Her Story, XXIII by @ThisConnectd

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers @ThisConnectd and she blogs, here

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

How I Learnt My ABC’s: Peeling back the layers

A is for action. To do. Or at least the will to get up at 5:30 in the morning and do. That has to count for something, or I make it count. I have this bad habit of waiting till everything piles up before I actually get off my ass and act, and it works for me. Worked for me. Now I’ve been in the same place for so long that I have forgotten how to get anything done.

B is babies. Their smell, their tiny fists curled around your finger, their lips, their feet that fits in the palm of your hand. The beautiful curly hair. The innocence. The belief that all they have to do is raise their hands and they will be carried and nursed. The totality of their helplessness. How can you not love babies? How can you not want to be a baby forever? Young forever?

C is for closure. I think I read somewhere that absolute closure is unattainable. So I have half open doors for my past. I have unbolted windows that I hope to one day look through, or even climb through. I see myself scrambling back to safe known territory. The comfort of familiarity is so easy to fall into.

Do not say that I never warned you. I lay myself as open as an unwritten book and allowed him write all over me. I am that kind of lover. And you cannot fill my pages with your words and stain my lines with your ink just to place me in a shelf, abandoned to gather dust. You cannot say that I never warned you of a defiance to let you abandon me.

Evolve with me then. Let’s germinate our experiences in the same pot, watered with the same hopes and dreams and love and life and us. Let us grow. You, me, as the world trails behind.

F is for freedom. Listen, half the time I’m going to try to escape. I’m going to try to run away. No matter how many times you hold me down and assure me that here is where I should be, I am going to try to break free. I’m going to try to break us. Because I know no other way to my end except the one I am destined to. I must find my final stage. I own my applause.

G is for God. As in, please God don’t let me walk away from your mercy. As in, please God don’t let me be stupid enough to kick away the lamp at my feet and the light on my path. G is for Jesus. As is related to the Hebrew form Yehosua, Yeho, to save, to help. G is for God. G is a cry for help.

Heaven conscious. Help me be who you want me to be. Honestly, I will remain drenched in sin for as long as my back faces you. And my back faces you. Help.

I is for insecurities. I have to learn to stop pulling at my flesh as I stand in front of my mirror. I have to learn to leave my fingers out of my throat even after two apples. Skinny isn’t easy. I is for all the days I laid curled in a ball as my empty stomach growled at me and my thighs mocked me. I is for myself. I am who I am now because I decided to be. I is for me. I’m clumsy. I’m lazy. I hug too tightly, because the idea of anyone leaving terrifies me. I’m scared of the dark, I’m scared of heights. I’m scared of needles. I is for my uncertainties. Does he really love me? Doesn’t he see that I’m not pretty? I is for me, and the things I don’t usually tell people. Sometimes, I don’t even tell myself. I haven’t said it, but you see what I’m trying to say. I’m ambiguous about my body, myself, me.

Joking about suicide has never appealed to me. Or rape. Or domestic violence. It’s too deeply rooted in my memories, with my mouth shut. I hide all my scars deep enough for it to be my own buried treasure. Every time someone gets close enough to plunge a hammer into my mines, I am reminded of even how deeply I have to fold my rhythm. I hide all my scars behind walls that you would have to Chuck Norris-Van Damme-Bruce Lee through. I never joke about death either, but that’s another scar entirely. Bleeding freshly, still too sore to touch. I fear it might fester, and rot deep into my soul.

K is for kollege. That’s not how it’s spelt? I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Knowledge, and the desire that trails it. I know only the ledge on which I stand awkwardly on. I fumble with incompetence and I am submerged in indecisions as to how to proceed with my life. Let me knot tie up my choices.

Listen, these are things I don’t usually tell people. I dream in colours that blind me because nothing is ever really black or white so why settle for a dull gray?. Listen, I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to find you, buried prize, wilting roses pressed between books, I wanted to feel you in clear drops of rain camouflaging tears, I wanted to see you dance in the ecstatic moonlight of sight renewed, I wanted to smell you in fresh flower blooms. I wanted you with me more than I wanted my shadow. Listen, I wanted love. So I dreamed it in kaleidoscopes, hoping that the change would summon you. My love, listen. Let my heart speak the gratitude my mouth cannot form. This kind of love was never intended for someone like me, but listen, I love our love. You’ve taught me love.

