WHAT DOES A SILVER SPOON LOOK LIKE....#iAsk?

It has counted from days into a week from the last time i made you read from me. To say that i have been busy will be a cosmetic lie on a sticky gloss. What if truly i have been busy? Busy in my head; reassembling my mental chords. That is not to say that your darling Sa'eedah has gone haywire lol;- but seriously! believe me when i say " i have been busy" and i just said it.
     Busy gritting on the next dimension to take in making y'all have a bite of my imaginary cake of thoughts. I dont want to take forever over this yet i dont  want to fail my promise of not making it boring. Ask me how i write; i tell you i write deeply and personally. Those who tagged me a melancholic writer have even been fair with their judgement about me. Truly life is not fair perhaps to say life hasnt been fair, yet its sweetness can seem to be immeasurable.
     When i hold a pen by the neck to write; it feels like i want to strangle and squeeze out all its ink till it paints the whole of within me in writing. For every person that in one way or the other reads from me or have read from me;-texts, my tweets, scribbled notes or whatsoever has sure had a portion be it little of my inner mind. The real me!
      For the death of all unspoken words,i revive them all in "writing out my heart" The soul is mine to which i source my writings from, the eyes are yours to read, the head is yours to shelter an atom of my words. Not forgetting that you own minds as much as i do;- i only write, you do the most job taking the time to read, understand, and digest the jargons i have put together again.
      In conclusion of my preambles, i only mean to say that "as personal as i may seem to write, i am taking the sweat of being on the same plain with my readers and not just consume you in the selfishness of my lone thoughts" its a public writing that i expect varying opinions from.


Hand in hand with my fingers twined into yours, lets take a walk like by the water banks at dusk together into the arena of today's matter. *back to the matter* (in Wizkid's voice). If only my readers have all migrated to India and began eating with their bare hands, hence a spoon will be an ish in here.I can bet even in the darkest side of the world where civilization hasnt blinked for a sec, they know what a spoon is, be it wood or earthen. Read my theme loudly, i just asked what a silver spoon looks like? Not just a spoon!

Every birth is noble cos it wasnt child's play in 9monts and the life-taking labour of paturition but what glorifies the cause of our birth is our existence from the first respiration. As sinless as they call a baby he knows what life is from the moment he cries to the that welcome slap on the butts. Yea! He's alive!! And who says babies dont know nothing, gone are the days babies sleep in snug of trance for eternity before they can make a face. Oh boy! now they even shine their eyes wella and observe before they pop out their head.Some babies will even show stunts and not come out till they feel the doctor's blades;that's probably because they have smelled where they are landing. Choi! ground no too level for here ooo,how for do na????? Dont be surprised babies already know the way home fresh from the hospital i dey tell U! LMAO. Show me a sinless baby i  will show you a baby who knows the taste of nourished breast-milk, the feel "Hughes diapers" from ragged nappies. *Are you a learner*

Unto us a child is given, unto him a map is given. The entire plan of his life voyage carved on his palms by God;- it shows broader as he grows. Life is not the end of life, the prayer for long life makes life become the destination when its just a driveway.

In life are those that sweat, work and labour from when they can single-handedly  pronounce a simple disyllable "ma-ma" without assistance. They sweat even for a drop of water. They wriggle to come out hardened and strong. Amongst these specie of people like Jamal of "slum dog millionaire" make four hours movie of the story of their lives without intermission. The hustlers that spring out as conquerors!

In life are those that have aide, hustlers too though, only with an hand of support. From when they can pronounce "ma-ma" they are still spoon fed in a way but as times drift they mold and mount the bricks of survival themselves.

The economy of ours doesnt make education the only legacy, *pinch me if i have spoken wrongly* For as long as you can speak and make a bit of sense in English language, you can write a paragraph with not much blunders, if you can even tweet without (((((GBAGAUN)))))) sef! lool the race of chasing talents to own to some cash in the bank begins. Thats when you find talents in all spheres, brewed talents,fabricated talents,adulterated talents,imposter talents......At all at all man pikin must chop!

