill your blood as a sacrificial offering. When the 16-wheel owner appears, you must make way. Bloody pedestrian, you must huddle at a safe side of the road. Two-wheeler, you know better than to race with him. Four-wheeled cages, must tread with caution near him and watch carefully, as he moves across the bumpy road - to avoid being flattened out like scrap metal. Disobey at your own peril. And so, when it rains, the 16-wheel owner has not a care in the world. He heaves past the pedestrian, the two wheel owner, the four wheel owner, leaving in its wake a messy "re-bath" of them all. He towers above them all, untouched. The 16-wheel owner can lay claim to the whole stretch of road if he so wishes. The 16-wheel owner is that company CEO. The 16-wheel owner is the madam of that pepper-soup joint. The 16-wheel owner is that high ranking government official. The 16-wheel owner is that student who's father is the highest donor and golf buddy to the VC. The 16-wheel owner is king. And when two 16 wheelers collide, they take down the pedestrian, the two-wheel owner, the four-wheel owner, and the impact reverberates on roads kilometers away.

The road is a fascinating place. Make whatever meaning of it you wish. Tarred, muddy or sandy. Autobahn style or crater filled. The road mirrors life.

23rd March 2012 11.00pm Pic: Getty Images

Monday, 26 March 2012

This Lagos: Conflicting Emotions

There is something almost primal. About the excitement I feel when a conductor yells at a passerby. Oloshi! Oloriburuku! Why do I giggle? What's so funny?

There is something almost sinful. About the indifference I feel. When I pass by another able bodied beggar. Bloody opportunists.

There is something almost careless. About the pull that I feel.  To enter that buka and order that succulent looking ogufe. Bacterial nutrition.

There is something hilarious. About the flooded potholed streets I bounce across. Every  time I drive through one of the most expensive real estate in Africa. Nestled cozily on a Nigerian island. Come, lemme sell you a bridge that traverses the desert. loool

There is something almost Darwinian. About the pushes and shoves that I make. To enter that bus on a rainy day. The impatient dog  gets the meat, mehn.

There is something like a boiling rage that a feel. When that policeman uses his baton on that cripple. He tries to cross the street on his slab of wood with wheels. But he is in the way of his oga's heavily tinted Range Rover. Cripple-dom isn't blind-dom, is it?

There is something unjustly accusatory.  About what I feel. When I see that stupid, 20 something year old lady. Backing one, lapping two, pregnant with one or two or three. Who cares? Irrational breeding.

There is something sadly curious that I feel. When I pass by that 80 something year old woman. Seating in mud. A tattered - clothed beggar. Heck, where is her family?

There is something like a fear inside of me. When I see that little girl. Just budding into adolescence. Being ogled lasciviously by those dirty looking bastards. As she walks happily across the road. Oblivious. Oh Lord, please!

There is something almost surreal. About the way it seems. When I approach that area boy, strung out on weed, to ask for directions. He doesn't only show me the way, he walks me to my destination. He asks for nothing. 'Twaale mama' is all he says as he disappears into the night. Indescribable humanity.

There is something like a tug that I feel in my heart. When I see that boy who can't be over 8 years old. Hawking oranges as cars wheeze past him. Yet he laughs. As he successfully chases after a bus and collects his N50. Oblivious of the danger to his life.

This is something intriguing. With every sight and sound in Lagos. Something fascinating. Its that pull. That makes one both love and hate this place. Conflicting emotions.

23rd March 2012, 11:40pm   Pic: Anon

Monday, 12 March 2012

Reculer Pour Mieux Sauter

Pic: Getty Images

Reculer pour mieux sauter: You have to go back to jump forward. 

I came across this French saying over the weekend and me being me, my first instinct was to whip out my Blackberry and sharp sharp, Google its meaning, etymology and so on. Those who know me know, I don't like waiting to ask "what's the meaning?" when I can pronto, find the meaning by myself. 

But yesterday was different. There was an unusual sense of curiosity. I wanted to know for myself without re-coursing to help from anywhere. So, I took a pause and decided to find out for myself, what sense exactly, this saying made.

