A little while ago,

Another poet asked me for the name of my abuser

They said this was to protect their friends

So I told them I didn’t want to

I thought I had to 

It’s just that I have heard so much about survival

Like I should not lie

If I’m going to cry, I must name it

“Don’t be another girl making another mountain out of another molehill”

I have heard so much about strength

So much about how the voice is a redemption 

How to speak is to heal

Sometimes I feel like everyone just wants the resurrection story out of me

The parts of my survival I know how to make useful

I am so ashamed of all that which I do not say

Sometimes I don’t want to talk about it

I don’t want to write a poem about it

I don’t want to tell my mom

I don’t want anyone to look at me like I am brave

Or like I am a little bird with a broken wing

Or to look at me at all

Sometimes my heart is breaking

And other times, I am just tired

I have spent so much time at war with my silence

I have forgotten everything she has done for me

When I was terrified to speak

When my abuser was in the audience at a slam 

When they talked to me after

When my silence met theirs 

When this poet demanded a name of me

When my stomach was nothing but a mass of fear and obligation

My silence took my hand 

Squeezed it gently as if to say “You owe them nothing”

“I am here if you need me”

Speak only if you want to”

So to you, quiet child 

Who has kept everything just inside your mouth for whatever reason

I see you even when you say nothing

I believe you

I believe that you are scared 

I believe that it hurts

I believe that it happened

I believe that you loved them

I believe that you didn’t 

I believe that you still do

I believe you are confused about forgiveness and justice

Believe me, quiet child

You are doing nothing wrong 

There is no right or wrong here

There is only your choice

you speak when you are ready  

I promise your silence has not set a caged beast free

You did not release a monster

You survived me

Trust me

Quiet child,

I know of a girl before me

I do not blame her silence

I do not blame her

My silence

Here’s this poem looks at me, teary-eyed and says 

I say

I’m sorry I hated you

I always thought you were the weakest part of me

The part that needed the most forgiveness

But no

You are the first one who never asked me to prove anything

The only one who believed me

Before I spoke

And after

And now 

When my silence takes my hand

I squeeze back 

I say I know

I say thank you

And I mean it.







I’m not that girl

 I’ve never been that girl

That girl who comes out of a relationship and instantly finds herself in another effortlessly

Like it was destiny

I guess it was just never destined for me to be that girl

That girl who never stops having people confess their unyielding love for them

That girl who people can’t stop talking about how pretty they are

That girl who can get guys to buy her a drink at the bar all of the smack of her patent leather soft lips and a little hair flip just like

Effortlessly like it was destiny 

I guess it was just never destined for me

To be that girl

That girl who knows how to flirt properly

That girl who can put their makeup on flawlessly

That girl who can post a photo on instagram and not find a million insincerities lurking at the tips of her fingers as she presses the share button

And I know I shouldn’t let these things define my femininity

I know I shouldn’t let these things bother me but they do

It’s like having a lack of male attention in this world  

Is seen as an abnormality

It is seen as less than womanly

And I’m always forced to ask myself “what’s wrong with me?”

Maybe it’s because I was never destined to be that girl

Maybe it’s because I was destined to be something more

That girl who just lives her life

That girl who loves herself for who she is and doesn’t rely on male attention to make herself feel alright

That girl who knows what she wants and fights until it’s hers

That girl who still has insincerities but at the end of the day, just says, “Whatever

Because we all know who runs the world


I wanna be that girl



Survivors of suicide loss

I saw the movie “A Star is born” few days ago and honestly, I’ve been raking my brain around it. I felt so sad and sorry for Jackson Maine and worse for Ally. I couldn’t comprehend how she felt seeing her husband hung in their garage. 

When she was told it was not her fault, that it was his fault. 

He committed suicide.

I was left with three major thoughts from the movie.

One, he was suffering big time. He had been suffering from an early stage in his life and his ability to love her and help her and support her was out of the world. They say, broken people break people. Despite his pain, he was able to love. 

In the song ‘Shallow’ he sang with Ally, an excerpt from the lyrics goes this way  

Tell me something girl, 

Are you happy in this modern world? 

Or do you need more?

Is there something else you’re searching for?


I’m falling

In all the good times I find myself

Longing for change

And in the bad times I fear myself


Tell me something, boy

Aren’t you tired trying to fill that void?

Or do you need more?

Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore?


Two, the question: Was their love, or his love for her, or her love for him not enough for him to stay? From the movie, they had such a good thing. Was it not enough to keep going?

Three, was she responsible for his action? Did she have a fault at all? How could she not see his suicide as a reflection of who she was?


I don’t want to talk about him, I want to talk about her. She was the one left behind, to live every day with the memories, the what ifs and the maybes and the– could-haves and countless regrets that she was not even responsible for. 