Maybe I have been a love mascot for too long- cheering others on as I watched from the sidelines. And now, God has given you to me. I am being cheered. M is for more. Your love consumes me and still I need more. It’s the collision of hearts and we shatter and restructure into melted pieces as one. Morphine. Habit forming. MSIR. Pain reliever. Methadone. Addictive. Euphoria. Cognitive confusion. But give me more. Methaqualone. Hypnotism. You have my heart dangling on a string as you puppeteer my soul. Maybe I have been a love mascot for too long, but being part of the game now feels so right.

Nobody else has ever loved me the way you do. It seems hopelessly romantic to peel so many of my layers and reveal a deep craving for love being satisfied by him, but here is the deepest secret that nobody knows, I was made for love. He was made to love me. Nobody else understands how safe ripping out my heart and placing it in his hands has been. Nobody. No body fits so perfectly with mine. A merging of souls. A tangling of desires. And I’ll be honest enough to say, everyone else was what I needed to be sure of him.

Opium. Our love is my opium.

P is for parenthood. Parents. I’ve always had both my father and mother merged into the soul of the woman who has loved me through and through. And the battles she has fought for me have thickened my skin in preparation for the battles I am to fight for her. I am her soldier. She is my father. P is for penis. Or the female equivalent of it that strengthens her as she dominates a man’s world. P is for pain. P is for panadol. We get pain, we live through it. And the passion and pain are going to keep us alive.

Q is for questions nobody has the courage to ask so we pour hope down a well of hopelessness and despair in a country that holds a land of dreams. You see, sometimes words and actions are too complicated to say out loud so we remain in shadows, even after years of independence we choose to sit under the wings of those who released us. We refuse to fly. Q is for quitting, or the uncountable number of times I have given up on Nigeria. And yet I keep holding on, I keep hoping. Que Sera Sera. Nigeria will be what she is destined to be.

R is for remembrance. But I don’t remember you. You were taken when I was two: too small to have alive memories of you so all I am left with are references. Another R. When she talks about you, the love remains evident. R is for requests. I wish I got to know you. R is for regrets. I wish it didn’t hurt so much when someone jokingly calls me a bastard. I’ve stopped fighting boys on the playground for it. R is for reality. I will always be the girl who grew up without her father.

Seen me? Seen the layers I have peeled back to reveal? No? Then the story continues still. Stories etched in my soul and scaring my mind. S is for smiles. Beneath my smiles are layers unending.

Trust that I would never be fully able to peel back all my layers. I can only beg for time unending so as to have eternity with you. An eternity of discovery. Trust that my layers can never finish. This is the best way for me to remember my ABCs: through my hurt. This is for me. This is for you.

Unfinished.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’Her Story, XXIV’ by An Anonymous writer

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XXII

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers, who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Hi.

I’m one of those regular kids, not extremely rich, but very comfortable… I wasn’t abused as a kid, to the best of my knowledge and I remember getting every good thing I needed… Perfect life yeah?! I know… This story is not directly about the me you all know- the happy girl who’s always there for everybody and who doesn’t feel pain, it’s about the real me.

Since I could tell the difference between right and wrong, all I’ve ever wanted is to be accepted, to be wanted. I mean I have family members that love me and friends, they’ll do almost anything for me, but it has never been enough. I’ve looked for love in all the wrong places, gotten my heart-broken too many times. I’ve loved and I’ve lost, it has always been the same feeling of gross inadequacy, emptiness, void, loneliness … Like a hole in my heart… I’ve never been able to explain it but it’s there.

Nobody really knows these things, most people think I’m very shy or I’m ‘forming’ … because I put on a façade of happiness most times and frankly, it’s easier to say ‘I’m fine’ than to start explaining the reasons why I’m not.

I have very deep trust issues… I mean, I’ll rather keep it in my heart, than say it out, even for me to hear. So much, that I don’t trust the decisions I make. I’m indecisive most times because of that and opening up to people that love me has always been a very difficult task.