First, I took the literal route. I stood up and tried to take a big jump forward. I jumped forward, alright. Then I went back to the spot I was standing and took a jump again. Waoh! It was a big leap from the previous. Nothing had changed, only that the second time around, I took a few steps back before jumping. I tell you, the difference in the space I covered was massive! At that moment, it automatically made sense to me, why long jumpers sometimes bend their bodies backwards before the run off to take that long jump. I found out that by moving backwards before jumping, you gather extreme momentum. Reculer pour mieux sauter.

Trust me, once again, this set off a spark that got me thinking. There has got to be some sense to this seeming 'nonsense'. Fine, its literal application kind of tallies up, how does this saying apply in reality?

And so, I looked at it from some angles. In career decisions, reculer pour mieux sauter. For freshers like us, this may mean going back to take some seemingly mundane jobs just for the 'experience'. It may mean going back to the classroom to pursue a Masters degree or an MBA. It may mean rather than spending our hard earned salary for pleasure, we start to spend on building, attending conferences or on gaining that ICAN, CIPD, French language or Comptia  certification. It may mean that rather than browsing the internet for the latest Brangelina stories and hottest fashion trends and gossip, we start to avidly keep a tab on industry trends, on when that multinational company is going to advertise vacancies on and all. But all in all, reculer pour mieux sauter. To make that huge leap forward towards career advancement, we sure do have to go back to gather momentum.

Pic:Getty Images
I also thought back to relationships, friendships, good times. Moving on after the end. Reculer pour mieux sauter. And from this angle, it could be going back to that place of hurt and seeming loneliness and regrets and the feelings of 'perhaps if I had done this more'... 'maybe if I had been this way more'... All those places we had sworn never to return to, no matter what, no matter who. The places where we had dammed and told ourselves, we won't be bothered, but will keep moving on, come what may. But, reculer pour mieux sauter. Yes, moving on would for many of us, mean going back to these feelings and having to DEAL with them properly before leaping forward into the next amazing beginning which is sure to come our way.

Now, I'm a bit wary of trying to apply this thinking to government because when one says 'let's go back to jump forward', that is when we start to see bogus 'grassroots' programmes that are programmed to constantly offend our sensibilities. Still yet, reculer pour mieux sauter. And that may mean taking a lesson from history to restart our pre-oil means of economic sustenance, it may mean looking back to the Awolowo model of education which many of today's accomplished professionals richly benefited from. It may mean going back and starting from the nursery schools to make an investment into the future, 30 years from now. In the case of Nigeria though, we definitely need to 'give ourselves sense' while going back. Heck, already it seems like we keep going back to jump further backwards. loool.

Moving on, even from the business standpoint, the same holds true. Reculer pour mieux sauter. As I write, I'm casting my mind back to the various businesses I started while in the university. Selling hair extensions and my mini printing press. loooool. The money was good, yes it was. But reculer pour mieux sauter. And that sometimes meant casting off your aloofness to attract customers, making personal sacrifices to meet commitments, pleading with Toyosi to help get supplies from Vanaplus and having to cut back on sleep to attend to that customer who at 1am, just realized she hadn't printed off Mr. Wogu's "Which comes first: The chicken or the egg" assignment. *rolling my damn eyes* Infact, away from little me to the Dangotes and Dantatas of the world, reculer pour mieux sauter. No company is ever built from the top. And so, no matter how madly successful they are, they still have to go back a bit in order to launch forward sporadically. Be it going humbling themselves while going back to cut loan deals with banks, or in relentlessly chasing after the 1st class talent they would need to bring their companies to life, reculer pour mieux sauter.

And the list goes on and on.... Its amazing how this seeming nonsense saying has hugely added perspective to some of the things I see in life. This saying tells me, no matter the hurts and efforts and struggles of today, they are all but the winds beneath my wings which are sure to propel me forward magnificently. For in life, reculer pour mieux sauter.

11th March 2012   9:05pm  Pic: Image Bank

Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Musings: This Civil Service Mentality!

