Letter to my Unborn Child by Anonymous.

baby

How does one pick out a name? I am finding it to be such a task. Funny, I had never thought about it, until well, you came along. How can I personify the most beautiful being in my eyes with a word? This is a topic I will simply have to revisit later.

For now, let me tell you a little bit about mummy; that way I won’t be such a stranger when you are ready to come say hello. Don’t think you will get away with not telling me about you. We have the rest of my life to get to know each other; God willing that will be enough time.

Mummy is currently a Family Physician, I love my work so much. There were times along the way I felt like giving up but thank God I did not, because I could not imagine myself doing anything else. Perhaps my first lesson for you is to always remember that no matter what comes your way, always look to God because with Him all things are possible. My work is very demanding but greatly rewarding, in all senses of the word. However, for you, Mummy would give up anything. You are my world now, so I am quite eager to leave work, to be with you (at least until you’re ready for school). You are so cute, I can tell. I am sure you have Daddy’s cheeks, I think he has strong cheek genes. Hopefully, God had mercy on you and gave you Mummy’s hairline, because Daddy’s hairline, well, you will soon find out for yourself. Yes, Mummy thinks she is hilarious, you will quickly learn that I don’t need anyone to laugh at my jokes because I do a great job all on my own.

I am certain by now you know how much Mummy loves to sing. Ever since the day I found out about you, I have been singing non-stop. I think I know your favorite song now too, because when I sing it, I feel you make such a fuss which I believe is you trying to wiggle and dance. Or it could be you trying to get me to stop singing altogether; let’s go with the former, shall we? Great!

God willing, you are coming to a great loving home filled with joy and much laughter. Mummy loves Daddy very much, and Daddy loves Mummy too. The best part is how much Mummy and Daddy love you. I know lately you have been experiencing several eclipses per day, well that is just Daddy’s not so small head pressed against Mummy’s tummy. He insists he can hear you talking to him when he asks how your day has been going (eerrm should I be worried that my husband may be hearing things?). I can see how excited he is to meet you. He has a new project he is working on right now, your room. Early this week, he banned me from going in, he says he wants it to be a surprise for both you and I (though I am sure I was starting to get on his last nerve always interrupting him by asking for foot massages and back rubs). I know you’ll love your room (but between you and me, I may or may not have a professional interior designer on speed dial). He is the most kind-hearted man I have ever known. I mean lately, I noticed he has been working from home more, especially the closer we get to meeting you. Yes, mummy is always gushing about Daddy all the time. He is so handsome.

Anyways, back to me. I look forward to so many things with you, like our first Christmas (this is Mummy’s favorite time of the year). When you arrive, I will tell you why it is such a special time, but a hint, it all started with a special baby, just like you.

I could go on talking forever, but for now, I will let you get some rest before dinner (it is our favorite, chicken fried rice and chicken wings with carrot cake for dessert). I am going to see if I can corner Daddy (literally because I am having to go through the doorways sideways now….just kidding, sort of) to see if I can squeeze another back rub out of him before he starts working on your room.

To our sweet baby, God bless you and make you all He has destined you to be. We love you.

@Erisean_Logic’s Letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Eris’ letter.

Hang in there.

Baby

I never saw you coming. The announcement of your arrival was as much a surprise to me as it was to your father. I imagine you, my beautiful Ifemjibilu; that which I live for. Tiny thing, growing within me, wondering at these new surroundings. If you’re anything like Mommy, once those fingers are formed, I bet you’ll be reaching out to poke things. Fired up by curiosity, wondering what this sac of fluid is, listening to the sounds being made outside your enclosure, grateful for the rush of food when it comes. “Ugh, mom you eat some vile things! Veggies! Ewwww!” I bet you hate them too. Tomatoes are nasty, they say they’re fruits technically, but you and I know better. Phtooey we say! Say no to the tomato patriarchy! We’ll picket, I made you a sign.