I should pray??? I tried that… I cried to God, nothing changed.

I’m usually the rock for my friends, the one that gives sound advice. But no one has ever paused to think that the ‘rock’ might need a someone too.

I’m all alone in this, I’ve always been… Maybe I’ll be fine someday, maybe I’ll understand what I truly need. But till then, all the feelings of gross inadequacy, the emptiness, the void,the loneliness, it’s all gonna be hidden beneath my perfect smile. 🙂

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXIII’ by @ThisConnectd

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

His Story, XIII by @CashMyFocus

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers @CashMyFocus

This is his story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

My father died when I was 17 years old in Nigeria. It’s a long story but I’ll try cut it short.

I was a high school student then, in a boarding school and usually didn’t get to see him often because when he was back home for his journeys, I was usually back in school. The little time I spend with him was only on christmas break in the US or in Nigeria. Nevertheless he always called me through the school phone booth to always tell me he misses and loves me so much, and his plans for me and whatnot. We really didn’t spend much time together in his life time.

Anyway, the day of my late uncle’s funeral came and passed peacefully. Everybody went to bed that night and woke up the next day except my dad and he was supposed to leave for the US that very day. Well, no one told me nothing till I came home on mid-term break. When my mom informed me, I felt something leave my body that moment, I was heartbroken, I almost committed suicide. I knew things would never be the same in my life.

To make matters worse, after my dad passed away, his family wanted to share his properties between themselves before they start talking about burying him which resulted to a big fight between us and my dad’s family. But thank God for my mom and the strength, wisdom He gave her and for HIM being with us all through. We finally buried my dad 7 months later although it wasn’t a befitting one.

My life changed afterwards. I became a man cause, I’m the first son. I’ve tried to get over his death and find other father figures to bandage the wound, but I still think about him. I still have a hard time dealing with his death. That’s why I smoke, drink, and spend money fast. I’m not doing these things to fit in but for the temporary navigation to nothing. No thoughts. No brainstorm.

But now nothing is working. Not even Alcohol or weed could keep my mind from thinking about him. I cry when I think about him, when I say I cry; I mean I cry. Eyes red and you can look me in my eyes and tell I’m lost and when those crying moments acquire, I blame it on the wind. Lol “Naw bro, the wind got into my eye.”

So to those people that have already casted their stones at me, I just pray that you never wonder endlessly in this world like me.

God bless.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Today’s  (4pm)  ’Her Story, XXII’ by an Anonymous writer

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

His Story, XI

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers, who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is his story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Hello.

Well, how can I put this?

I’m not the average boy (I guess…)
Born into a family of six (5 girls & me), life wasn’t the greatest as a child, my parents made everything hard for us (thank God for them though)… Growing up was also a f**king challenge, I had no one to look up to.

Basically, I taught myself everything I know today.

Did I mention that I was alienated in my own family? My folks & siblings made me question my own sanity, just because I wasn’t the “best in school”.

My teenage years did not experience any difference, It was worse. The loneliness began to consume me gradually. I had numerous chances to date girls back in secondary school, but I decided not to because of the love I had for this one girl.

Well, after giving me false hope for 3 years, I learnt about the dreadful Friend Zone…That was it.

That experience basically messed with my mindset, and ever since then, my life has been thrown in different directions. To put icing on the cake, I was expelled from the university.

Nowadays, I don’t have friends, I’m very lonely, the scary part is that it doesn’t bother me. I don’t care about much anymore.

I’ve been searching for Love, it doesn’t exist in my life. The only thing that seems to matter now is God & Music.

I’m not the typical person.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’His Story, XII’ by @ekeleAbel

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Beneath The Smile {Video}

Today’s #VideoWednesday was made possible by @Nkechieey

Enjoy.

Have a great Wednesday.

#VideoWednesday

Please Share.

P.S. Please, if you have any video you think should be shared to others and we can feature on our #VideoWednesday, please mail me at obafuntay@gmail.com

Thank you.

His Story, X

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers, who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is his story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

I have embraced loneliness to the point that it has become my comfort zone.