And so, I've realized somehow that I've been bitten by the poetry bug of recent. Which is strange, because I had never really thought of poetry to be my thing.  I think the honest truth is that I've been lazy. loool. Too lazy to write in a coherent way. Poetry is easy to write. Your readers either understand it or they move on. Writing in prose form, not so easy. I would want for you to feel it like I feel it. Phew! Okay, I'm starting to have a hard time even explaining that part, so lets skip it.

Anyways, slowly but surely, I'm starting to get my groove back. And I'll like to share with you today, a part of my musings. How do these my musings come about? For me, loneliness/boredom isn't really an issue. Because guess what? I've got an imagination! I've got memories! I've got books. And when all else fails, heck, I've got sleep! loool. And so, at every opportunity, I watch and reflect. I listen to others and try to understand. I watch people and try to make sense of behaviours and actions.

And so, when yesterday I began to muse again, having inadvertently become part of the listening audience to this conversation between two women on a bus, I just knew I had to share it with you all. I wish I could write in as it was said in Yoruba, (its a lot sweeter that way) just that not all of you will understand. I'll do my best to translate the conversation to English.


"As I get to the office like this, me I'm going to kneel down for my oga o."

"Aaah its good like that o."

"Not with one leg o. Two legs. I will use my two legs to kneel down and I'll explain to her. I woke up 5:30. Before I make food for my husband and children. Before I prepare the children for school. Before I drop them and start coming to work."

(shaking head from left to right) "Hmmnnnn"

"Me like this, its 7 o'clock I left the house o. 7 o'clock. But the traffic that hooked once I got to.............. Its not the first time I will be kneeling down for my oga o. There is nothing there."

At this point I had just become aware of a stupid smile that had formed across my face. I wiped it off with alacrity and rearranged my face. lool. This conversation isn't a funny matter at all. Shhhh... lemme listen more...

"Me sef, I do it. There is nothing there. It is not good for one to be too proud. The people at my office always say it is people like me that spoil the ogas. But me ke? There is nothing there. Pride is not good. Infact, there was one time like this my boss was hungry and there was nobody to buy her food. Her omo ise (office assistant), that one was heavily pregnant. That's how I said, 'bring the money ma'. She said no oooo! that aaaah! I said 'please ma, bring the money. There is nothing there."She sha gave me. That's how I went to buy the ofada rice for her that she ate. Me I don't see it as anything o. Pride is not good."

"Exactly. The way you went to buy it ehn, that is what is good o."

"It is true, now. Infact, the way I am looking at it, its like as I enter the office today, I'll just go straight to my boss' office and kneel down and beg too. Because it is already 10 o' clock........"

And on and on and on and on....

At this point, I had unsuccessfully tried to keep the smile off my face. Funnily enough, this was somehow not funny to me. I  think I was caught between two conflicting emotions.

Yet I smile.
I smile because, dang, these women are hilarious! I smile because, I can definitely relate. Having "served my nation" for 1 year in the civil service environment. And i know she wouldn't forget me in a hurry. I'll call her "she". She wouldn't forget me in a hurry. looool. She who said I should stop wearing trousers to work; as it was against Civil Service Code! *shocked face* lwkmd! She who said my 'inactions' were rude. And I should try to 'fratenize' with them more, or am I feeling too big?. (Read: flock more around her and run to carry her bag every morning and smilingly listen to her crap and take all her BS) Me!!! loool. No, she wouldn't forget all my actions and 'inactions' in a hurry. Sorry, I digress...

And so, yes I relate. I relate with where these Civil Service women are coming from. That Civil Service environment.

Still yet, I am angry.
Does the environment we are in play a part in shaping us? Yes it does. A vital part, infact. Yet, I believe there are basic standards every individual must craft for him/herself and hold on to. Respect for SELF; respect for others being one. Yes I may want to prove to my oga that I respect him/her by kneeling down to beg., But in the process, am I really respecting myself? What ever happened to explaining yourself and offering a sincere apology? Kneeling down in the work environment? Ha!

I'm angry at the way I see working mothers use children and family to excuse poor judgement. Even when it is not needed. Perhaps I judge too harshly because I am not in their shoes. Still yet, it really does irk me when women make other workers carry their slack at work because, sob, sob, I'm married and I have children. I wish I could tell them straight up, You made that decision for yourself, stfu and deal with it!