Ifem. Nwa m oma. My beautiful thing. We already have secrets. I whisper my curiosities to you at night, wondering if you hear my confusion. Can you feel my questions? Daddy is such an oddball. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands when you and I waddle into the room, filled with hormones and pissed off at his face. It’s hilarious, we laugh at him don’t we? But we love him. The beauty of him. I bet you’re as resilient as he is, with that silent strength of someone who knows what they’re doing. You will get your determination from him, your mischief and laughter from me, your irrepressible nature from us both and the questions, ay caramba! I know you have a million; I can’t wait to be completely frustrated at all of them. The bajillion questions will be from Daddy and I. We ask a lot of those. Things like why the person who saw the chicken cross the road, did not stick around to find out why it did. Pertinent questions, you know. There I go, giggling again.

I swing between happiness for a co-conspirator and complete terror at the major responsibility of another life in my hands. I’m not sure I can raise a child. Am I equipped? What do I do? What if I’m a terrible mother? What if I scar you emotionally? What if despite all my best efforts, I fail? What if I fail you Ifem? Can I live with it? Daddy says I worry too much. Pfeh! He has too much faith in me is what I say. I barely remember to eat breakfast. What if I fuck around and put you in the microwave one day? Okay, I’m not that careless. I’m just afraid. Oh and I said “fuck”. It’s called a cuss word. You’ll learn those. You’ll also learn nice words like “Please”, “May I?” “Thank you” and “Have a wonderful day.” There’s so much to learn. I’m afraid I might not be able to teach you right, or love you right. I don’t know. But I will try, you have my word.

Ifem, nne nne m! Nna m! Your gender doesn’t matter, I will treat you the same. You will learn to cook and change tyres and do your own laundry (and mine!) I birthed you young man/woman, you are my slave. Kidding. (No, I’m not.) I am. Mommy’s never serious. (You’re still doing laundry though.) We will do crazy things. Home will be as welcome a spot as school and your friends. When you have your first crush, at 3 or at 25, whatever, tell me about it. You’re having your first drink at 13, because learning about alcohol outside is never smart. I will teach you both good and bad things about the world. I will not shelter you Ifem, I love you too much to pretend that I have brought you into utopia. You deserve to know about the world you were born into. Information will be yours, constantly and unedited for as long as I have breath in me. What’s marijuana? What’s tobacco? Cocaine? Sex? Threesomes? Two girls one cup? I’ll tell you. You have your freedom and freewill baby, live. (I will cry if you do cocaine though, I’ll cry really hard. Two girls one cup is just gross, don’t bother.)

You will learn about death. Early. So it doesn’t take you by surprise like it took me, like it takes us all. Nothing will prepare you for it though. I could tell you a million times about death, yet the grief will still stab at you. Like a thousand serrated knives with poisoned edges. You will hurt, you will be inconsolable and I will not be able to help. Death is the one thing Mommy cannot do anything about, no one can. I will be there though, I will hold you. I will cry with you, field your questions albeit helplessly but I will never offer you cliche words. I won’t ever offer you cliches, not in your existence, not in response to questions, unless of course you’re asking about cliches then you’ll find out that it is what it is and that’s how the cookie crumbles because c’est la vie darling. When you’re older, you’ll see what I did there.

I’m giggling again. I do that a lot. I’m happy, it’s a thing. A lot of human beings strive for happiness. We don’t all get it though. I will teach you my secret recipe for happiness: Laughter; at yourself. Laugh Ifem, laugh at everything. Even death. This is easier said than done but with practice, you learn. Preserve memories, any way you can. Bah, I’ll teach you all this. I would’ve taught you all this, I swore that I would…but you left me Ifem.

My body didn’t want you and you left me, my darling. In the evening of that unremarkable Saturday, I sat in the pool of blood that was you and I keened for what I had lost. For what I could never again recover. My baby, my joy, Ifemjibilu. My sorrow. I hated my body for what it did, I hated myself for possessing this body, I hated the Fates for allowing this miscarriage, I hated you for making me love you then leaving me. I woke up and you were gone, I took a nap with you inside me and woke up alone. Keduzi ka isi rapu m? Ife nne ya, why? I held those bloodstained sheets to my chest, I clutched at my stomach, my tears on an infinite loop, inconsolable. Unable to wake your father, unable to move. He found me in that position, he took me to the hospital. The doctor said words, the nurses said things, I never let go of the sheets, I never let go of you…my giggles were gone.