When a loved one dies by suicide, overwhelming emotions can leave you reeling. Your grief might be heart wrenching. At the same time, you might be consumed by guilt- wondering if you could have done something to prevent your loved one’s death. A loved one’s suicide can trigger intense emotions. Disbelief and emotional numbness might set in. you might think that your loved one’s suicide couldn’t possibly be real. You might be angry with your loved one for abandoning you or leaving you with a legacy of grief- or angry with yourself or others for missing clues about suicidal intentions. You might replay “what if’ and “if only” scenarios in your mind, blaming yourself for your loved one’s death. You might be gripped by sadness, loneliness or helplessness. You might have a physical collapse or even consider suicide yourself. Many people try to make some sense out of the death, or try to understand why their loved one took his or her life. But, you’ll likely always have some unanswered questions. You might wonder why your relationship wasn’t enough to keep your loved one from dying by suicide. 


Grief is a universal experience all human being encounter. Suicide, however, has been described as a death like no other…and it truly is. Death by suicide stuns with soul-crushing surprise, leaving family and friends not only grieving the unexpected death, but confused and lost by this haunting loss.

Despite science supporting a neurobiological basis for mental illness, suicide is still shrouded by stigma. Much of the general public believes that death by suicide kis shameful and sinful. Others consider it a ‘choice that was made’ and blame family members for its outcome. And then there are people who was unsure how to reach out and support those who have lost a loved one to suicide, and simply avoid the situation out of ignorance. Whether the reason, it is important to note that the underlying structure of grief for survivors of suicide loss is intractably complicated. 

When someone dies by suicide, research shows that at least 6 people are intimately traumatized by the death. Those who are directly affected include immediate family members, relatives, neighbors, friends, fellow students and/or co-workers. And because 90% of people who die by suicide have a psychological disorder, mental health clinicians are also included as a survivor of suicide loss.

From the nearly 800,000 suicides reported from 1986 through 2010 and using the 6 survivors per suicide estimate, it is believed that the number of survivors of suicide loss in the U.S reaches 5 million people.


Based on the accounts of those who have attempted suicide and lived to tell about it, we know that the primary goal of a suicide is not to end life, but to end pain. People in the grips of a suicidal depression are battling an emotional agony where living becomes objectionable. Most people who die by suicide have a significant depression narrowing their problem solving skills. Corrosive thinking reduces optimism, the hope of possibility and increases feelings of helplessness. The depressive illness itself makes it virtually impossible to hold onto any semblance of pain going away. While some may argue that a person who dies by suicide, has done so by their own choice, I argue that’sserious mental illness, in fact, limits choice. Studies of those who have survived their suicide attempt and healed from their depression report being astonished that they ever considered suicide. Questions of memories like “Were they really good?” “Maybe he wasn’t really happy in this picture?” “Why didn’t I see her emotional pain when we were on vacation?” Sometimes it becomes agonizing to connect to a memory or to share stories from the past- so survivors often divorce themselves from their loved one’s legacy. 

Survivors of suicide loss not only experience three aspects of complicated grief, they are also prone to developing symptoms of depression and post-traumatic stress disorder-a direct result from their loved one’s suicide. The unspeakable sadness about the suicide becomes a circle of never ending bewilderment, pain, flashbacks and a need to numb the anguish.

If you know someone who has lost a loved one to suicide, there are many things you can do. In addition, by reaching out, you also help take stigma out of the equation.

One, don’t be afraid to acknowledge the death.

Two, ask the survivor if and how you can help

Three, encourage openness

Four, be patient

Five, listen.


Ways to help yourself if you’re a survivor of suicide loss;

One, ground yourself

Two, don’t put a limit to your grief

Three, Plan ahead

Four, make connections

Five, give yourself permission.


In the song “I’ll never love again” Ally sang at Jackson’s tribute,

“Wish I could, I could’ve said goodbye

I would’ve said what I wanted to

Maybe even cried for you

If I knew it would be the last time

I would’ve broke my heart in two

Tryin’ to save a part of you


……..Would’ve broke my heart in two, trying to save a part of you….

It wasn’t a question of love. Nothing became enough to make the pain go away


“You cannot hold yourself responsible for people’s actions, no matter how it affects you” 






To Deborah,

To Deborah, 

“I’m choosing me. I’m choosing Deborah. 

And right now, Deborah is dancing. 

Now, you can dance with me or you can get off my dance floor. 

I’m fine dancing alone”

Oluwadasola AbekeJesu Olayiwola,

You are beautiful

You are smart

You are funny

You are kind

You are unique

You are worthy of love and affection

You are not too much

And you are always enough

You are precious 

You are a diamond

You are a pearl

The most stunning of all God’s creation

You are worth more than you could ever imagine

Worth more than the numbers on the scale 

Or the hair product you use 

Or the shoes you wear

More than how many girls wish they were you 

Or how many guys wish they had you 

More than the price tags on your clothes

Or the percentage on the top of your math test

Or even the number of followers you have on Twitter

Your worth surpasses all earthly things 

Because in the eyes of the Lord God, you are loved 

And you are worth dying for

Regardless of who you think you are

Whether you model in a magazine

Or you model pottery with Grandma 

Whether you’re on the Hot List or the not list

Whether you’re head cheerleader or a High school dropout

Whether you’re Miss Popular or you’ve never had anyone you could call a friend

Whether you love yourself and love your life or you can’t stand to look into the mirror and you feel as if everything in your life is falling apart 

Whether you’re such a winner or you feel like the world’s biggest failure 

Regardless of who you think you are

The reality is that

YOU deserve someone who would give up their life for you

Because you are powerful 

And strong

And capable

Read about the women in the bible





These women changed the world forever

And inside you is a woman with that same power

In the same strength

And that same world-changing capability 

And your responsibility is to 

Find that woman

And to set that woman free!