Yet in this life are those that only read the word "Sweat" and "Labour" from the dictionaries,novels, watch "Gerard Butler" sweat in movies:- 300, Olympus has fallen. loooool These ones have never read out "Suffering" as a word even from a text. These people were born with the silver spoon, ate with it and stuck in their mouth.

In life are people on the average plane of existence. Less sweats, less merry, "Watch and Shadow" To humor it all then you start hearing in different accents " i was born with a silver spoon tho" *mimicking* Ehenhen Wetin con happen to am, they thief am? Shoooo! *in waffi tune* its not just in my mouth it was taken away excusably by the reason of parental loss or something. Awwww oma shey oooo *pity face*
The same one life of ours that we have come, where we have those that slide free on the sleek smooth surface, those staggering on the rough path, those stumbling on the rugged rocky stairs, those swimming through and gasping out for air, those that are just strolling, those that just sit legs crossed at the balcony puffing cuba.......many! many!! many!!! "Melo melo lafe ka leyin adipele"

In all of these people is YOU and I. You alone know your hustle and tussle. I know deeply how life's been for me too. Dont laugh oooo when i tell you i stormed into the kitchen 3AM in the midnight while i write this to look sternly with my lens not even enough to actually see through what a silver spoon looks like but that was just an eating spoon jooor! ;p

   

 As deep as i meant to discuss this, share in my humor and lets all laugh our ass out (mine is flat ;p). Na just this one life we come and we all gas make am..........Hey people!

THE BEST THING I NEVER HAD

Beyonce sang hers in blossom smiles
of one bad thing it was best she never had
I wrote mine in quaking sobs
for one good thing i have never had
The piano obeyed the harmonics in the song
My throat fought hard to gulp down my tears

In times i have sat to think
In times i have reasoned
In times i have assumed
In times i have spoken
In times i have questioned
In times i have made noise



And now i have been numb
far worse, too mute.....





 Anomalous reflection of weakness and strength in my solemn cries
Forced understanding to brace up the ruins of my shatters
Oversight of jeopardy welcomed in brisk courage
Yet blinking hope of better reign



Do not brood in my melancholia cos its mine
This is just a piece of my furnaced heart
written out in "black and white"
to express that ONE thing i have never had in my
whole double figure number of years
but someday soon i hope to own........smiling still:)

THE LADY CHILD (THE GIRL CHILD II)

The pillar length mirror gracing the Northern cardinal of the fashion parlor wherein she sleeps and wakes; reflects from the anterior - a filled frame of a perfect 8! Even distribution of fats;- the front way mold of the softest,most succulent flesh (the breasts) in balanced agreement with the back route mount of the gluteus flesh (bombom:p) to obey the popular slogan of "bright future & solid background" (ojo iwaju e da ti eyin na ko de bad) lol. Football lovers would even justify it as a 2-2 draw match between Chelsea and Barca played on a spread-surface green field;- that is: a flat tommy is not left out (:D). Sleek craft of long legs aided by potter-perfect arcs of hips, superior blades of the shoulders crested with millitary star coins of ego worn by a sun glowing dotless face. Wao! This is a one week schemed work of the Creator without a breathe of rest. Detailed perfection even to the nail beds. Igbo men be like: "Chai! Baba God try for your body no be small" (Jaw dropped). In my mommy's friend's Yoruba tongue she be like: "Koda! Olohun pari ise si omo naa lara"

 Even when men lie and ladies deceive, the only one shot truth sayer is the mirror. She hails from her yet smoothly laid pink bed as though she never turned a side in her sleep, she brew herself the top of the day's smile as she beholds the grace of God in her life through the plain mirror.