They will return though. You weren’t even born into this world but I know you. You’ll stay with me until I no longer need you too. All those things I said about laughter, I will have to re-internalise. I will laugh again. Even though they said I could never have another, that you were my only shot at motherhood, I will laugh Ifem. I will laugh because it is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. That’s a cliché, I know, but it is what it is and it is all I can muster. I miss you so. I love you, I loved you so hard. Requiescere my darling, I’ll bring you cookies in heaven.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

I’d like to take a moment here, to appreciate everyone who has taken the trouble of opening post links, reading letters, sharing, writing your own letters and keeping this project going. You guys are awesome!

N.B. The project goes on tomorrow, with @Dam_Xo‘s letter.

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)

@Sirkastiq’s Letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Kelvin’s letter.

Hang in there.

Kelvin's Letter

Kelvin’s Letter

Letter to that nigga

Lol…I’m an idiot.

Mostly because the whole concept of writing a letter to an imagined being is borderline ridiculous and I’m an Idiot for engaging in this. No, let’s be real, I mean how on earth are you going to see this? Do you think I’m going to save this link somewhere and then be like “Yo, my nigga, I wrote some shit for you before you was born, wanna check it out?”

Hell No!

Do you think I want you to see my twitter username? Oh so you can go on the TL and see what manner of douche your dad was? Nah fam, I’m too smart for that. You ain’t smarter than me, you’ve gotta remember that. I shall always be a step ahead or behind you if I need to slap you upside the head. You know, reset your thinking mechanism if need be. Don’t worry, you’ll understand what slaps are as you go on in this race called life.

I’ve read so many people write letters to their unborn kids and I’m just wondering what grade of coca these niggas be sniffing. Some go on like “you are so beautiful, bla bla, the fuck bla” Who are they fooling though? They don’t even know what their kids gon’ look like!!! Just imagine if Segun Arinze had written such a letter. Listen, these letter writers are the ones that become parents and lie to their kids that they came first in school. If you cannot be honest with your kids about their aesthetic features, you might as well hush up and stop lying to them. Ah mean, the lil runts aren’t born yet and you’s already lying to their unformed ass.

Listen my nigga, I ain’t going lie to you ok? If you don’t take my Taye Diggs looks, that’s ok. Just don’t look like 2Chainz or Flava Flav, if you’re anything like that, don’t just come out. I know you ain’t gon’ be like that tho cos I’m doing all I can to make sure I get a mum for you that looks something close to Megan Good or better (OMG!!!! TELL ME YOU SAW WHAT I DID THERE…then again don’t cos that would mean I’m conversing with an imagined entity and this will make me insane)  however, these Nigerian chics be making things hard but not to worry, I’m on top of the situation.  Not the jersey shore ‘situation’ you perv! Ugh!!!

Oh! Oh! Can you imagine, you must be wondering why I’m addressing you like a dude when there’s the possibility of you coming out without a penis.  Listen aii, it don’t matter if you’re a dude or a dudette, you’re still gon’ be my nigga whichever way.  I haven’t given much thought to what I’ll name you because trends change. You see, I’m sorta like David Beckham and Kanye West so you might be getting a name like “Seven”, “North West” or whatever fad is reigning at the time of your birth. See if you were born now, I’ll probably call you “back”…you know so, when people say “call back” you get all sorts of popular nshit.  You’re welcome.

Dear God, am I really writing this shit?

Now, y’all punks be talking about how y’all are going to be there for your kids and what not. But my nigga, who is your dealer for real? The kid ain’t even born yet and you’re promising to be there all the time? And then you wonder why some kids grow up and lose trust for their folks? Listen young’un, I doubt I’m going to be there for you so much ya know, like I’m gon’ be around at home n shit but there’s this place called work and it’s where responsible people go so they can get money to pay for yo shit. If I don’t go, you cry, and when you cry, yo momma gets a headache and gives me grief and we don’t want daddy having grief cos when daddy gets grieved, things like Rihanna ft Eminem happen.

I’m a nice guy. Many people might call me psycho but haaayyyyy I’m not the one writing a letter to someone who won’t see it? Who’s the psycho now?  Then again, I am actually writing this. But is it a letter if I don’t address it to anyone? Haha, no. so there, this could just be an anonymous rant nshit. I swear I’m really not psycho.

