Category Archives: Love and Relationships

What has age got to do with it?

First off, I’m 28 years old so you don’t think I’m an oldie. Infact I’m not even 28 yet as it’s not July 4th yet but oh well! I am a sexy, confident young lady! And may I say, sexy again? *winks* When we talk of age and love and being a woman (a sexually active woman), the term ‘cougar’ comes up! For married women in their early thirties, they like to play around with the term thinking it makes then look sexy. Oh well, Na una sabi. Who is to say, when I’m in your shoes, I won’t do same or worse! Please note that I said ‘term’, not boys o.

Oh yes! I can boldly and calmly say I like boys. Especially for entertainment. My colleague, regularly tells me that I like boys too much and he is always skeptical about introducing me to his friends. Boys, being the operative word here. Nonsense colleague of mine!

Men are complicated beings, right? That is a fact we can all agree. Who needs them? (Btw, My Oga at the top must NEVER read this o! Not in this lifetime). But seeing as body no be firewood and one isn’t ready for the complexities and complications of the ‘men’ folk, can’t one luck an apple from the tree of ‘boy’ hood to counter the raging effects of this hard life? Abi no be so? Has anyone noticed that they are getting finer and finer by the day?

This fact was brought home to me some days ago. My friend and I had gone to a bar after work hours like we usually do to ogle fine boys and disagree over whose ass was better proportioned when the guys bent over to shoot pool. When he walked in, I swallowed and mehn, I had no drink in my mouth. I simply drank in the sight of him. The boy was fine! Abeg, leave matter, he fine!#endof. My friend agreed that he was fine but he couldn’t be more than 24. “So? And how is that supposed to be my business nau?’. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why his age was an issue. In my opinion, he was a ‘man’ without the wahala, attitude and baggages that came with the older species of his gender.

“Haba, Eseosa, you don spoil finish o. You no go leave all these small boys?” I fired back without missing a beat. “My friend, be guided. Small boy for where? Can you look at that boy again and see the confidence that exudes from him? His mother didn’t give him that. Experience did.” We couldn’t seem to agree and left the matter there. This morning, I have been told my my colleague that I like boys again. So I have penned my thoughts since I can’t get them to listen verbally.

The quest for love is no an easy road. Trust me, I have been there, done that and swiped the dirt of my shoulder. From looking for the fairytale, cinderella and glass slipper kind of love(which I am still searching for), to the kind where I only need you for the night(which is far more attainable), it can be an arduous journey. As time goes by, as the men become more unreasonable and clueluess and we become bag-women, a paradigm shift occurs. You stop thinking like you used to think. You need to, in order to survive.

I don’t wait for you. If I like you and I want you, what stops me from coming to get you? If I desire a pair of shoes, I walk up to the counter and make moves to take it home with me. Simple! No need for long talk. But I digress. From the age of 24, I don’t see what the problem is. I have dated younger guys before (and i mean, real dating, no be come chop) and for a while, they were beautiful relationships. Where did it lead me? Here! The same place that relationships with older guys left me so what is the point?

We need to free our mind from the shackles we have placed on it. Have you heard of Casper Smart and Jlo? Hello!!! Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher? Fine! It didn’t land Demi anywhere but then neither did her marriage to Bruce Willis. So what are you telling me? Abegi!!

The Trouble With Love

This Love

This Love

I’ve always said my husband is gonna be the most pampered man in world history by a woman. Of course, this may be an exaggerated boast but you can guess the general picture. If you love music like I do, I’m sure you have listened to the song by Destiny’s child-cater to you. That’s the general idea. Now would be a good point to envy him. Yeah yeah.
But it hasn’t really worked out like that thus far. Oh, I date. I fall in love. I experience the ‘ooooh’ and ‘ahhhhh’ moments. The general love thing. Its about the words you tell me. Its about the way you treat me. Its about the look in your eyes when you look at me. Its about the things money can and can’t buy. The thing is, I begin to build my word around you bit by bit. Consciously and unconsciously, you become my happiness factor. My world begins and ends with you. Bliss right? Okay! fa-fa-fa-foul!

My first experience with love was when I was 18. If you gasp, get off my blog. My friend, I was in year 1 and 18 is the legal age for such things so give me a break. He was in year 2 and I thought the stars were in his eyes. He’d cook for me, walk me to class, and told me all the things I wanted to hear.

To cut that story short, it turned out he was dating 5 of us in the same class and the girl’s picture that he was told me was his cousin, turned out to be girlfriend no 1. I should have learned right? Lets talk about the obese medical student who made my sister gasp when she saw his humongous size (errr…she pulled me to a corner and warned me not to ever let him lay on me else I wouldn’t ever need to diet again as I would be squashed beyond redemption).