This is who you are

And any voice in your mind that tries and tells you differently

Is from the enemy 

And the next time you hear such

This is what you say:

You say: Not me. 

Satan, I am a daughter of the Living God 



And adored above all things by the creator of all things 

For the Glory of him who is greater than all things


And please, Deborah

Don’t you ever forget that.




Q&A with Deborah

Question: Tell me about your boyfriend 

Answer:Well, I don’t have a boyfriend.


Comment: Not a question.

Just wanted you to know that you are a talented star and I know you have just started scratching the surface. Have a good birthday 

Reply: Thank you honey bunny 💞



Question: What is your biggest pet peeve?

Answer: My biggest pet peeve would be….hmmm….hard one here….I would say, disloyalty of any kind🙄



Question: Are you in a serious relationship? And if no, when do you intend on getting involved?

Answer: No, I’m not. I’m not even in any one at all. Lol. Well, right now, I can’t say exactly when that would be. I was almost at that point few weeks ago and it wasn’t it at all. So right now, I’m like a mango farmer. Waiting for my plant to grow into a full-fledged tree💁🏿


Question: Have you ever thought of us being together?

Answer: 😂Honestly, I have. But it was too weird to think it through.



Question: What inspired you into blogging?

Answer: Hmmm…I would say my past experiences and those of people around me, to be precise.

Little things added to this though. 


Question: What is your fear?

Answer: Lol. My one and only fear is losing myself.

If I lose myself, I lose everything.



Question: How many books have you read this year?

Answer: I don’t keep counts. But I’ve read quite a number of them.



Question: If Lionel Messi came right now and asked you to marry him and go to Argentina. Would you drop school for him? Like drop school completely?

Answer: Well he is married, so No…Not at all

But if he wasn’t married, I’ll think twice about it, maybe thrice even.🙈 But still, no. I’m not in any way ready for such commitment.



Question : Have you smoked before?

Answer: No.



Question: What is your favourite food?

And favourite drink?

Answer: Spaghetti!

I don’t have a favourite drink.



Question: What is the craziest thing you have done?

Answer: I would say the time my friends and I were coming back from TDB (till day break reading) and we all had to climb the gate of the male hostel to get to our hall


Question: Have you ever left school without your parents’ knowledge?

Answer: Yes. I attend a federal university. So going out of school to get one or two things is no big deal.



Question: Have you been to a night club? Stripper’s club? Have you ever been drunk?

Answer: No.





Question: What is the dumbest thing you have done?

Answer: One time at home, the microwave was electrocuting everybody. In my attempt to play smart, I called my brother to turn the microwave on for me. The dumb part was that I put my hand on his back. So when the microwave electrocuted him, I was electrocuted too of course 🤦🏾‍♀️

Question:What is your best moment so far?

Answer: So far, it would be when I gave my valedictorian speech. The graduation day in general.


 Well Well, my brother has been disturbing me for a while to post this

So here it is,

 Adedamola adefolahan

Stage name fireboy dml the dml standing for Damola

Started concentrating on music fully march last year

Before music, he was in OAU studying English

But he started music professionally when he was in 200 level in OAU which was 2012

When he left university he started song writing

Writing for various different people

He sang his song ‘I’ll be fine’ in a aux session and then olamide heard it and boom! he got signed to YBNL after olamide chatted with him for some times

He was very shocked

By the way this guy is very cool and gentle 😂 like very

He wears a durag so that when he goes out, people won’t easily recognize him

So the durag is like a mask

When he told his parents he was moving to Lagos to pursue a career in music his parents weren’t so supportive especially his father because when he was in primary he was a prefect secondary school an A grade student and in 100 level he was on a first class so his parents has high hopes for him that didn’t involve music

By 200 level his grades were dropping cause he started focusing on his music

His father has hopes he would travel out to do masters and become a professor of literature or something

But when he broke the news to his father he made it clear that he wasn’t happy with his decision but had to let him live his life but his mother cause he was obviously closer to her was supportive

Then when he got signed his father was happy but couldn’t admit it to him but his mother told him that his father was proud

His song ‘king’ was written out his personal feelings he felt like a good singer and not so bad a guy. A girl has no right to do treat him Just anyhow

It’s a self confidence kind of song

He is an artiste that likes writing out of his soul. Three days after dropping this song he was signed

He calls his kind of music Afrolife where he merges Afro with other different king of genres like country, soul

Country is his favorite

He is a natural song writer

His style is similar to Adekunle Gold because he said Adekunle Gold is an inspiration to him.

 Well, his song “What If I Say” is dropping soon.

Because your opinion matters….

Happy new month, everyone!💃🏾

Guess what? This is my birthday month💃🏾💃🏾

And I have something special for us all on that day. Hmmm

I’m excited already.😂

June 4 is my beautiful day. Most beautiful day of my life

P.s. this is not only relatable to mothers but to every significant figure in our lives. As I personally believe, the word “Mama” is a symbolism for every important individual in our lives who at some point of our lives or all through our lives, we believe his or her opinion matters in our lives. As rampant and popular feminism, fight against body shaming and fight against gender based violence(physically, sexually and emotionally) are, these things are still very much there. This time, it hits deeper in the subconscious because we hide it behind a pretty face and perfect body shape.

