why i love this phase of my life

if you are anything like me, then you’ll know the excitement and anticipation that came with your eighteenth birthday. you know all that i-am-going-to-be-an-adult-and-i-can-do-whatever-i-please kind of thought. and if your life is anything like mine, you must have come to a rude awakening when you realized growing up and being adult is the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone. the only part about being an adult i love is that everyday, i am getting closer to moving out of my parents house. the rest just sucks. suddenly, i am supposed to manage my finances and have a concrete plan for my life. why cant i just cry and have people struggle to understand what is bothering me, and make sure i get it? who said i have to grow up?? but all the whining aside, i think i am at a fabulous stage of my life. and i am going ahead to tell you why i intend to live like tomorrow doesn’t exist.

first, it is that phase where i can comfortably tell anyone my age. i am told women have complications with such issues. i am only nineteen, i am not at home eighty percent of the time. what i do with my time, is therefore mostly up to me. its like i have the freedom to be an adult, without being all grown up. i should make mature decisions but it is also okay to make mistakes. actually, i am expected to make gruesomely stupid mistakes. i can eat junk food, and sleep the whole day away. i can make bad decisions and date jerks and pretend to regret it a few weeks down the line. i can promise myself to be better, yet do nothing to better myself. i can. why is that? i have my whole life ahead of me to get my act together.

second, every tear and heartbreak no matter how stupid, deserves to be mopped around over. it is that age where i can like guys who would never notice me.i have a right to feel bad about it, and not want to eat anything or see anyone for days. or get dumped a million times and each time is going to feel as heart-wrenching as if it was the first time. and then i can call my girlfriends and hate on this cheating, immature brute who just  wont appreciate the beauty that i am. it is okay to listen to soppy love songs, and finish a box of tissues wiping my tears. it is okay to feel like my life is over and that i am never going to love anyone as much as i loved him. i can write a million Taylor swift- like poems and replay the times we shared in my head for as long as i want to. and it is okay to delete his pictures, chat history and contact information then move on to my next heart break.

third, it is okay to fall in love. or at least what i think is love. it is okay to wait by the phone  for him to call or text me, then take a few minutes to reply just so it doesn’t seem like i was waiting. it is okay to miss him even when he is seated right next to me. it is okay to love hugging him and never want to let go. it is okay to catch myself smiling sheepishly and realize i was thinking of him. it is okay to send each other fun little texts and pledge our eternal love. it is okay to be us against the world. it is okay to go on cheap dates and nervous walks. it is okay to not know where this relationship is headed. why? because someday, i am going to be married and it will be wrong to think Tony’s dad next door is cute.

fourth, it is okay not to be a perfect student. i can miss class, not do my assignment and flunk cats. it is okay to get supplementaries and not tell my parents about it. it is okay not to know what my career trajectory is. it is okay to be unsure if i want to stop at my first degree or go ahead to become a doctor of philosophy. it is okay to feel like you are taking the wrong course in school. it is okay to bring poor grades home and watch your parents slowly lower the expectations they have for you. it is okay to want to study but that movie  just won’t let you. it is okay to procrastinate and waste time. it is okay to think that you are a Steve Jobs of sorts. you know, the kind of people who just don’t need school to succeed. why? someday,i am going to have a masters degree, bored out of my skin, thinking, “what next?”

most importantly,  this is, as its been tritely referred to, the formative stage of my life. it is when i can choose who to become, what to believe in. i can choose to work hard in school, eat healthy, aim for the stars. i can choose to be in a healthy, mutually beneficial relationship. i can choose to have fun and develop myself. i can develop my talent, learn a new skill or start saving up for  that business idea. i can choose to be as adult as mature as it gets, and yet have the freedom to be a baby with some things. i can knock on doors and ask for help. i can meet people and establish useful connections. it is that stage of my life when i could always take a few steps back just to see how far I’ve come.