He was the most intelligent person I knew and he we dated for 5 years before finally having sex. If you were thinking his jingle bells were not working, sorry to disappoint you. All members of my family knew him and they came to like him. He was so courteous to them and gradually my neighbours stopped opening their mouths in shock whenever he came down from his car. The thing is, I never even saw his size. I never noticed that people would always stare at us when we went out. He was the love of my heart and that was that. When he left, I was so sick my sisters had to swallow their desire to prick him with a needle so he could evaporate and call him to come see me. Infact, beg him sef. He didn’t come which is good, cos I don’t think he would have left with complete body parts. My sisters? Never mess with them. Underline that.

“Eseosa, you mean after everything I did to you, someone can still break your heart? Don’t you ever learn?” That was the Idiot’s reaction when he learned that I’d just gone through another heart wrenching relationship and called me. I hope a more courageous girl has punched his lights out on my behalf. But that’s the thing with love.

“…like a drug that makes you blind, it’ll fool you everytime…” I titled this article after the hit song ‘The trouble with love’ by powerful vocalist, Kelly Clarkson. Its one of my favourites. The words are so real and if your love life has been topsy-turvy like mine, then you can totally relate. Love has fooled me many times. They say you can either choose to fall or not but somehow my brain doesn’t function that way. When love calls, I answer. “…I’m sadder but I’m wiser too…I swore I’d never love again…swore my heart would never mend…said love wasn’t worth the pain…but then I heard it call my name…”

I have sworn so many times to stay away from the monster called love. I get closer to my friends, we grab drinks and do the whole jolly good fellow thing. Problem is, my heart never gets the memo “…the trouble with love is…it doesn’t care how fast you fall…and you can’t refuse the call…see you’ve got no say at all…”. See the part about not having a say in it? That sucks!

“…that story always ends the same…Me, standing in the pouring rain…”
That how it always ends. With me anyway. Am I doing something wrong? Am I unlucky in love? Have I just been meeting the wrong guys? I honestly wish I could answer. But no matter the trouble that love brings, somehow we still end up craving it. Oh by the way, I’m in love right now (AGAIN!!!!!) so I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Wish me luck.

Hurt

Hurt is eating me so deep…….
This gash is so so steep…………
How do I explain what I’ve believed
When all I’m feeling is…..relieved
Cos I’m happy for having what is not mine
and in essence accept and feed myself lies
and its realization makes me cry……

I’m so unstable that I’ll call this …mad
When you expect the truth, but given lies
In moments of happiness, he shifts the lines
When you’ve been given, only to be robbed
Expecting praises, and heard only shouts of Flop.

Earnestly hoping for the best, but battered
Critically lied to, when truth is all that matters
Attending to frivolities, when the real thing fades
I’m counting times that I’ve seen hope run away
I get so hurt that its hard to think straight
while the joy is with whoever makes me stray
Never again…….just like Kay would say
I want to learn untruthfulness….its incredible
after all,there is an excuse…….I’m fallible.

I’m full of this food of hurt and I need to feed on
Help people to drink with me in this cup of hurt
and feel that innermost desolation in me
that needs all of earths energy to bridge.
I was hoping this would help…….
what if I sent the wrong message?
whats next?

I’m back to the starting point…….
Boiling and seething like oil……
I need help, cos this is consuming who I am
and with this message I invite help, who am I?
its inevitable I ask again.
After everything………..I’m still HURT!

Debo Adejugbe
@deboadejugbe

His temperament ; my experience

“Experience is a good teacher, but she sends in terrific bills.”

Minna Antrim

Ask my ex-boyfriends and they will tell you that I like to nag and yell. Don’t believe them. Never believe them o. I’m a good natured, witty, jolly good fellow. I’m serious. They are the ones who bring out the worst in me. They are the ones who can’t handle my fabulousness. They just can’t handle the sunshine that is me. John, James and Justin, roll your eyes all you want #yimu (Before you ask, I actually don’t know what that means).

But let me explain further. See, I believe the way you treat me is the way I’ll treat you, especially when it comes to matters of love and romance. What you put into it is what you’ll get out of it. Simple as ABC. Just to convince you that I’m good and they are bad, I decided to share my experience with you.  But this time from another angle; his temperament.

I hate dating melancholies. I just hate it. Jisox! They are never in a good mood. They never forgive transgressions. They brood and keep to themselves and are sometimes so quiet you get disconcerted by just looking at them. To make them laugh, its easier for the camel to pass through the eye of the needle, trust me. They are almost always depressed and difficult to please. I remember how I’ve tried without success I might, to please my nonsense melancholic ex-boyfriends. I’m never gonna date one again. Lie lie!