Need I even touch on the quality of company you keep and its role in shaping your actions? Classic example above.

I'm angry at this Civil Service environment. And the utter lack of professionalism. Haba, I know the setting now. Workers eating beans, dodo and fish at their desk. Fanning themselves with loose sheets of paper as there is no light. Women wearing iro and buba to work on a Monday. Stacks of dusty files on the table. Crass inefficiency all around. I could beat Encyclopedia Britannica writing on this. I will pause for now. I just wonder, why is our case like this? After all, Jack Bauer too was a Civil Servant na! Loooool.

All in all, I think the Civil Service environment, infact, life in general would ALWAYS push us to answer the question: "How low can you go?" And there are many variants of this. Just how much are you willing to take? Just how high are you willing to fly? How deep would you sink? How far will you go to prove whatever? And as I think through all these questions, I feel it is the me in me that must always determine whatever response I give and actions I take regarding these. To hell with the environment.

Pheew! Gotta go sleep now, so I wouldn't also have to kneel down with my two legs tomorrow morning. Looolest! Chao........

P.S: I was on my way to work from the bank o! Not from home o! heheheheheee

6th March 2012, 10:29pm Pic: Google Images

Thursday, 1 March 2012


I've never really had much of a relationship with him. And honestly, after a while I stopped bothering. But that does not still the feeling of longing I have for him. For a connection, for a conversation, for a kind smile.

It has been a warped existence for us both. For me, it has been one mired with hurt, anger and frustration I feel towards him. Perhaps I simply misunderstand. Or perhaps, more likely, I don't have the patience. Or it could be that my preconceived prejudices still chain me. Still yet, I long for a connection with him.

I wish I could tell him - how much I admire him so. How much I respect his integrity and the values that he stands for. How much he has shaped my sense of morality. The knowledge I have that I can stand firm because he did so even when mocked by many. How much I appreciate his efforts and sacrifces. How much I wish things were a lot different between us. How much I love him. God knows I love him so much, though of him I know so little.

I hope there comes a time - when all the dust has settled and the breeze of calm blows. When we come to a place of peace in our hearts with one another. And become more understanding and tolerant of each other. Where we can laugh together and make easy conversation with true respect for each other. Where we are truly happy. Truly really happy.

Oh, how I long for such a time.
Till then, may God bless and keep Him.

(Everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody - Mark Twain)
29th Feb. 2012 11.03pm Pic: Getty Images

Monday, 20 February 2012

So Many Things To Be Thankful For...

A million and one things to be thankful for, even when all seems to be going bottoms-up:

For the love of family, who are always there no matter what;

For the companionship of friends, listening and cheering through it all;

For the beauty of each new day, and all the opportunities it brings with it;

For the joy of work, and the day-to-day self actualizations that come with it;

For the beauty of delightful laughter, oh the ever potent aphrodisiac;

For the joy of budding friendships, and the thrill of building new associations;

For the end of those relationships, and the bitter-sweet memories and lessons learned;

For the essense of life, even with its ups and downs;

For the challenges that come my way, and the feel of exhilaration with each challenge surmounted;

For the hope of a future and an eager expectancy of the unknowns that come with it;

For the joy of reading, and the boundless vistas it throws open;

For the sound of good music, an ever soothing balm to the soul;

For the decadent texture of luxurious dark chocolate, and its sinful guilty pleasures;

For the ability to muse at simple everyday events;

For the kindness of  strangers, who unveil another side of humanity;

For having a great education, not many have the opportunity;

For the chance to listen to uplifting messages, that in an instant turns my mindset around;

For the joys of dancing, oh, with reckless abandon;

For the delight of listening to sweet gossip, that offers a sneak preview into the lives of others;

For the beauty of seeing sweet faced giggling children, who have not a care in the world;

So many things to be thankful for, even when life seems topsy-turvy

And for all these and more, I am truly thankful to be alive!

What are YOU thankful for?

Pic: Getty Images

19th Feb. 2012, 11:47pm