Soldier on...

6:45pm

 Tip tap tip tap, my feet move in sync with the piano’s and drums of Tracy Chapman’s “telling stories”. It’s hot, very hot and my skin feels like its being bombarded with pinpricks of fire in every pore. There’s only one star to be seen, matching my feeling of aloofness and loneliness, but tonight, it’s not the physical that’s the problem. It’s not my too big arms, not my not-flat enough stomach, or my recent facial attack. No, it’s much more deeper, it’s not even my paranoid issues of being secretly disliked by everyone, except my family. It’s my future here, my life’s mission. Yes, I’m only –teen, but it’s important to me I know where I’m going and right now, I feel like the rain is down on me, pouring heavily and blocking my view of what is and isn’t important to me.

It’s The Temper Trap’s “soldier on” playing. Today I saw the movie, “an education”. Carrey Mulligan plays, jenny, a smart, but ill exposed girl whose parent struly want the nest for her, but go about it the wrong way. Her dad is an overprotective, mean man who insists her life consists of only her books and her plans for Oxford University. She can’t attend concerts or engage in anything fun. She meets an older man, David (Peter Sarsgaard) who entices her with concerts, fabulous dinners, auctions and makes her feel grown up and happy. She begins to soon forget what’s important because she has never been told why her education was important in the first place. She discovers he is a con man, but still continues to see him. He asks her to marry him and she agrees, abandoning her education. Her parents. Agree, thinking David is an honourable man, who will take care of her since that as the point of her schooling in the first place. Soon she discovers, David is married and has been doing the same to girls before her. She is not accepted into her old school and struggle to re-write her final year exams, while being homeschooled. She ends up getting into oxford, but considerably wiser. The point is, all of this would have been avoided, had her parents made her aware in the first place. Back to me now

I’m a living, breathing Nigerian version of Jenny, albeit, slightly less obnoxious parents. David to me was a metaphor for distractions I will face before my priorities are in order. He’s the rain, blocking me from seeing any farther, by distracting me with its cool drops on my skin. David represents boys, binge drinking and everything that threatens to topple me. But unlike jenny, I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance to redeem myself once I’m thrown off course. I met someone today, she was smart, talented and had quite some experience. She was an average run of the mill-not very goodlooking-college girl, but she was different. She was passionate. She knew what she wanted from life, and went for it, nothing stopped her. She had experienced a summer semester in Harvard and was currently on a full scholarship in school. What am I doing? Constantly moaning about my lack of opportunities all the time?

All I want to do is write and talk. Translation: become an accomplished, internationally recognized journalist/writer. That’s all, but why do I see myself, not getting halfway there? My personal David: my innate ability to disbelief myself when I need to believe in myself the most.

I want to have a life, but at –teen, I have none, except a school oriented one. Not much of a friend person, no alcohol history(mild or binge), no sex life, nothing. I hate girly gossip …most times. I have an amazing level of nonchalance. I wake up each day and take at least two walks. Walks in which I pass people, nod and move on. I don’t want my David to hinder me to the point of permanent regret. What do I do? Like Jenny, “all I want is to go to school to study English, listen to French music, each French food”. Translation: Go to UM, eat English food, listen to and read classics and soak in the air of prim sophistication…and come out the best version of me. Flawlessly intelligent, charmingly witty and radiantly beautiful

To the perfect ex..

“I have very strong feelings for you, whether they’re good or bad, I don’t know yet”

I HATE you so much right now. I wanna simultaneously choke and drown you on your lies and deceit, but I can’t, because as much as I hate to admit, I feel very strongly for you and the simple theory of your existence feeds those emotions. I’m damaged, I can’t help it. But as insane as it sounds, you’re even more damaged than I am. We found ourselves admist all the perfection and organization which is in itself imperfectly perfect.

We struck a chord. We talked, actually sat down and talked. We weren’t the typical I’m-attracted-to-you-and-I’m-just-talking-to-you-because-you’re-cute-and-hot. No, we found some fucked up solace in seeing a mirror reflection of our psychotic states in each other. And being humans, we got swept away by the unexplainable gravitituous  attraction that came with it. In layman’s language, we hooked up

I don’t know why I’m rehashing memories when all I really want to do is tell you to masturbate to gay porn and die, but I’m stalling. Stalling because I can’t completely hold you over the cliff and drop you. Some damaged part of me wants to fall over instead and let you walk away. Because even though you’re an asshole, you’re my asshole. You’re smart, funny, a damn good lay and most importantly, the balance I need to my life. I clung to you so much because you were a walking, talking, breathing fucking addiction. You were my vice, my opium, my reason to wake up and smile. Turns out, you were my painful blast into reality too. My rehabilitation. My re-entry into dark, stark, painful life. You were a lie, a fucking lie, and you prove to me, that I could never be cured.