Dear Mama,

Mama says you’re a pretty girl, 

You’re my angel, 

My baby, 

My star, 

My world

But if this is true, mama

If this is fact

Then why do you say such awful comments to me?

How can you do me like that?

You look like a slut in that dress”

Those yoga pants say you want much more”

And if you leave my house looking like that, everyone will think you’re just another loose girl”

But why should I care, mama?

Why should what they think matter?

Because nothing hurts me more than to hear you point out that my thighs had gotten fatter

Or that being a sexual person makes me a bad daughter

I’m either your little good girl or that slut who likes it rough

But when I plead in opposition, you say “Girl, you need to calm down and listen”

You’re just a little too tough. You need to smile a little bit more but not too much because then you will look like a hoe”

I either eat too much or not enough

I’m too thin or too thick

Too fat or too skinny

But mama, why can’t you hear me?

I have a woman’s body and I will not apologize for that

It’s the body that you passed down to me

So how can you shame me like that?

These thick thighs, these full lips, these killer curves, thesebodacious hips

You’re the one you blessed these gifts upon me

So how can you say the ugly things you do about my body?

These questions are not out of spite for you

Neither are they contempt or disdain

I just wish you would take the time to contemplate the words you’re always saying

Because I can’t spend another day listening to your internalized hate

For years and years, I’ve tried not to let it bother me

But I can’t anymore

Because women need to learn to live in harmony

Divide and conquer

That’s how they keep us down

That’s how they hold us back

They make you go shameful for the skin that you are in

And see to it that we pass it to the next of kin

But that’s gonna stop, mama

We can’t be about that life anymore

I just wanna love my body

Be a sexual being

And know that you won’t see me as just another hoe

That you will still be able to think of me positively

That you will be able to see me for more than just my body


You say I’m a pretty girl, 

I’m your angel, 

Your baby, 

Your star, 

Your world

But if this is true, mama

If this is fact,

I need you to stop saying the hurtful things you say to me

I need you to have my back


 P.S This is not supporting indecent dressing at all. Personally, I’m in love with decent, formal, corporate dressing or whatever word for dressing appropriately and morally.


I Am a Man

I Am A Man

What does it mean to be a man?

Because I know what we are taught but not what we are

I know I’ve been taught it’s weak when I see a grown man cry

If he goes on a date, he has to be the one who will buy

If he takes an exam, he has to win

But pretend  he never tried 

If he watches porn but when asked, will tell you a lie

The kind of man who defines a good woman by the size of her breasts

Who boasts with his mates about his sexual conquests going through each one because it’s all in the rest as he walks down the street and puffs out his chest even if he feels alone and especially if he stressed, “I hear it. Do you?”

The message is loud and clear

Don’t be a pussy

Don’t be weak

Don’t show fear 

Don’t show love

Be a robot 

Man up

We’re like blind men trying to understand each other

Shadows controlled by the whims of our impulses

We obsess over photoshopped images of bikini clad princesses all designed so that the sum of our existence is to prop up other people’s privileges 

in this community, attractive women are thin, white, feminine and young

but what if you’re dark and black

or you’re a 52 year old with wrinkles or a teenager with pimples 

only 18 percent of cover girls are not white

but you wont see that image promoted because there’s an entire beauty industry that profits from us trying to stay young

it becomes this game of whose outfit is the tightest?

Whose ass is the nicest?

And whose voices are the loudest?

Because that’s where all the headlines and attention will go

In case you don’t believe, 

Let me tell you what’s happening as a result of the fashioning and the factoring of our ideas of what being a man is boys are more likely to be violent toward other people

Become addicted to alcohol and drugs


And achieve lower grades in shool

So if this is my letter to all US men 

I want you to know one truth again and again 

The root of the word ‘vulnerable’ is that you’re open to a tag and its in that moment you find out who really has your back 

So you can play to the stereotypes 

And pretend you have no cracks 

But I just think being real and exposing it is the strength that you lack 

Just like water in life, everything herbs and flows

The problem is, in relationships we have four images

The one that we are

And the one that we project

everytime we turn and hide away 

we lose another chance to connect


respect is really earned when we  see and when we share 

that true power comes live when you freely express 

just because we can be independent doesn’t mean we should choose not to grow together

there is strength in our society

a unity to our variety 

freedom is a choice to stay unapologetically true to the rhythm of what really beats inside of you

Man up!





Hate Me


Do you remember what I told your mother? I still regret my words, they haunt me every time.

“You don’t deserve my daughter” said she the last day I ever saw her.

“Oh yeah?”  I replied. “Maybe, but I still shag her every night and she comes back for more and more, like a lost dog. She prefers me instead of you. So who is worse?”

It wasn’t only disrespectful to your mother. It offended you as well. I treated you as an object and talked about you in such vulgar terms in front of your mother. And I wasn’t even drunk yet, but I just hated her because she didn’t let you be with me, because she opposed and I was scared…scared she might make you realize how unworthy of you I was and you would finally leave me

I am so sorry. I’m still so sorry.

