The depths to which we have sunk.

I heard some disturbing news yesterday, and if you are resident in Ghana, you've probably heard it too.
Apparently a group of armed robbers stopped a bus on the road to somewhere in the Northern Region and after robbing the passengers, they forced the men on the bus to rape the women. Even worse a man on the bus was forced at gunpoint to rape his own daughter.
Now I didnot get my news firsthand so it may be a little distorted but if there's even an iota of truth to this story then the depravity of the robbers is astounding.
A far as I know Ghanaians have always been a very straightforward bunch with run of the mill crimes where the motive is always clear even if it was unpleasant, I mean we are not without sin, but our motivations were obvious; greed murder, lust, with the obviously insane pedophiles thrown in here and there. Totally senseless and random acts of violence like this were unheard of.
Some have claimed the acts perpetuated by the robbers were ritually motivated, still doesn't make it any easier to understand.
Just hearing about it was even to give me serious chills, my heart and prayers goes out to the victims.
As for the perpetuators, sometimes we forget that our actions have consequences, you can't destroy the lives of so many people and not think that God will not hear their tears.

Weighty matters

"Weight isn't important the way the magazines make you think it is. I know a girl, who just looks at her face in the medicine cabinet mirror and never looks below her shoulders, and she's four or five hundred pounds but she doesn't see all that."

-Andy Warhol

I have always had weight issues even when I was skinny. Okay who am I kidding I’ve never been skinny but I have had periods where I was passably slim. Even as a child I was told over and over again how chubby I was (and some people weren’t even that polite) a neighbour of mine threw all euphemisms to the wind and went as far as to call me a little piglet; my mother was not amused.

Looking back at pictures of my formative years I have to disagree with most of my weight guessers, I WAS NOT FAT, not even chubby. I may have been bigger than most girls my age but that was no reason to harangue me about my weight. So as young as five years old I determined that I was fat and have since then been extremely self-conscious about my weight. Over the years my weight has fluctuated from big to emaciated (okay I never actually got there) but I have never been able to remain slim for a significant amount of time. In fact there are several funny facts about my weighty matters

• · I have never set out to lose weight via proper diet and exercise and actually lost any weight (however at this juncture I am obliged to admit that I lack the willpower to follow through when I plan said dietary regime on paper)
• · The few times I have lost weight it has been purely by accident and without my knowledge, as soon as said weight loss is brought to my attention, it ceases and in most instances weight gain commences immediately.
• · Every New Year, a plan to take control of my weight and stop bitching about it whiles doing nothing about it, is at the top of my list of New Year resolutions. This plan doesn’t make it past January 1^st.
• · In my mind I’m a lot slimmer than I actually am so whenever I catch a glimpse of myself unexpectedly I am shocked by how big I actually am.

All in all I’m a slim girl stuck in a big girl’s body with the appetite of sumo wrestler and the energy level of a comatose octogenarian.

And that’s that.

T. M. I.

Too much information! This is a condition that we have all suffered from at a given point in time especially if you are, like me,an incurably inquisitive person, nosy to the point of rudeness.

My curiosity is not limited to any particular person, topic or area of study. I'm interested in any and everything and or person particularly things that are none of my business.

On the plus side this means that I usually have a lot of totally random information floating through my brain which can be quite useful; once in a while someone asks me a question which in the normal scheme, I should have no idea about but surprisingly I know the answer!

Of course there are negative side effects, with soo much stuff in your head its easy to get confused and get your facts wrong. Worse still, sometimes my insatiable curiosity comes up and bites me in the ...erm ...what's the more polite word for 'ass'?

This happened to me yesterday, I asked one too many questions and ended up with way waaay too much information!

Daddy's little girl

Today is my dad's birthday. I have no idea how old he is because dude was 50 years old for like three years running.
I love my dad, infact my boyfriend says my dad is the one man in my life he is aware he is second to, (but really you arent. I love u both equally but in different ways!). So on the anniversary of his birth I'm going to dedicate this blog to the man who fathered me.
He has always been someone whose approval meant a lot to me and though now that I'm older and hopefully wiser I am fully aware that he is not without his faults, his opinions carry a lot of weight with me. He is far from perfect but then who isn't. A lot of my choices in life, the school i went to the profession I'm pursuing, were greatly influenced by my Dad, infactsome people would even say my taste in men is greatly influenced by my father. Essentially I'm the poster child for the stereotypical daddy's little girl.
My Dad wasnt always around when I was growing up, work took him out of the city a lot, but that only meant that having him around was tantamount to a special occasion that trumped christmas (at least in my estimation).
There many ways in which I wish my relationship with my Dad was different but till then I'm happy you are my Dad and I love you loads! Happy Birthday Daddy!

Graduation

After four years

I’m a little fatter (but not much in my opinion)

I have shorter hair (amazing huh, the only girl in the world whose her grows shorter)

A little wiser; a little sadder

I’ve lost a lot; I’ve gained a lot

At the end of it all

Very little of what I’ve learned about life and for life

Was learnt in the lecture hall...