I can only keep up the pretense for so long. You definitely will be shocked to see this, but I’ve met them all. Jane, Anita, Mariam, all of them. The smilimar patters, the looks, the expressions, right down to the fucking menu. GOD!. Fuck you fuck you. Each fuck you is a tear to my already worn façade and I’m coming out. I will always feel very strongly for you, maybe even relapse and try to get back together…you will always be my emotional paradox

It’s over…

From a damaged ex

mind storms

   ...my attempt at being tragically deep...enjoy


Its rising, building up like sand swirls right before a bastard storm. It’s a storm, yes, but not a literal storm, a metaphorical one. The constant battle of self acceptance. The competitive war between the good sheep, and the big bad wolf hidden deep in the inner recesses of your mind. Yes, that storm.




It starts with the telltale signs, turmoil, confusion. Wondering what on earth brought you back to the same bloody rut you were stuck in years, moths, weeks, days ago. You think you’re over it but you’re not. It’s the one issue that will haunt you for all eternity. You ask yourself, why you just don’t let it go. It goes fine for a while, but even you can’t pretend to yourself forever. It’s your nature, you can’t deny it. You can only tame it, but so far. You’re taking the quick messed up approach.


I write with a weary heart, for desert storms gather in me. I’ve tried to fight it off, but I’m powerless. Held down the basest instincts of primitive humanity that lies within us all. I’m but a slave to my body, myself. Years of civilization and honing has but left a small dent in my fabric. What am I? because I do not succumb to years of training and expectation, am I to be cast out? Scorned? Rejected? Even by the ones who are supposed to be there? I’m an empty hollow existing shell, I feel nothing, yet feel the sharpest sting of betrayal, the most painful feeling of disappointment. The deep embarrassment that comes with rejection. I do not feel the warm embraces of love, hope, faith, and unconditional belief.


The storm is here, and I cannot but fall helpless at its feet. I’m carried away by the winds of self destruction and anger. Soon, it’ll all be over and I’ll be left an empty hollowed out shell. With time, I will heal, but only in time again to face another metaphorical storm


Who will help me?

me! me!! me!!!

Its a me special and I truly have nothing to write, so I'll give you little tidbits about myself instead.
1. I have a thing for damaged, tortured people. Not the Edward Cullens though. More along the lines of artistically inclined, have-the-ability-to-feel-a-lot, smart, but have some deep issues kinda person.
2.My marriage fantasy is to get hitched with a cute white preppy person. The Ivy-league degrees all intact.
3.I wish I had a beauty spot right above my lip.
4. I secretely wanna knife my baby sisters
5. I secretely wanna knife my elder sister
6. I wish I had hazel or green eyes
8. I wish I was skinny...sometimes
9. I have massive boobs..x_x
7. Short hair actually looks good on me, hallelujah somebody?
8. I would pick taylor Lautner anyday over Robert Pattinson, but I'm NOT a twilight fan
9. I have a mini OCD for bad use of speecha and grammar
10.I'm a fine gehl...hahahaha..
11."Mildly prudish" is my middle name
okay I'm done...this is difficult.
xoxo..rUdEgIrL
P.S: don't save the pictures...okay? :)
oh...and if you wanna see the full picture(non-thumbnail), just click on it..:) peace

music

I had the greatest aunt. She was chubby, very pretty and had this amazing collection of CD’s and movies which she allowed us watch if we were good. It’s funny when I look back now because she was only slightly older than I am now when I was six or seven. I’m writing this piece with a smile on my face because it brings to memory, those beautiful innocent moving combination of spoken and physical art. I call them, my cherished childhood memories.


Ten years later…

Here I am, manipulating Google into letting me pick up those pieces of my childhood. Those times when I heard those songs, felt them within my core, but never really could relate to them. I just loved the instrumental, the voices, and occasionally had respect for the lyrics. These were songs of life, love lost, love found, survival, sacrifice, suffering, romance, imagination. They fueled the yet unknown dreams of a young mean tomboy who had found feminine solace in those audio works of art. I still can’t find the download link to one of the songs, but one of them is 98 percent trough, and the other 16 percent. There’s time. ….Gimme a break will you?

..now listening to Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella song, “a lovely night”… 

A lovely night, a lovely night

A finer night you know you’ll never see

You meet your prince, a charming prince

As charming as a price will ever be

The stars in the hazy heavens tremble above you

While he’s whispering, “darling I love you”

You say goodbye, away you fly

But on your lips, you keep a kiss

All your life you’ve dreamed of this

Lovely, lovely night…



There was Phil Collins with his smooth, age affected, tenor, lulling me to musical and creative depths I never knew existed within me. He made me feel the pain of love lost in do you remember”, I learnt compassion from “another day in paradise”, my feet tingled with the joy of dancing in “dance into the light”, I felt the first stirrings of betrayal and lust with “in the air tonight”, I learn to let myself go and be myself with “true colours”, and the hope of reuniting came with “you’ll be in my heart”

Tracy ah Tracy Chapman. I initially confused her for a man, but soon got over her male voice. She made me conscious of suffering, motivation and hope with “talkin’ bout a revolution” and “mountains o things”. She revealed the pure joy that came with helping the one you love in “for my lover”, the sharp sting of betrayal and the powerlessness of love in “baby can I hold you”.