And you forgave me for that, you still let me have you after that. You even fought your mother after that and chose me, breaking all ties with your family. Because of me, because of the jackass who talked to your mother like that. I tore you apart from your family. 




I am aware all human beings are imperfect, we make mistakes and hurt others, whether we do it intentionally or not, we still harm them somehow, sooner or later. I’m also aware I’m not the worst out there. I’m pretty sure there are far worse ones, people who abuse others, belittle them and destroy them….consciously. Some people might enjoy breaking others down, take pleasure in hurting others. But let me tell you something” I might have not realized what I was doing to you but today I can say I regret ever hurting you. You didn’t deserve it and I was an idiot for not seeing what I was causing you, how I was breaking you down. I didn’t take pleasure in hurting you, it didn’t make me feel better, at least not in the long run. Today I regret every hurtful word I threw at you, all the things I made you do, all the shit I made you go through. I regret so many things, except one: setting you free.

I know it was hard at first. I hope you are doing fine now, to be honest. That’s all I hope for and always wanted since I opened my eyes and saw the world we were living in. I know you loved me as much as I loved you and you wanted to fight more. Oh, how many times I was about to give in, to go back to you and keep trying but what was the point? Would we carry on until one of us couldn’t stand anymore? Was that the future we were heading to?

I was no good for you.

How many times did I drive you insane with worry? How many times did you have to take me to the hospital because I couldn’t wake up after drinking so much? How many times did I end up in an alcoholic coma? You were always there for me, looking after me even if you always told me I had to stop, that I was going to kill myself one of those days and then what would happen to you. I never listened. I kept drinking myself to unconsciousness, until I could forget who I was.

How could you love me?

Remember what I told you the day you found me?

“Hate me” I begged you as tears streamed down your face and you grabbed my wrist, trying to stop me from walking out on you again. “Hate me so badly that you can’t even say my name. Hate me for all the things I did to you. Hate me for being the arse that destroyed your life. Hate me for bringing the worst in you because you don’t deserve that. You should be with someone who brings the best in you, so hate me for tearing everything apart.”

“I can’t-I can’t hate you” you mumbled, your voice strangled with sobs.

You must,” I insisted. “You must hate me in ways that will leave you with a lump in your throat. Only then you can forget about me. See me for who I really am and you’ll hate me. I want you to hate me, to leave me behind and carry on with your life.”

You shook your head, more tears falling and I would be crying too if I wasn’t as sure as I was then, that even if I was hurting you then in the long run I would hurt you less like that. “Hateme!”

“I won’t!” you shouted back.

I shoved you off, putting distance between us. 

Hate me. Forget me. See what’s good for you, which is not me! I’m only destroying you! Hate me! Hate me! Hate me!”

I pushed you out the door and I could hear you cry, but I didn’t open. You had to hate me so you could move on, you had to hate me so you could move on, you had to hate me so you could open your eyes and see reality. I wasn’t good for you.”

Fine! If that’s what you want. Ill hate you! I hate you!” you shouted from the other side and walked away.

I haven’t seen you since then. I hope you actually hated me. I don’t want you to hate me now, because living with hatred in your heart is as harmful as being with me. I just wanted you to hate me so you could stop loving me and then forget me. I didn’t want you to hate me forever. I hope you don’t hate me forever. 

I remembered this today because I saw some girls at the bar. It was a group of four girls and they were all drinking, cheering up one that had recently broken up with her girlfriend, apparently. One of them told her that it takes three seconds to forget someone. Three shots. 

Is it really that easy? A part of me will never forget you, but I am over you. How is for you?

Other girl told her that what she had to do was turn all that love to hate and she would see all the faults in her ex, like that she would see all the faults in her ex, like that she would realize she was better off alone and could move on. I wanted you to do that.

Love is blind, right? You couldn’t see how wrong I was for you because you loved me.

Love is generous, right? You gave me chance after chance, even if I didn’t deserve them. 

Love is patient, right? You waited for me to get better even if it didn’t happen when it had to.

Love is selfless, right? You put me before your own good.

You loved me better than I loved you. Only once I was selfless enough to do the best thing for you, even if it killed me inside. I left you because you deserved someone who could love you better than you could love him. I always put myself first because I couldn’t imagine myself without you. I didn’t want to thinkhow much better you would be without me because I knew you’d be far better. I was selfish and love shouldn’t be like that. 

So I put you first for once, I walked away.

It’s the only thing I’m proud of. The only thing I did right and for that I’m not sorry.



Last night I dreamt of you. I usually do, and most of the time, I dream of that day I walked out on you. The first times I had that dream it broke me down. I couldn’t even leave the bed after such a dream. I couldn’t even leave the bed after such a dream, regretting every second and just wishing things were different. But every time it became more bearable until the ache from not having you subsided, allowing me see things as they probably were. Until I could see what did objectively and appreciate the good deeds I did.

Today I can have that dream without shedding a tear and with a smile on my face. I can recall that day and stay in one peace.

Do you remember how it happened? It’s so clear in my mind and the dream never changes. It’s exactly the exact picture of how it happened.