The cholerics! Hmmmm. You’ll never find a more stubborn man! Advice, suggestions, hints, clues all enter one ear and promptly come out of the other ear, fium! They never listen and yet are all over the place with their ‘I too know’ attitude. Me sef too know na. So how it wan take work? 2 captains cannot lead one ship. Did I mention that they are the most unemotional men ever? Put stubborn and unemotional in the same sentence and you’ll get the picture. Yeah, that’s what I had to deal with. What was I thinking? That I could get water out of stone? I must have been crazy.

Erm…Sanguines are good o. This is not because I am one. They are but prepare for the most important dates to be forgotten . My ex never remembered my birthday but he remembers his own. What nonsense is that? I want to come first ni. He never remembers valentine but he remembers Christmas because I have to cook abi! So its selective amnesia I have to deal with? No way o. Abeg park and let me get out. No be by force.

Phlegmatics are never excited. This is a problem in a relationship because I’m such a happy go lucky girl and I’m almost always in a good mood (I know my exes will scoff at this but na dem sabi. Didn’t you see the ‘almost’?). I’m always happy and jumping around jor. Its quite devilish to make me want to fold my arms and sit primly like a little girl which is how phlegmatics make me feel. They make me want to behave myself and I don’t want to behave myself. See the problem? I can’t imagine me behaving myself. So, to your tent O Israel!

I know you’re probably wondering if I’m waiting for the perfect man? Erm….of course, yes! A man who doesn’t fit into the above categories o. Don’t worry, I will find him. I always get what I want. For there is nothing that the Lord cannot do! Wish me  good luck (Not the Nigerian President o).

Dear Shafe!

Dear Shafe,

This letter is to thank you for the beautiful friendship that I share with you. Year after year, our friendship blossoms, irrespective of the distance and the challenges we face in our lives. You have been there for me when I was being difficult, stubborn, rude, pig-headed and downright unfriendly. You straighten my head whenever it begins to shake. Thank you.

This letter should have been easy to write but it wasn’t. How do I begin to talk about someone who is one of the most amazing people I know? How do you begin to appreciate a friend in the truest sense of the word? A guy whose heart is big enough to chastise and comfort you, sometimes at the same? That’s who you are to me, Shafe. You are the personification of the words ‘open heart’.

Thank you for the wonderful person that you are. Thank you for being there. Thank you for giving me the confidence to wake you up from sleep at 2am or interrupt you in the middle of a hectic work day knowing that you would never turn me away. Thank you for re-defining friendship to me. Thanks for your listening ear and timely advice. Thanks for analyzing those confusing moments for me and letting me know that you’d never let me go through them alone. Thanks for standing by me and believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.

On the morning of your birthday, I prayed long and hard for you. Though this letter comes a bit late, its words are sincere. May your life be filled with as much happiness as your heart can hold. Happy birthday to the bestest friend in the world. I pray for strength and wisdom to be as good a friend as you have been to me. God bless you, Wasiu Adekunle Shafe!!!

Eseosa Princess Ogbeide.

 

A mother like no other

I woke up this morning, and as is the norm nowadays, sleepily reached for my blackberry (which is always by my bedside) and checked my twitter account. That twitter thing is very addictive sha. It even comes before my mail messages now. Well, on twitter I found out it was Mothers day. I lay back on my pillows and let the memories hit. The good ones. I always let the good ones come first so as to strengthen myself for the painful ones. I had so much memories. 

My mother was like no other! That was my first thought and trust me, everyone who ever met her could swear to that. As a child I thought was my mum was invincible. That nothing could touch or defeat her. She was my rock as she was to her children, family members and those she came in contact with. She was strong that way. She was the reason I looked for trouble (them beat me tire when I small), the reason I woke up smiling everyday. As the last born of a single mother in a large but close knit family, I enjoyed a lot of privileges. I was loved and I knew it.  I was spoilt rotten by my mum and everyone else. 

Do you know I slept beside my mum on the same bed till I was 14? Shocking! Even as a adult, I admit that was just crazy. Of course the only reason I stopped sleeping beside her was because she died. Damn. That was when it occurred to me that my mum was mortal. That inspite of her imposing physical build, she was human. I had thought she was a goddess. She was our world. Our joy. Our own. If I was lost when she died, my siblings were even more lost. Nobody knew what to do. My mother had sheltered us, loved us, protected us, provided for us, defended us, fought our battles and given us the world.  I suspect that my far older brothers  and sisters didn’t realize she was mortal too. It took us years to recover from the shock and get our bearings right. I was even stronger than some of them.  