Now I realize why I never truly forgot these songs, and why as soon as I played them, ten years after, the lyrics spewed forth perfectly from my tongue like old friends reciting their promises to keep each other in their hearts forever. I’m never gonna be musically inclined, but I will forever appreciate these classics who stirred the first feelings of emotions in a helpless, misunderstood, tomboyish seven year old.

Thank you guys.. Thank you aunt Morenike

*insert self inspired title here*

I’m muttering to myself about the fact that I have a big INf quiz on Monday, a biology assignment due on the same day, a Maths test that week, and another ICP test the following week. Yet, by 7:00pm, I’m gonna dust my ass, get up, attend a fashion show and party till I drop. Oh and for effect I’m listening to Shayne Ward’s “waiting in the wings”. Great song by the way. It’s on repeat and my hands are moving over this steady technological plane of alphabets and numbers…my keyboard. Damn, I really know how to veer of a set writing course


This was initially supposed to be a piece about a perfect world. One where I didn’t feel things ten times the way a normal human should, my excessive ability to over think anything, mostly minor stuff. One where I don’t just wake up with crazy mood swings, paranoid thoughts of betrayal, friendship, and selfish chiding of myself. Gosh, I really am a handful aren’t I? Crap, I really hate the green button word gives you when it feels your grammar isn’t “on point”, speaking computerifically of course, but then mine’s set on American English. Such lazy people spelling and grammar wise. I’m veering off again. Oh well, I’ll just rename this to random part 2

Oh right now it’s “we cry” by The Script that’s playing. Awesome awesome awesome times infinity band if I say so..or type so myself. (doffing hat) yes sire.

I feel great, this is awesome. Not since the beginning of this year have I sat down and written pure unthought-of existential bullshit on paper..or more appropriately, a word processing software.

Kesha’s “we r who we r” is playing now. See what I typed initially about American English.. *sigh* I have to be the biggest Nigerian fan of excellent spoken and written English. I have like a minor language OCD when it comes to bad spelling and short form English. Hate is an understatement for my feelings about the bullshit. Oh and yeah, my friend Vivian is modeling in a fashion show. She’s probably never going to see this, but whatever. Good luck girl. Don’t trip.

Okay I’ve had it..I’m changing this song..and yes you can say it, I’m one hell of a FAST typist  *doffs hat again*

Okay now it’s Justin Timberlake’s “cry me a river”. Before I veer of course, I’ll type, I had a much needed convo with my eternal bestfriend, Tolu Mokuolu. She always knows how to make me feel just a little bit better. Oh and she reminded me of some eternal life lessons

• Always be yourself, that’s the best version of you there’s ever gonna be…because as long as I try to fit into someone idea of who they want me to be, I’ll never really be happy and will eternally remain confused.

• Stop being so damn uptight

• I am not a nerd…as I have so graciously claimed, but then again, I care excessively about school work. I love turning in those assignments and test papers and although I’m not the most avid listener in class, I kinda am an instructor’s pet…most of the time..geek alert anyone?

All right before this turns into a too long post..I’m off trying to post this on blogspot, if the wifi in this shit hole of a location allows me too. I’m leaving you listening to Usher’s “what’s a man to do”…aloha goodbye 

You know you love me

Xoxo…rudEgIrL

mivu:)

2:46 am, 20th February, 2011


I cried, and talked, and hugged and cried some more. Okay, you get the idea. Damn. I never thought I of all people would do that. Turns out I’m human after all. Just your unaverage, run-of-the-mill, cares-too-much and later does-not-give-the-slightest-flying-fuck and reverts back to phase one kinda girl, but enough about me. This piece is about someone else.

I cried in front of her. She listened, people, LISTENED to me. She hugged me, and as cheesy as it might sound…to me, I hugged back. I LOVE this girl. She’s not Tolu, but I’ll be dammed if she’s not the best thing/person that happened to me in this heathole of a state. Alright, I’ll type her name…its Vivian Mary Jane Ibegbule…mivu child 

She’s skinny, but has a good figure, in a white-girl-who-has-a-nice-shape-kinda-way. I’ll admit it, she has nice brown eyes. She doesn’t have a spaded nose like me…and she’s got pimples which she hates, but she’s still a damn looker. She loves Pringles and hates domestic work, particularly laundry. She’s sitting across from me watching whateveritis or bbm-ing or I don’t know, but the point is she’s awesome. She likes to call what I would refer to as “sappy crappy guitar riddled shit” her kinda music, but occasionally we agree on some songs, particularly the ones of “The Script”..awesome band btw..check em out. She also likes chicken and Indomie, Hilarie Burton (see?? I spelt it well) and spaghetti bolognaise.

The point is, this girl listened to me. For the first time in my life, it actually feels okay to just let it all out and talk….I think the reason I’ve been talking so much in my life was because I never had the chance to say what I really wanted to say. Okay, I better post this before she goes to bed…got church tomorrow and I’m really looking forward to downing her in water if she doesn’t respond to my gentle wake up taps. Guess what I’m tryna say is….Mivu, you’re the best…you’re one in a million, seriously…..I mean it….

I mean it babe, I really mean it

Thx for being there

Xoxo

rUdEgIrL