It was a cold day in winter and I had been waiting for you, at the edge of a breakdown, but convinced. I had finally accepted that what we had was more destructive than anything else, and we had to stop it before the two of us would end up broken to the point of no repair. Well, at least you. I had reached that point long ago. But I could still have you.

When you walked in, you looked so tired. I saw you with the eyes of someone who’s never met you before and I saw what I was blind to before. I saw your extremely thin and fragile body that it seemed it would break with the next whisper of the wind. I saw your pale and lifeless skin, the way your bones tried to break free from under your skin. Is aw the dark and large bags under your eyes that talked about endless sleepless nights and so much sorrow. I saw the tired and half dead smile. I saw the shadows in your eyes that had pushed away all the light at first saw.\

I saw your walking corpse and that was the last push.

We need to talk” I told you before you could even finish dropping your bag, “it’s important” I added as if my voice didn’t carry the weight of my words. 

What’s wrong, abbe?” you asked, your voice were already shaking. Maybe you felt it right then, what was yet to come.

I didn’t know how to drop the bomb, how to introduce the topic or even approach it. I just had one sentence bouncing in the walls of my head, trying to get out and I was just trying to keep it inside.

This needs to end” I finally blurted out and you froze. No expression showed up, you were a statue and I knew then I had to explain things properly. “I’m killing you. This,” I tried, waving my hands between the two of us, “is too toxic to carry on. I can’t even recognize the person I met, you’re half-dead. And I’m the one doing this to you. I’m slowly killing you and I can’t keep doing that.”

“Don’t you love me anymore?” you asked and I laughed. I couldn’t do anything else.

“I love you so much I feel like I’m ripping my own heart off of my chest”

Then don’t do this. If it’s for what I said the other day at the hospital, forget it. I’ll fix it. We can fix it together” she insisted but I shook my head.

“We’ve been trying for so long and it’s not possible. We’re beyond that point. I can’t be fixed and if we don’t stop, you’ll end up like me. I can at least save you. Let me save you” I begged, but then you were the one shaking your head, reusing to listen to my words.

I saw the first tears rolling down your cheeks, breaking my heart into more pieces. Million pieces.

You can’t do this. You can’t leave me now. I love you, we’re together. We’ve been through hell and we’ll not be done now, “you insisted stepping forward, taking my hands and looking me in the eye with such despair I almost fell to my knees. 

You don’t deserve that. You never deserved to go through hell. I should’ve done this long ago but I was too selfish to think of you instead of me” 

“I want to be with you!” you cried out. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Because I’m trying to save you from me, don’t you see? Can’tyou see the life you’re leading since you met me? Is this even a life? Can’t you see how every day I stray you further and further from your dream?” I ask you, shaking and breaking free from your grip. “I love you and I can’t stand hurting you anymore”

You’re hurting me now!”

But it’s a necessary pain to stop the constant agony. This is for your own good and my own because I can’t live with myself knowing what I’m doing to you,” I insisted. “I can’t live when I see the results of this love. I need you to be happy, to live”

“I’m happy with you.” You stubborn girl, you couldn’t even see what I was trying to do.

“No, you’re not. You think you are, you convince yourself you are just to cope with all what I’m doing to you.”

Then stop hurting me! Stop all that and let’s be happy.”

“I can’t,” I confessed. “Even if I want, I can’t stop. It’s me, who I am is what is killing you. Something I can’t change or control. Something that’s stronger than the demons inside me, I can’t be with you. Please, I beg of you, let me save you. Let me be honorable for once in my life. Please…”

By that point I was also crying and finally fell to my knees, begging you to let me be a man and protect the woman I love. I grabbed your hands and held them so tight, hoping you’d feel my sincerity. 

Hate me if necessary. Hate me for leaving you and for everything I did to you. For driving you to this point. Hate me for making you love a hopeless man. Hate me until you can move on. Hate me until you don’t need to hate me anymore. Hate me until you’re happy and you find yourself again. Hate me for what I did to you and for the things I didn’t do for you. Hate me…and let me go”

“I can’t…I can’t…” you cried, falling to your knees, taking my face in your hands, wiping the tears away

Please…I want you happy and live. Bright and beautiful. I want you be yourself and not a shadow” you closed your eyes and I knew I was getting to you. I just had to keep pushing. “Hate me until you see I’m right, that this is the best. Curse me out. Hit me if necessary. Just leave me behind and find your future and happiness, not with someone else but yourself. See what’s good for you and don’t let anyone else tear you apart. Live, for me, for this love that has broken us more than anything else”

How am I supposed to hate you when I love you so much?” you asked and now I was the one cupping your face.

You’ll find it in you the moment I walk out that door,” I smiled, heartbroken and resigned. “Use that hatred to give you realizewho you are and have moved on, let me know. Tell me you’rehappy and I did the right thing. Nothing will make me happier than that, knowing I, for once, did a good thing for you. Please”

You couldn’t reply, you broke down in tears and I gave you alast hug. I wiped away your tears and I even put my jacket on you before rising to my feet and grabbing the bag I had ready already. Whispering a last I love you and a plead to look for your happiness, I crossed that door and walked away.

