Random Thoughts

 "Miss me?" There she goes again, talking to her imaginary friends...or is she? Is someone listening?  It doesn't matter anyway. Someone is always listening, even if you cannot always see them. Good night Moon! <3

Sometimes our imperfections stare us right in the face. They look us in the eye and accuse us. They call us out for the person that we could become, but choose not to be. Sometimes our imperfections cradle our heads, Draw us closer, Wipe our tears, And tell us it's okay. Sometimes our imperfections break us down, They laugh in derision, Faces twisted into perfect pictures of scorn, Ears closed to our pleas for mercy, For understanding. Sometimes our imperfections make us pray for release, Release from the stress, Release from the pain, Release from the heartache, And just when you think it can't get any worse, It does. So you lay down and you dream, You dream of being perfect, You dream of something that you can't have, Not right now, Not at this moment, But dreaming keeps you going, For if you stopped dreaming, There would be no reason to keep going, And where's the sense in that? ^.^

You want to know why I have no mirrors? Because each time I look into one, I see the girl I don't want to be, The one who has folds where a flat stomach should be, The one who has a double chin instead of a straight jawline, The one who has thick thighs with no thigh gap, The one with disproportionate calves, The one with arms that droop where hard muscle should be, Sometimes I try to make her smile back at me, But when she tries to smile back, Her cheeks pull the smile back down, So eventually she turns away, Each time I look in the mirror, She stares back at me sorrowfully, Begging me to help her, Begging me to set her free. You want to know why I sit in the bathroom and cry? Because I'm too ashamed to let anyone see my tears, I feel guilty for I have so many things I should be thankful for, But I seem to lack the one thing everyone demands of me, "Why aren't you as slim as your sister?" "Shouldn't you be wa...

Click the link below to find out. Natural disasters - Why so many? P.s: I promise, it's a harmless link, and it's not going to load your laptop with viruses and cookies. ^.^

There will be earthquakes and reports of earthquakes... Never have I been more aware of the veracity of these words. Today, there was an earthquake in Norther Tanzania that killed 13 and wounded 200, according to the BBC. Though it lies on a fault line, major earthquakes in that region are rare. I never thought the day would come when one would hear of major earthquakes in Africa. Perhaps I a being quite ignorant, but it really threw me for a spin. This is a real wake up call. More than ever, I realise the need to share hope and comfort with the people that we meet, at every opportunity. So, if you're reading this, please read the magazine found at the link below. It shows us how Jehovah God, the ultimate source of comfort, comforts us in these difficult days. https://www.jw.org/en/publications/magazines/watchtower-no5-2016-september/need-comfort/ Stay safe everyone! 

On a warm day in September, I started my arduous journey to become an early years educator. It wasn't easy. My first choice wasn't the best. The manager was Cruella de vil in the flesh, well, maybe not as bad. The point is, she was challenging to work for. She demanded perfection, and saw nothing but mistakes. Long story short, I couldn't leave that nursery quick enough.  After 2 weeks of unanswered calls, and ignored emails, I started to despair. Would I find another nursery in time to continue my training? Thankfully, I did, and it turned out to be the best preschool ever. My colleagues were awesome, my work hours were flexible, it was a 10 minute walk from home, and most importantly, my manager rocked! Working at that preschool taught me so much, and they will always have a special place in my heart. Just when things were going so well, and I was approaching the end of my training, I got stuck in quicksand. This snag was serious enough to cost me almost 2 years of ...

“I know we haven’t spoken in a while but I’d like you to know that maybe one day we’ll find our way. Maybe one day we’ll find a peace for all the harm we’ve caused. Maybe one day if we cross, I’ll remember why I fell so deep into you and I’ll remember how much the sun loved you, enough to follow you and forever leave me in darkness.”  R.M. Drake

Riding on a stormy weather, Hoping and praying that it never gets better, How the heck am I supposed to express my pain, I only see it written well in the drops of the rain. People looking up to the skies trying to find the sun, Wishing it breaks through the clouds so they can have some fun, But there's no reason to smile, when the only one, That could ever make me laugh is forever gone. The rainbows have no colour, The flowers all grey, Music sounds just like death, And food tastes like hay, Mondays are all better because of the grind, I throw myself into work, It takes you off my mind. But no matter how I run, Even jump out a window, You follow me all around, Like a living shadow. So I till I find some peace riding the stormy weather, I'll hope and pray that it never gets better. 

Cast me a line, For I have sailed too far, A wolf separated from the pack, Alone and without guidance, My compass rendered useless by a fall, The cloud has covered the stars, I cannot rely on nature for navigation. Cast me a line, For I am drowning, The salty water rushes into my mouth, My lungs burn with the lack of air, Ay eyes go glassy, As my blood ceases to flow, The seagulls float above my head, Knowing my end is near. Cast me a line, For I am lost in my lies, Tangled in the nest of my deception, Dragged deeper into the mire, Soon to become one with the mud, Soon to cease existing at all.