In Frank Edo's "Who wants to be a millionaire" hot heat voice:::::- "Now the quest begins!!!" Calculus can't dare be tougher compared to the mental strain of what to wear every morning. Only mannequins and price tag will make her room into a boutique as I earlier refered to as a fashion parlor wherein she sleeps and wakes. Sauced taste of shoes ranging from red block heels to denim clogs, animal skin wedges, gladiator sandals like those in the Roman movies, flat trendy slippers of all colours, not leaving out the fine leather loafers and rocky lace-up converse. *whew* She calls them all in one word "Footies." So what do we call the row of designer bags and exhibition of accessories, the neatly folded pile of jeans she stashed like cash. The stream of cosmetics at the base of the mirror will make you marvel again where you really at;- Room or boutique?

 After the assessment journey of moma's eyes from from her head to the toes, she twinkled an half moon smile and officially announced her child as a LADY....(The Lady Child). "Now you have grown into a lady." Unlike the former,now its moma and her lady child at the market, church, in the kitchen and everywhere. For every chapter of school gists she tells,moma sings back to her to always remember the child of whom she is "Ranti omo eni ti iwo se." *Sighs* No more slaps and nags, if feels so solemn as if there was never any. Every morning moma chants the warning of unwanted pregnancy to her ears, always reminding her of how the stem and branches of her gele (headgear) will be on her graduation and wedding.

 The war of choice of clothing has peacefully ended when its even moma and daughter together in 'Next' & 'Forever 21' stores to pick up dinner dresses........And when that guy who was deliberately passing to drop by say Hi knocks, moma's welcome reception will make you wonder who owns the guest (lol). Moma leaves both friends to talk after serving him some cookie and juice (:D). Moma's bye-bye wave and regards to his parents means "You are always welcome around, your parents will be meeting us soon" :) Moma resigned her investigative job in her lady child's phone. It only takes the making of Popa's dinner together in the kitchen to pen down the names of the toasters them ;).

Envious friends don't have a slot with her. Only Tiwa her childhood friend, her departmental mate and her everything. Tiwa gets all the info first hand and uncensored. Its is Tiwa and her in the library, Tiwa and her at the mall & cinema, Tiwa and her on excursion, Tiwa and her in Micheal's room too ;)......

 Interesting as it all sounds being a lady;- farewell to beatings, nourishment of persuasion and soft spoken words, changed theme of questions, Oh Moma! Oh Daughter! now the best allies on the planet >>> yet she struggles and tussles to wriggle and squeeze out of the noisy clamoring audience of being attractive. She wishes atimes she was handicapped if only she could read from the forehead of the true man.
Her beauty waxes stronger every daybreak. She looks up the horizon of dusk to consult the divination of her beauty if really that is her plague. As she finds no answers even in her dreamy nights and no oracle appeared to her in reality, she sails on the lone boat of uncertainty (the good man or the bad man.....)

Three years in college of health sciences drowned the vision of runway. Angelic looking on the crystal white lab coat and rimmed glasses, the mirror reflects a Pharmacist, a Mother and a Wife......

The lady child smiled back to the lady child in the mirror.......:) An imaginary tale about the life of a full grown lady looking in the mirror. What do you see?

THE GIRL CHILD (I)

Coated in blood and slime.lil new born rattled the soft cries of birth hearkened by the hardened ears of the expectant duo (popa'n'moma). Borne on a number of palms of medics from bath till sweet slumber. "My oh My" moma whispered, kissed her temples and drifted off to sleep.

         Gentle kisses, rare smiles, prayers, embrace and merry;- all seemed heavenly as though never ending until that first pinch of piercing on the ears. Grannies and aunties mimicking her crying mouth screaming "Welcome to fashion world" while deep down thoughts that really denotes "Welcome to womanhood for this juxtaposes you from the male children who will grow into tunnel minded men to hurt you"

          In no time the morals began, learning right form wrong in all manners available.....be it the red slap on the buttocks, barking nags, elastic twist of the ears, soft spoken words  of correction which doesn't seem readily available at all time, swift blink of the eyes if not instantaneously decoded drops down brimstone and coal of beatings. Then she is reminded every daybreak of the specie of gene she possesses being the feminine gender.Super-technical scrutiny and judgement, sentence of behaviour to eternal questioning.