The pieces of my heart fell with every step, but it also grew the determination that I had done the right thing even if it felt like the biggest mistake of my life.

By now I can firmly say I was right. Walking out on you was the best. I’m a better man now and I feel in my heart you’re fine. I’m sure of it. It’s been hard and painful, but it was for the best. And as if my bunch wasn’t enough, today I’ve received a letter. I’m not sure how this reached me and how you found out, but it’s now in my hands and it has your name on the addressee. AndI know, before I even open it, that this is you telling me you’re fine and happy again. That you finally see I was right and you don’t even hate me anymore.

Here in my hands is the proof I did the right thing and why I don’t regret my decision. This is my new found happiness in the form of paper. The proof there’s still some decent part in me and I’m not a complete monster. This is the proof that I finally learnt how to really love you, by setting you free. A dark cage was never the place for you. It took me a while to understand but it wasn’t too late when I did. Now you’re free, safe and happy. That’s all I ever wanted.

Thank you for your letter, for letting me save you and show you my love in the only way that could give you justice. And thank you for ever loving me, despite my flaws and the demons I carried with me. Thank you for every second you gave me. Thank you for making me a better man today.

Thank you.

Yours truly.


P.S. This was gotten from a Wattpad story written by Bel Watson titled “Hate Me”



I’m fine

The most common lie is “I’m fine”

I pulled the duvet back over my head and willed the day away, as I would many of the ones that followed. Sleep became an urgent matter of self-preservation in order to limit the hours I’d spend asking myself how much longer I might be able to keep my own inner darkness in check.

But yeah, I’m fine!

Like I just lost someone that I thought was going to be my ride or die. But yeah, I’m fine!

Dear you pretending to be fine because you don’t want to be looked at as weak…

Like everyone else, I’ve gone my whole life believing that I was perfectly fine. I flat out denied the possibility that I couldn’t do everything on my own.

Like in a country like Nigeria, as a woman, you need to have it all in control, everything depends on you, the yes or the no. you have to be strong so men wont ride over you. And as a man, you have to be a MAN! Don’t be a sissy or a pussy. 

From an early age, like everyone else, I strove to be independent and rarely sunk to the level of getting people in. 

I look happy. I smile a lot, so I must be fine. Right?

Dear you pretending to be fine because you feel your problems aren’t that bad?

But as I got older, I started to notice myself change, I started to get irritable. I was snappy to everyone. I started to get sad about things that didn’t warrant sadness. I stopped having reasons for my tears, but I let them fall anyway or sometimes, they don’t fall. I blamed it on stress.

I was fine, mehn….

Like I mean, I’m fine. It is one of those things, right? Like I’m fine, right? 

I have mastered the art of appearing to be okay. And to what end? To make life more comfortable for everyone else. To protect them from the truth. Because, to really be authentic means that there would be a lot of garbage coming out: a lot of pain, a lot of anger, a lot of hurt. And I don’t give people the benefit of the doubt that they could handle it because, I have learned, sometimes they can’t. I have learned, sometimes, letting it out isn’t safe.

Like I mean, you can’t trust anyone, right?

On the other hand, I’ve seen movements to “live bravely”, “live vulnerably”, “and live authentically”. But with all of the applause we give to people who act bravely or vulnerably or authentically, do we actually care about them? Do we really care about their stories and their impact? Or, do we prefer that they share-as if sharing is some sort of trust-fall exercise –and then hope that they’ll move on with their lives?

Our culture is gluttonous for happy endings. Like I want to meet one true love and get married. I don’t want to have to go through heartbreaks. I want to graduate and get a great job. I want to have the perfect kids and the faithful husband. In the end, we desire that things be “okay”, that a person magically bounce back, that they become normal again after living through trauma. 

Dear you pretending to be fine because everyone around you is struggling?

Like when I lost those I thought were my best friends forever to the excuse of “I’m bad at checking up on people”

Well, bounce back, girl. They are a few among the billions. Be strong. They can’t see you cry. It’s just a phase. 

Like when I realized I had enough with a fuckboy, I walked out. Something I should have done earlier. But after all, I still walked out, right? 

I’m only human after all.

But, the truth is I’m not fine

We are not fine like we say. 

We can’t be that normal people again. We can’t go back in time and erase the trauma. We can’t cure whatever mental illnesses.

What can we do?

Well, all we can do, is do our best to cope. For the Christians, we turn to God. For the Muslims, Allah. For the free thinkers, philosophies and the likes. And for every other category, some beliefs in a supposedly superior idea. 

Dear you pretending to be fine because you feel like no one understands


Let’s take a moment here. Imagine you are free. Free from everything-school, work, and family. Mention it

Just take a moment. 

What if we didn’t pretend? What if every time we are asked how we feel, we say it exactly like we feel. Not how good it can look or how non-pathetic it can sound?

What if we let out a little more of that shit that we carry around out? 

Obviously, we are not going to share our whole lives’ stories with everyone- that is not the point, and as I’velearnt actually, isn’t always safe and appropriate. 

But what if we stopped pretending around one more person? What if we decided to be more authentic around one more person, and were more honest with them about our struggles, our history, and our worries? 