i am blissfully ignorant. and that’s the best part 

this life…the feminine way…

some will tell you…
nourish your mind
speak fluent English
read avidly
be good at something
have stuff that keeps you busy
walk gracefully
hold your head high
maintain eye contact
say something witty
pay for your meals
don’t drink yourself silly

and others still…
lose a little weight
tone that skin
paint those lips
flash that smile
flip that hair
bat those eyelids
throw a bashful laugh
wear a little pink
hug that figure
rock that short dress
balance a pair of heels

never forgetting to…
drink a lot of water
eat cucumbers and salad
a little run, skipping maybe?

i’ll tell you…
know what you want
spare no expense to get it
and never settle for less
and while you are at it…
love yourself like your life depends on it
cause it does
and that might include…
balancing those heels
and…
flashing that smile
as…
you say something witty
while…
nibbling on cucumbers
and…
later, go for a run.

what the heck people??live your life!!!

cry..

so before you guys get all judgmental, i am going to defend myself, or this post.

first, i am posting something emotional for a change. second, i love Jason walker. which is strange, because i don’t even know how he looks like, which is more strange, because there is Google. but most importantly, this song is more than just lyrics and emotion for me. its more of a transition; letting go of crap that has been holding us down, and finally doing something brilliant for a change. shifting our focus from whats not right in our lives, to what right we can do with our lives. and hopefully, inching closer to that day when the only reason we’ll tear up when we look in the mirror, is seeing how far we’ve come. and that’s the phase I’m in right now. so take it away Jason..

oh no, where did all the years go?
was it really worth all this
heartache that was handed to me
holding on just don make sense
but the hardest part of letting go
is trying to find a way to let you know

I’ve been thinking about my life
how much time I’ve wasted
I’m ready to put it all behind me
let it all be yesterday
but the hardest art of letting go
is trying to find a way to let you know

so we’ll just cry, cry on each other’s shoulders
cry until its over, can’t it just be over?
and we’ll just cry, cry until its all gone
been holding on for too long.

i’m tired of trying to find a reason why
so let’s just cry.

BRAZIL Vs. GERMANY; THE GAME IT WASN’T; THE MEMORIES IT TRIGGERED….

Now, i am not much of a football fan. Admittedly, i know more than the average girl knows about football. But when it comes to the World Cup, i am with the other girls, it just doesn’t tickle my fancy. I can hardly wait for this madness to be over. and yes, i said madness. that’s me cluing in to one game. if the game between Brazil and Germany wasn’t madness, i don’t know what is. but it was entertaining. my only regret was someone should have given me a heads up about the humiliation i was going to witness when i let some people talk me into watching  that game. 

truth be told, i was indifferent. okay, that’s a total lie. i wanted Brazil to lose. nothing football related though. when i think of Brazil, i see brats who are used to having their way. i wanted someone to teach them a lesson. that doesn’t mean i like Germany. i hate Germany. point of correction, I hate Adolf Hitler.i hate his mustache, and maybe it was the history books in my high school library, but he had a horrible sense of style. and that guy was merciless. a trait some eleven players seem to have inherited with unmatched precision. but i digress, my point is i am not a fan of Germany either.so technically,( we could argue about the correctness of that word in this context, but i have a point to make) i was  indifferent.

that game got my mind reeling to a time in high school. a history lesson learning about the Battle of Adowa. how Ethiopians with just their bows and arrows managed to defeat a whole army of equipped Italian soldiers. obviously, i do not know the specifics of that battle. i can only speculate. i have managed to convince myself that the only way the Ethiopians won that battle is by ensuring the Italians were thoroughly traumatized. would you imagine how depressing dark Africans adorned in hides and skins only in specific places, chanting frightening war songs as they wage their bows and arrows at unexposed Italian soldiers can be? and to top it all, leading the pack was one Menelik the second who as much as try, i cant picture as a handsome fellow. the Italians must have felt overwhelmed and scampered for dear lives. traumatized. which is what i think is how Brazilians are still feeling. i wouldn’t say i understand what they are going through, but i know very few things bruise a man’s ego more than defeat in your territory. but if it’s any consolation, at least they do not have to purchase tickets back home. oh God, that is not comforting. in my head it did sound comforting though.