How does one begin to describe my mother? Words fail me. There’s just no way to adequately describe who she was. She was strong. She was bold. She was generous. Full of life! Loving! Fearless! Charismatic! Industrious! She was everything a mother should be and then some. I’m not just saying that because she was my mother. I’m saying it because that was just who she was. A woman who didn’t go to school but insisted right from when I was a baby that I speak to her in Queen’s English. God help the person my mother caught speaking pidgin English to me. Your own don finish be that. Lol. 

I remember the big pots we used to cook at festive periods. In the morning, the first meal would be pounded yam and Egusi soup. My sisters and I would then distribute it to every house on the street and just for the record, my street is a quite a long one. Afternoon was Jollof rice and chicken and its was distributed the same way too. Everyone knew there was always food and a kind word at Iye-Ibie’s house (as they fondly called her). She was the Iye (a bini word for mother) of my area. I remember how crowded my house always was. It was like a small village. You could never tell who lived there or not. People trooped in and out for one reason or the other. How I miss those days!

I remember the day she went to school with me because a teacher had flogged me. She didn’t find it funny. Why would a teacher beat her beloved Eseosa, a child she had never raised her own hand against over an Edo book? A nonsense Edo book! My mother never understood why I had to learn Edo in school. To her, mathematics, English and other subjects were more important as I was an Edo girl and if she wanted, she could teach me the language at home. Kai! That day she took on the entire teaching staff and the principal. That was my mum. You don’t mess with her children. Oh no you don’t. 

They say there’s a reason for everything. Though I may never understand or get rid of the pain (12 years and its still there), I’ve learnt to live with it and channel it into positive pursuits but I’m so grateful and honoured to have had such an amazingly incredible mum. She’s still the wind beneath my wings and is still my driving force. If I can be half the woman she was, I’d have achieved plenty. I know her shoes are way too big for me to fill but I can try and I’m trying my damn best. I would still want her to be her baby if there’s another life. Happy mother’s day Mrs P. U. Ogbeide. Iyenogie! Iye ni ye! Iyenmwen nimose! A mother like no other! 

I made my choice.

So it’s over. Another hope dashed. Another sun set. All the troubles, quarrelling, nights filled with tears and despair finally over. And love, broken. Yet again. After all the prayers, hope, faith!  Puff. All gone.

But it’s time to be honest. Do I really feel sad? Do I really feel bad? Am I heartbroken? The answer to all 3 questions is definitely no. I’m not sad. I don’t feel bad. I actually feel relieved. I’m definitely not heartbroken. I actually feel like a bird that has just been released from bondage. I’m testing and stretching my wings. I feel empowered. I feel strong. I’ve never felt better.

When all you’ve felt for more than 3 months is confusion and deep sadness, you feel like you’re standing on a mountain with your arms stretched out and the breeze caressing your body. That’s how I feel. Yes, there were good times. But when you can’t remember the good times and have a vague recollection of the times you both laughed, you should know there’s trouble. Big trouble.  

It wasn’t always like this. But all I really remember, with vivid clarity are the troubled times. Times in which I begged and begged for things I had no idea about, the times I asked for forgiveness for sins I didn’t know if I had committed. Imagine apologizing for someone else’s bad mood and him acting like you should have apologized earlier or apologized more. Times I desperately wished I could read his mind and fathom out how to please him. Times in which I felt like my very existence was an irritable circumstance to him.

Those were really bad times. But that was not what the crux of the matter was. The real problem was that I completely lost myself. I had such low confidence in myself that even though I knew that it was killing the inner me, I felt I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt powerless. It was crazy. Me! Who prided herself on her inner strength and ability to always know herself! I didn’t even know myself anymore. The most painful were times I felt since he didn’t like me, I had to be someone else. Someone else that he could like. I felt like something was wrong with me if he couldn’t like me. I knew I had hit rock bottom but I felt I didn’t have the strength to crawl back up. Hmmm. The mighty power of our thoughts!!!

The minute I stopped thinking like that, I had the strength to move mountains. Problem was, he didn’t like my new found strength. But I had realized from being at rock bottom for a long time that I deserved better. That I deserved to be happy; that I deserved a man who saw and thought of me as being wonderful because I was. I was a new person and he didn’t like it, tough luck!!!

Don’t get it wrong. I didn’t fall out of love with him, I simply fell back in love with myself. If he couldn’t see the beautiful side of me, that was his palaver. I was seeing the fabulously fantastic being that was me and nobody could change that. This was the me that had gone through so much and yet stands tall and strong. The me, I was so proud of.

Now I’ve realized that love takes different forms. But it’s always a choice. Our choice. To stay in an unhappy relationship or to realize that we deserve better and walk out. It’s always our choice. We may not choose what happens but we can definitely choose how we react to the things that happen to us. Happiness is a conscious choice and that choice is ours. I made my choice and I couldn’t be happier.