As crazy as life is, there is that one person in our lives that feels safe to us. We can be a little more honest with them.

That’s a challenge to us all

And please let’s drop the face of “I’m being real”

Come on, people. There’s this new trend of people being savage and so emotionless. “Well I’m not afraid of anyone” “I can say or do whatever I want” 

The pretense of made up confidence. 

Come on, people. You’re not fine. You know it. Deal with it. 

Don’t twisting the idea of “I’m fine” “I won’t let anything get to me”

Come on, you’re human. 


It’s okay to not be okay.

It’s fine to not be fine.

Dear you, 

Yes you, the one pretending to be okay when inside you’re trying with everything you have to hold it together. 


It’s okay to not be okay.

You don’t have to pretend everything is fine. 

In fact, you shouldn’t. 

If you continue to keep your struggles inside, it will continue to not get better.



A whisper in a world that only shouts

It’s hard to find a reason when all you have is doubt

Hard to see into yourself when you can’t see your way out

Hard to find an answer in a question that won’t come out

Why is everyone filling you up with noise when you don’t know what they are talking about?

All I need is a whisper when a world that only shouts

          These words are gotten from a song titled “Whispers” by Passenger.










A study at the University of Pittsburgh found that yelling regularly to children as a form of discipline, holds many risks for their psychological development, including the possibility of developing an aggressive behavior or conversely, over-shies.

These psychologists have analyzed 976 families and their children for two years, and found that crying out daily as part of the educational style, could predict the onset of behavioral problems in adolescents aged 13 or depressive symptoms at the age of 14. Furthermore, they discovered that instead of minimizing the problems, the crisis tended to aggravate the disobedience. They also saw that the warmth of parents; that is, their love and degree of emotional support, did not reduce the psychological impact of screams. This means that the mark left by the screams can’t be cleared with a hug or a loving gesture.

Another research conducted by a group of psychiatrists at Harvard Medical School has made a step further: its results warn that verbal abuse, such as yelling and humiliation, can alter significantly and permanently the brain structure of children. 

These researchers analyzed the brains of 51 children who received psychiatric treatment and compared them to those of 97 healthy children. So they discovered that abandonment, corporal punishment and verbal discipline caused a significant reduction of the corpus callosum, a sort of “cable” consisting of nerve cells that connects the two hemispheres of the brain. 

A smaller corpus callosum causes a lower integration of the two halves of the brain, which can cause dramatic changes in mood and personality. The study also found a decrease in activity in parts of the brain associated with emotions and attention. These children had a lower blood flow to a part of the brain known as the cerebellar vermis, which is essential to maintain a good emotional balance. 


When children are very young, they are not able to distinguish the difference between shouts and affection. In practice, they do not understand that if parents raise their voices with them does not mean they do not love them, but that can be stressed or are blaming them for a bad behavior. Not knowing the difference could create a strong feeling of anxiety and stress. In fact, the researchers believe that changes in brain structure are due to the excessive release of cortisol, the stress hormone, during the first years of life. 

It is curious but children and adolescents who have grown up in an environment where screams are daily bread, are also twice as likely to have an abnormal brain electrical activity. In some cases, this activity has been likened to that of people who suffer from epilepsy.   


Well, how does culture control communication?

In the context of the Nigerian society, culture is a set of shared values that a group of people hold. Such values affect how you think and act, and more importantly, the kind of criteria by which you judge others. Cultural meanings render some behaviors as normal and right and others strange or wrong. While some of culture’s knowledge, rules, beliefs, values, phobias and anxieties are taught explicitly, most is absorbed subconsciously. 

How would you define yelling? Have you ever been at the receiving end of someone yelling? Do you consider yourself to be someone that frequently yells? Have you ever used yelling to rebuke, correct, or reprimand another? Have you ever foundyourself uncontrollably yelling? If so, you are in good company, because a large percentage of our society continues to utilizeyelling. Yet what good comes from yelling and losing personal self-control?

A recent study in the Journal of Child Development found that children who are raised in an environment that yelling is the normal way of life, have a higher probability of developing psychological issues and conditions. Moreover, when parents and caregivers purposely use yelling as a source of correction and discipline; the children have an increased risk of developing a number of psychological issues; including behavioral problems, anxiety, stress and depression. 


“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”

-Mark Twain

For many Nigerians, yelling, shouting, screaming, belittling, and personal name calling are justifiable. In fact, it is very common for a yeller to be a screamer, belittler, and for a name caller. As a society, we justify such behaviors by excusing them as care, protection and motivation, but the reality is, there is seldom an environment with which yelling is justifiable. What would be considered a justifiable reason for yelling? As a Nigerian society, we have created a justifiable list of reasons which yelling is permissible and acceptable.

As a species, we are emotionally driven, impulsive, confrontational, and fundamentally influenced by opposition. While as a species, we are driven by opposition; telling and verbal confrontations rarely positively inspire or motivate either. When attempting to motivate through negative reinforcement, the stimulus evokes and provokes strong emotions. Such emotions are negative and resistant in nature rather than positively influenced. If we motivate through a positive, encouraging and persuasive approach, we are more apt to create a positively influenced environment.

Can we do more of whispers than screams for a change?