You guys though, I really commend your writing. I’ve read some of the letters and y’all are so eloquent and sweet and stuff, it brings tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart. I read all the flowery things you say to your unborn kids and y’all make a brotha wanna go out there and pull an Angelina Jolie with the whole of Ethiopia but nah, y’all are just meh. You’re still gonna konk sense into that child at some point, did you prepare ‘em for that? You’re still going to tell em to “ride okada” on the side of the wall if he messes up, Y’all are going to threaten ‘em with “if I hear pim…” and then use the dreaded “Let your father come home first…” to break every bold bone in their body. LOOOL

It’s cool though, don’t mind me.

As for you kid; stay where you are ok? You gats wait till I get to the US before you think of coming out. I can’t go through the stress of procuring visa for you.

Your nigga.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

You can send in your own written letters to obafuntay@gmail.com

I’d like to take a moment here, to appreciate everyone who has taken the trouble of opening post links, reading letters, sharing, writing your own letters and keeping this project going. You guys are awesome!

{The option to send in letters closes today. Letters received after today, would not be published. Thank you} 

N.B. The project goes on tomorrow, with @BiolaJinadu‘s letter.

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)

@Delia_Maraj’s Letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Delia’s letter.

Hang in there.

Baby

Hey baby,

First of all, I want to tell you that you are beautiful. You’re the most beautiful girl on earth. I know as I’m writing this letter you’re yet to be born, you are only a long off thought, like a memory I want to have but must live through first, but I know you are beautiful; within and outside. And you are my dream that came true.

My baby girl, I’ve dreamt about you for years. Anytime I see a little girl, I picture you in my head and think of everything I have in store for you. I think of the names I will call you, the things I’d buy for you and the love I will give to you. I pray by the time you are born, I still have these dreams for you.

I want to be there for you while you grow up. At that time I’ll have two jobs, my career and being your mother. My baby, I will gladly put my career on hold to always be there for you as you grow up. I want to be the best I can be for you. And I want to teach you a lot of things I wish I knew as I grew up.

Darling, I want you to always have your self-confidence. You are beautiful and you deserve the best. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. There’s a saying that goes ‘The lizard falls safely from a great height, and says that if man does not praise him, he will praise himself’ As a teenager, this helped me a lot and I want you to hold it in your heart always. I want you to always acknowledge your little successes because the world will not always give you a handshake.

I hope you meet your grandparents; they’ll spoil you silly. They have so much love in their hearts. You will love them. I’m going to have so much fun dressing you up when you’re little and I’m sure that as you grow, you’ll pick an interest in fashion just like me. But, do not get carried away for true beauty isn’t clothes and make up, it’s within, it’s something that the eyes can’t see and the hands can’t touch. Never forget this.

I need you to always focus on what you have and not what you lack. You’re a star, my star; don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not. I made a lot of mistakes growing up and I want to be there for you to make sure you learn from my mistakes. You will make mistakes of your own, you are human, mistakes are bound to happen, and when they do, don’t see yourself as a failure. These things happen to make you stronger. And when you fall, I want to be there to pick you up.

You have a right to dream. And I’ll support you in whatever path you choose as long as it’s morally right.
I hope by the time you arrive I still love your father very much, and that he loves me too. Life can be unpredictable and cruel. I also hope we show you the perfect example of what true love is. I hope I pursued my dreams and settled at doing what I love. I want to be your role model and inspiration, and I don’t know how I can inspire you to be the best you can be, if I didn’t fight to be the best.

The world you have come into is not a kind one and I can’t assure you that everything will be alright, but I want you to know that God never gives us more than we can handle. If you are going to have a heart like mine; full of love for everyone; then there is something you should know. People always leave. It is what they do; they will make promises to you and disappoint you. Do not despair, my love. All these will help build the strong woman you will become. Never let the fear of getting hurt stop you from putting yourself out there; true love is taking the risk that it won’t be a happy ever after. But in all your doings, be wise. Always know when to let go before getting hurt.