Warts and All

"Just like the truth, love hurts

its sting sometimes lasting for eternity

we find ways to accept our own flaws and faults

but find it hard to swallow the past and wrongs of our lover

love is a feeling all encompassing

the quick rush, the butterflies, the cravings but wait, that's only just the good side

it also brings jealousy, insecurity, and anger

true love is not bliss

it is a constant struggle for perfection

loving me would mean treating my flaws as yours

And embracing my past so we can seek a future

take me as I am

be my friend

be my freak

be my forever"

Mide.

Reading those words inspired me to ponder the dynamics of the relationships in my life. Someone once told me that I refuse to delegate when I work with people and that makes me a crappy leader and the the message above forced me to analyse myself a little.

My first thoughts were "well i accept everyone for who or what they are but I'm yet to find someone who would have me warts and all, that one person who would know me in all my persona's and with all my quirks. Accept all my flaws and love me anyway". Then it hit me, I have never taken that risk. I have never told anyone the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. Sometimes I just evade or omit so I don't have to outrightly lie and sometimes I just do what comes naturally and manipulate the truth. I have never taken one human being completely into my confidence and told them everything; the good, the bad and the ugly. I've come close and there are people who know more about me than I ever thought possible but no one knows it all. 

I once said that if... no WHEN I die famous and stupidly wealthy, and my biography is being compiled everyone will tell my story differently and honestly I'm not sure I know the true story in totality anymore but I digress, fact is I have never been completely honest with anyone;same way I can't trust anyone enough to fully delegate responsibility, I can't trust anyone not to hurt me to risk making myself that vulnerable to them. Accordingly I have never allowed anyone to accept me, flaws and all, I usually just show them the flaws I feel, they can handle and table the rest for the other people in my life. I have no idea how this evolved, I don't remember any childhood trauma or emotional upheaval that gifted me with this crippling fear of rejection or gut wrenching sense of insecurity, this paralysing certianity that no one can possibly love me warts and all or this latent self loathing, but  I realised that, that's not exactly fair to the people I love cuz I don't give them a chance to prove me wrong.  

Now, I would like to say that from now on I won't assume that everyone around me is inherently flawed, in that, they lack the ability to be as accepting as I am, but I'd probably be lying (and I'm really trying to break that habit) cuz there are somethings I can never say to the people I love as it would kill me if I was right and it was more than they could bear or cope with so they walked away. All I know is I have to try cuz all this only 'giving up teeny tiny pieces of myself' for inspection is slowly killing me anyway and in the end, in a bid to keep yet more undesirable aspects of myself hidden, I am slowly turning into someone i don't particularly like and my self loathing manifests itself in the wierdest ways.

The Elusive Origins of the Never-ending Tale of the Boogieman!

The horror stories! We’ve all heard them and we’ve all told them.

You gain admission to a new school, or obtain employment at an organisation, luckily for you , you know one or two people already in the system or veterans of the game, so you go over to see them in search of a few tips or pointers , a heads up or advance warning on how to navigate the uncharted waters, whatever you choose to call it.

It’s like this is the opportunity they’ve been waiting for and with a very put upon kind of look, destined to prepare you for the worst, they then proceed to scare the s##t outta you (pardon my French)! They tell you tales of stress and pressure and instead of leaving relieved or reassured, you leave scared, apprehensive and practically hyperventilating.

You start school or work and discover that, yea, there is stress and pressure but it’s not more than you can handle, it won’t kill you! Then you realise that the people you went to see, the ones you spoke to, they survived this place which means that this place is survivable!

So just maybe, their stories may have been slightly exaggerated, their tales a tad tall. This place isn’t all bad. Then a few years down the road a young, eager fresher, an enthusiastic newbie walks up to you and seeks counsel. How do you proceed? You paste an overly burdened look upon your face and proceed to scare the s##t outta her too....

Dream

Sometimes I lie in bed and I dream,

And in my dreams I’m not really me

My life is just a tale in a book that I’ve read,

My mistakes are just lessons that the heroine has learned

My triumphs are just glories that the characters have earned

And all of this,

All this pain is nothing but a dream...

Nightingale at heart.

I love music and I’m not particular about the genre, I love it all; pop, rock, classical, hiphop, RnB, hiplife, highlife, naija, alternative rock you name it and there’s probably a song in that genre that I like. Sometimes the lyrics speak to me sometimes it’s the beat that makes me play it over and over. I am yet to meet anyone who shares my exact taste in music but my eclectic musical taste means that i can find music i love in practically anyone’s music collection from the die-hard rap fan to the king of soul.

Unfortunately when it comes to the making of music, i am remarkably ungifted. I sing in the shower and the water stops flowing in protest. I never learnt to play a musical instrument and my deplorable hand-eye coordination makes me reluctant to attempt to pick one up now. But there is music in my soul and until i can find a medium through which i can share said music with the world my song remains unsung.