      Knock! Knock!!  Knock!!! Puberty and adolescence wants to badge in; trust moma's vigilante eyes and large palms adorned with slaps.First she doesn't ever wants to be called a GIRL. Tomato lumps of breast, erecting strands of pubic hair, arc of hips, alluring body metamorphosis into a graceful figure to the eyes of men. She wants to wear it short;-moma pounds her  into long, she wants to paint it scarlet;-moma insists on no colour,she likes it long and curly:-moma forces it short and crispy.

      Hell yea! And one day she just wants to leave the house,-moma grabs her by the band waist like a criminal ''Hey girl,sit your Goddamn ass here,you going no where till i say so''
     Turning to popa if story will make a better headline only till when them boys on ripped jeans and blaring headsets come lurking by the window next to popa's study till then you'ld know he has a long double barreled gun officially licensed in honour of his girl child.

       The school bus horn at 7am is a trumpet sound of victory. Sweetly looking in the check skirt and snow white pair of socks, hair yet brushed in moma's old school way, confinement of lip-gloss and nail polish in the cosmetic bag: oh sorry school bag! Juggled to life from the trance of the day's fantasy---------- gisting, gesting, and chatterboxing, sheepish smile and secrete winks to the boys them. Yanking the bus door free like jail break, Hello,Hi,Wasup,------skipping assembly to brush hair into the Beyonce's style, shimmering gloss on, freshly powdered face, Yea! Yea!! welcome to school girl.
       Moma sweating, screaming, pounding and nagging to know about the life of her girl child which she conceals beneath  her pseudo-innocent face and numb limps, it only takes a couple of notes to be slid under the table during the boring History class for Steph, Tiwa, Mariam and Juliet to decipher. Giggling while texting secret crushes; moma sure needs a degree in short hand and codes to understand any bit of the contexts thats if she got rapt of the device, slightly-less lucky if the inbox and outbox weren't wiped already.

    Sad tears of heartbreak when being cheated on with some hotter chick in school is fast gulped down and sublimed when popa endears into the room *sighs* ''Daddy physics can be quite hard'' lol that meant Femi is  evil to have left me for Tife.

     One day she wakes up and craves a nose job so bad, worse still a boob job then popa seats her by the bed tip to ask her where her mind at? At this juncture moma's nagging can barely echo half mile in her mind. She wants to drop out of school and become an actress or rather manage through the fashion school, Popa and moma adores the nurse; she loves the runway. The clash of personal decisions against the imposition of parents.

     Parties,music and booze;- moma storms into her room to hail her sleepy butts up for morning devotion only for the teddy bear she got during her past 16th birthday costumed in pyjamas and covered up under the duvet sleeping deeply yawned to moma;s face!
Popa and moma hunting the nights for their girl child! Smeared mascara red wig, black nails- a perfect picture of a torn out rock star. Moma broke down her bag of tears  ''My girl child is drunk"! Minty gum and condoms splattered from her purse, she shrugged off and packed them back.
               Moma sighs bitterly........

This is my imaginary tale about the life of a growing girl.........hope i got the picture?


                                                                                                            To be continued.........

#iBlog

The idle hand being the devil's machinery....6months of industrial attachment all laid bare in the falling hands of ASUU strike yet my mind dint go blank neither did my finger ever cripple. Junks of thoughts down the trash can, my diary revolted from accumulation wits and secretes, my twitter timeline fed up of tweets that can barely be deciphered.

After an uneventful birthday on Friday 30th, wasted the Saturday into the dripping hands of some drizzles i call "lazy rain" such that wont make you neither go out nor grab something handy to do within the house,worse still Power Holding Company of Naija really did hold the power supply making my whole day abysmally out of existence. This day i fought against being further idle, thus made me pounce on Google and insisted that i wanted to write and that was how you got to read this piece.....I hope to make you read more from me and trust it wont be boring! CIAO....