another thing i was reminded of was a very cruel chemistry exam we sat for. most of our scores as we liked to say could not afford us a hot dog in the school tuck shop. and that’s code for we scored less than thirty percent. what followed was intensive chemistry lessons and practicals. as exhausting as those were, they paid off. most of us aced our final examinations. so this is to Brazil, the world cup comes once in four years. that’s four years left to you guys to win the next world cup. i am sure if you will be as good as ever come 2018. but who am i kidding, i still see you guys as spoiled kids who need to be taught a lesson.

so maybe Brazil and I will never stand on common ground. but i respect them. they are a good team. which is what i could say about Germany, but thanks to one Adolf Hitler, that ship already sailed.

Days like these

Days like these feel wrecked
Expectations not met
Hopes crushed
Eyes welling up
Staring up at pregnant clouds
Impatient to birth their share of anguish
Regardless of the raining anger inside.

Days like these feel stupid
The voices of reason we ignored
The jerks we hoped would keep their word
The fantasies that kept us awake
Dreams we knew wouldn’t come true
Tired eyes
Is it sleep or tears?

Days like these feel unappreciated
Emotions loaned to unworthy creditors
All broke and bankrupt
With no one to pay us back
Faces struggling to keep smiling
Lungs that gave up on breathing usury
Hearts tired of pumping pain.

Days like these feel lost
Beings with a meager sense of direction
At crossroads of broken dreams
A labyrinth of incapacitated self will
Entangled in our regrets and inabilities
Stamping our feet through hurts
Falling down to failures.

Days like these feel complete
Surrender to the mortality of our flesh
Embracing our wounded souls
Recurring needs of our insatiable spirits
Resigning to the frivolity of our existence
Destructive habits that just won’t quit
A vicious cycle of self-harm
The nonsensical nature of our humanity.

Bad Religion

taxi driver
be my shrink for the hour
leave the meter running
its rush hour
so take the streets if you wanna
just outrun the demons, could you?

he said Allah Hu Akbar
i told him dont curse me
but boy you need prayer
i guess it couldnt hurt me
if it brings me to my knees
its a bad religion
this unrequited love
to me its nothing but a one man cult
and cyanide in my styrofoam cup
i could never make him love me
never make him love me

taxi driver i swear i got three lives
balanced on my head like steak knives
i cant tell you the truth about my disguise
i cant trust no one
and you say Allah Hu Akbar
i told him dont curse me
but boy you need prayer
i guess it couldnt hurt me
if it brings me to my knees
its a bad religion
unrequited love
to me its nothing but a one man cult
and cyanide in my styrofoam cup
i never could make him love me
never make him love me
no no

its a bad religion
to be in love with someone who could never love you
only bad religion
could have me feeling the way i do

who we are

We speak in hushed voices
So as not wake our memories
Of the people we’ve become
And the virtues we’ve lost
Whispers of the roads not taken
Regrets of the ones travelled
Ghosts of the lives we’ve destroyed.

We tread in caution
Dreadfully avoiding previous paths
Fearfully calculating our every move
Forging into an unknown future
Struggling to forget our past
Doomed as we are to repeat it.

We touch with trembling hands
Scared to hold on to others
Protecting our fragile hearts
Hiding our bereaved souls
A desperate need to let go
Severing unbreakable bonds.

We cry in muffled screams
Alone in the cover of darkness
Fighting to stay strong
Taking control of weakness
Battling with untold pain
Unforgiving as the scars may be.

We live a breaking life
Deceive, adapt or transform
Either way we survive
Through facades or our true selves
Fight this war or dodge the bullets
It’s all a matter of choice
Ultimately it’s who we are