I can’t remember most of my childhood days. I shut out those memories because of what happened when I was younger. My parents had a very disturbing divorce when I was little. I can remember them fighting everyday, shouting, beating and all. My dad would shout, my mom would shout back and then they would start hitting each other. It got so bad that one day my dad chased my mom out with a gun. All I could do was cry and all my elder brother would do, was act deaf like nothing was happening and my baby sister could not understand anything that was happening because she was not up to a year.

Back then when I go to school, my brother and I would not want to come back home because of how things were at home. Then one day we came back home from school and found out that we were moving to another house without my dad and the next day we started going to court everyday, till they finalised the divorce and they said my mom would take the girl while my dad took us, the boys. (My brother and I)

My mom took us all, but still I couldn’t handle it. At times, I would run away to my dad’s house and back to my mom’s. I kept going to and fro like that. Still, my brother wasn’t saying anything till one day, he couldn’t handle it and he ran away. We found him the next day, but he said he wanted to go and stay with my step brothers and sisters, that he didn’t want to stay with either of my parents. That’s most of what I can remember from my childhood and it affected me growing up.

I started rebelling, always making trouble. I wasn’t feeling loved by anybody, not by my mom nor my dad. Then finally, my mom left me and took my sister to the UK and they became citizens there. My dad took me to go join the rest of my brothers and sisters. After much rebellion from me, he put me in a boarding school, but I got expelled. I changed schools a lot, I went to more than 12 schools before I got into the university.

I finally got into a federal university. I was so disturbed in the head that I did not have any regard for life. I smoked weed a lot and I joined a fraternity. I became the number one of my squad and I was feared by many. I never did anything spiritual, I never killed anyone, but I put a lot of people in the hospital. Then in my final year, I left because I became the target of a rival fraternity.

I got into CU and started afresh. In CU, I became very quiet. I hated violence, I tried to play with people and make people laugh. I was very friendly and NOTE this I hated who I was before. I regret the fact that I was in a fraternity group. I became the kindest and cutest person you could ever know. I became calm, but I had this hole in my heart. I was still very lonely. When I’m alone in my room, I think a lot and almost want to cry and that was how I developed high BP which still affects me till now.

I was trying to get close to God and I did at some point, but then, the only girl I ever loved left me like that and went to meet some other guy. Then I realized that I never experienced love from my childhood till now. I prayed and prayed for her to come back and she didn’t and I lost my faith, which is still hard for me to get back even till now.

But then again, I started finding comfort in loneliness, but when you see me, I smile and laugh a lot. I still have this great loneliness in me. At some point, the loneliness left because of one of my cousins. We were so close, always hanging out and stuff. We did everything together, went clubbing together and all. We were always together. But one fateful day, the 2nd of September, 2012… he died and left me all alone again… Just like that. Before then, the last time I cried was when I was little because of the divorce, but last year, I cried everyday for almost two months, every single day before I go to bed, I would cry. My palms used to shake because I used to cry so hard and they still shake till now.

Then someone who I never really spoke to, all that in school came and comforted me, she took part of my loneliness away and showed me what love is. We’ve been dating for 5 months now, but sometimes the loneliness is still there.

Beneath my smile remains a lonely heart.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  #VideoWednesday, {8am} and ’His Story, XI’ by an Anonymous writer, {4pm}

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XXI

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers who has asked to remain Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Funto, I hope my story gets told, you’re my only option. Thank you.

It took me a while to finally decide to tell my own story, I was not sure if I could gather up the courage to, but finally I did.

It all started in April 1999, I was but a child barely 6 year old. As usual, I was a happy little girl who was loved by her parents and siblings. One faithful day, my parents went out with my siblings but because I was not felling fine, mum left me to the care of the housemaid and I remember mum telling me assuringly “I will be back soon dear…be strong” and with that they left. What happened next was one of the worst things in my life.