I turned on the news this morning and the reports were the same. "North Korea fires missiles" "Nanny beheads child" "Sex scandals in the Catholic church" "Migrants and authorities clash at the border" *sigh* In a world so filled with violence and misery, I live for glimpses of happiness. Little rays of sunshine that brighten up my day. Sometimes it's hearing from an old friend, getting a compliment, helping a stranger. Today, it was seeing a mother swing her child in the air. She never noticed me, sitting on the bench in the background, basking in her joy, absorbing her laughter, hearing her son giggle. A short moment in her day, a glimpse of happiness in mine.  

There's a kind of release that comes from emptying your deepest fears in a letter to your future self. Hoping that by the time you open it in one, two, or maybe three year's time, you'd be wiser to how to deal with those fears.  You put all your hopes and dreams into words, and hope that time will give you the strength to accomplish them, and the determination to stick fast to them. You tuck that letter away in a secret part of your drawers, not wanting prying eyes to take a peek, more specifically yours.  Will those dreams be a reality by the time ( Insert year ) rolls around? Will those fears be surmountable obstacles? Only time will tell, but for now, the letter is sealed and tucked away. And along with it, the emotions you wish to hold at bay. 

Dean Martin of the velvet voice, with skin like a leather tan, they don't make em like you no more. The rich timbre of your sensuous voice, glides over my heart chords, plays my emotions like a tightly strung violin, strokes my inner core into awareness... into submission. Never have I wanted, to sway across the floor, caution thrown to the wind, eyes closed to experience, all you have to offer, head thrown back to catch, the rushing wind in my hair. Baby you're bad for me, like a vodka on ice, in the middle of a scorching afternoon, but I'll be damned, for the enticement of such an Italian sin, has me drawn like a moth to flame. If I had the cure to assuage, this curly haired, dimple filled addiction that is you darling, I'd rush to the deepest canal, and dump it in the darkened waters, cause what we have honey, ain't no simple relationship, no, it's amore. 

It's been a while since I've felt like this, but it's all so familiar. The denial, the pain, and then the sweet sweet numbness. I try to rush through it a bit, jump straight from denial to being numb. Unlike before, the words to describe it are not forthcoming. But all I know it that I have to type, I have to pour it out. If it stays in...well, I don't know...I don't think it'll do my heart any good. In the grand scheme of things it seems like such a petty problem. Tears won't really help either, would they? :D What a silly little thing I am. No matter! I'll just have to keep a stiff upper lip and carry on. No need being down over something I have no control over. I expected this to happen anyway. Yet, it still hurts. 

It's midnight and once more, I'm blogging instead of sleeping. But how can I sleep, when in less than 12 hours I will be baptised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses 😆 I am nervous 😯, excited😃, and sad😢. I should be rolling around in joy, but my happiness is dampened by the fact that someone so special to me won't be there to share this memorable occassion with me. Oh how I miss them, but one must be cruel to be kind. N'est pas?

Imagination Reality

Man much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now we are not as we were, When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair. Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then, Moving slowly as you drew near to me, As we waited for the bus: for I knew you not then, But noticed your shirt, blue as the deepest sea! Or is it only the wind, carrying my miseries, Travelling across the globe to you there, You being ever dissolved to treasured memories As you are no longer by me here?       Thus I; faltering forward,       Snow around me falling, Wind oozing thin through the coat that I wear,       And the man calling. Dare I edit Hardy's poem?  Confound it all...I certainly dare. Lest you accuse me of copyrighting, I hereby state that, few edited words aside, this poem is the intellectual property of Thomas Hardy (OM).

Seaweed scattered at the Front of Davy Jones' bay. People bobbing like apples in the barrel of his home. Lost belongings adorn the surface of the sand. A lost shirt proving adequate shelter for the solitary sand flea. Aimless wanderers floating across the horizon as if their goal lies at the end of the sandy beach. The wind dances with the wandering figures as the crashing waves play a continuous beat. The song of the peddler as he jostles his wares lends a lively tone to the sounds of the sea. Running children their steps in time to the beeping horn of the ice-cream man. Dripping cones of sugary sweetness provides a reprieve from the scorching heat. And the solitary writer seating on the hard packed seat of sand, taking it all in.

Music has been known to soothe a ravaged and depressed soul. Hence, when the world tries to bring me down, I almost always turn to kingdom melodies to pick myself off the ground. In light of all the misery that I have tried ( and failed) to make myself numb to, this song never fails to offer me hope and I want to share it with you.

Dear relatives of mine, Living in England doesn't mean that I don't speak Igbo. Sincerely, A disgruntled Igbo girl. I've been trying not to slip back into the habit of filling my blog with rants and complaints, but this really got my goat ( For those who don't understand the phrase, it means that it really annoyed me ). I'm not going to dwell on it though, as the  preceding paragraph says it all. I do understand that there are people who don't speak their native language, and it's not for want of not trying either. However, it has to be said that your ability to speak your native language is not grounds for relatives from back home, or anyone, to look down on you and make snide comments. I often get relatives and family friends complaining to my parents about my accent, and wishing I spoke Igbo. Erm, hold the phone honey. One conversation does not tell you all there is to know about me, or if I speak Igbo. Just because it's not the language I c...

The past beats inside me like a second heart.  John Banville