The laundry man then, comes around to iron the clothes. Besides my parents practically considered him family, the maid let him in and then she goes to her room unaware of the dangers of leaving a little child at the mercy of a grown man.
At first, he approached me pretendIng to want to play with me, I was but a little girl who just felt it was okay for him to play with me, just like my parents and siblings, but before I know what was happening, he starts to pull my clothes, I tried to scream but he gagged my mouth and raped me all this while, with the housemaid inside, asleep. Afterwards he tried to bribe me with some sweets saying I shouldn’t tell anyone.
I was scared that I ran and hid in my room.

Till now, I’d never told anyone, not even my parents. The memory, lingers fresh in my mind. I can barely even hold a relationship. I don’t know what to do.

Since this happened, I always thought that once, was going to be the only time but I was wrong.

The madness continued, whenever he got the chance to see me playing alone, he will always come unto me and he will threaten to kill me if I told anyone. I was just a child who believed that he could actually kill me and no one will know and for that reason I kept quiet and suffered the torture.

After what seemed like eternity, my parents relieved him of his duty because mum said he was becoming incompetent. At that point I felt relief and thought I was free but I wasn’t, the memory stuck with me all the way. Like that wasn’t enough, while at my aunt’s house, her driver also attempted to rape me.

I grew up to hate guys, except my brothers but I’m still working on that. I have improved on being friendly with guys too but I still keep my distance from them. Now, everyone believes me to be a friendly, caring and nice person that I have grown to be, but no one really understands what’s beneath my smile not even my parents or siblings.

Funto, thank you for listening… it feels good to finally share this and get it off my chest.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’His Story, X’ by An Anonymous writer

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XX by @Toyosi_Oni

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers by @Toyosi_Oni

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

I believe every single person has their story; their own individual story that makes them exactly who they are. No matter how similar our experiences are, we still can not feel the exact same way as they do simply because we are not them.

This being said, I will not attempt to take you through a mile in my shoes, but I’ll tell you a story, hoping you’ll understand, hoping you’ll take a thing or three from it.

A lot of people tell me their problems, their truly heart-wrenching and thought-provoking stories and I listen. However, at times, I think, ‘honestly you do not know how good you have it’. For instance, a friend complained bitterly about how distant her father and her are, how she’s sure he hates her, how he doesn’t pay any attention to her or her siblings. I felt very bad for her, especially since the relationship my father and I had been stellar. I laughed, and reminded her that she was talking to someone who had done the final rites, the ‘dust to dust’ of her own father a little over four months ago. I told her that as long as her father was still alive there was still something to be done. Where there is life, there is hope.

Once upon a time, I used to wake up and blame the world. Say things like, ‘life is so unfair’, ‘its not supposed to be like this’ ‘why was I even born’, the list is endless. However I realised later that, I’m not the only person in the world. For one, I’m not the only young person that has lost a parent. I replied to my friend complaining about her father, that mine, whom I was extremely close to, was six feet under. But can I give that same reply to someone who lost both their parents suddenly in a road accident?

My only story is not about losing a parent young. I have many, many others. Like I’m sure many, many other people do too. If I was to write the very chilling circumstances of my father’s death, my stories, the troubles I’ve seen , the different mental, physical, psychological pains I’ve felt, what I’ve gone through in the hands of friends, family and enemies alike, why I should hate the world, I’m sure Obafuntay would have to start another series to address this.

However, I’ve learnt that our history influences greatly, who we are, who we become. Life is a race with hurdles. When we start running and we trip over a stone and sustain injuries, we think ‘oh what a stupid stone’. But that stone we tripped over prepared us to be alert for bigger stones and most importantly the hurdles on the race track of Life. Like I said, we all have stories, but these stories should not dictate to us what our life should be. They should not pull us down, depress us and make us feel like the scum of the earth when really, God has made us even brighter than the sun flower that shines brilliantly with the sun. Let us use our stories to teach lessons, create awareness, to be each others pillars. Let us treat these stories as the stone which teaches us to prepare and watch out for the hurdles life brings.

Beneath my smile, is really a smile. I smile both inwardly and outwardly for I believe in hope. I believe my stories are the ‘teacher stones’ for my life.

Beneath my smile, is really a smile, because I can easily choose to be the victim, but I choose instead…

… to be the victor.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’Her Story, XXI ’ by An Anonymous writer

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

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