I may not be able to give you all you want, but I will work my ass off to provide all that you’ll need. I pray that you strive to be all that you can be; the only person standing in your way is the one in the mirror. I pray that you never have to pay for any of my sins.

You are greatness. I love you very, very much, so much it makes my heart ache. See you soon (not so soon).

With so much love,
Mommy.
12th August, 2013.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

You can send in your own written letters to obafuntay@gmail.com

I’d like to take a moment here, to appreciate everyone who has taken the trouble of opening post links, reading letters, sharing, writing your own letters and keeping this project going. You guys are awesome!

{The option to send in letters, closes on Wednesday the 14th at noon. Letters received after this date, would not be published. Thank you} 

N.B. The project goes on tomorrow, with @Femme_fatale018‘s letter.

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)

@KoyaTheHermit’s Letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Temi’s letter.

Hang in there.

Baby

Dear Daughter,

At the time you’re reading this letter, two things are certain. I am dead, and you are thirteen years young. If nothing else, I’d like you to know two things. I love you and, I’m so, very sorry.

Sorry that I can’t be there to hold you when you cry, or pick you up when you are stumbling, guide you against my bad choices. Sorry that I would not be able to share your comfort food and watch a sappy romance movie as you sob into my bosom after your first breakup. Sorry that I would never be able to be content just to be filled with love at a look, a touch, a smile from you. Sorry that I would never be able to tuck you in at night, or read you a bedtime story, watching your eyelids flutter close as your dreams run in meanders over your face. Sorry that I won’t be able to hear you sleep-talk, or hold you through the tumultuous nights filled with boogeymen and monsters.

Sorry that I would never be able to attend your PTA meetings, or watch you learn to play your first musical instrument, or attend your first ballet recital. Sorry that I would never get to hold your hand as we cross the street until you tell me you can do it on your own. Sorry that I would never be able to fall in love with you in different ways all over again day after day. Sorry that I couldn’t watch you smile and laugh. Sorry that I couldn’t watch you learn to talk and walk, and sneak from our house to your first boyfriend’s arms. Sorry that I couldn’t be in on your itty bitty secrets, and share your big dreams, using your ceiling as a billboard. Sorry that I couldn’t watch you grow into the beautiful young woman I’m certain you have become. Sorry that Death’s grip was stronger than my will. Sorry that I could never whisper ‘I love you’ and nibble on your ears as we had a good ole’ laugh. Sorry that sorry is but a word, quickly uttered and in itself grossly inadequate.

It hurts more than anything else that I can’t be, but sorry.

Tiwa. Dear Tiwa. Tiwaloreoluwa. God’s gift is ours. You are God’s gift to me.

That grey day, when the doctor told me of the placenta previa that riddled my innards and asked me to choose between life and you, I knew. I knew you were my choice, without thinking. You rescued my mind and my heart when you came into my body, my baby. When I discovered that day that I could carry you for months, I resolved that my last months, no matter how difficult, would be spent loving you, preparing for you, sacrificing for you. I’d rather bring you into the world, than remove you from my womb, I told your father, as his eyes glistened with tears. I prayed in the corner of my room that night, and many others after it, and I never felt more convinced of anything else in my entire life. You are the last note to the symphony that is my life.

You, my darling, are the baton that I carried in the last lap in my life’s relay and while I dread this inevitable day of The Reaper’s death call, I am grateful to God, in His infinite mercies, for deeming me worthy as a vessel to bear you into this un-beseeming world on that same day. I am comforted with the idea of carrying you for the next eight months, and holding you in my arms, looking at your adorable, twinkly little eyes, as my life’s journey ends. I hope your father teaches you to be you, as he showed me who I am.

I hope he lets you realize who you are. I hope you love the things that I do. I hope you love to live, laugh and sing and dance. Talk and chortle all at once. Books and meaningful music. Guzzling up the words and lyrics as your soul becomes over-fed. Ice cream, coffee and stuffed animals. Soothing all hurt, and sealing gaping holes. I hope that you live a life as God wants you to. I hope and pray to God that you find Him, and seek Him forever more. Seek honesty, love, joy and integrity; for in these you find truth and wholesomeness. I hope you remember always that no matter what, you’re a beautiful person. You are light, and light cannot be hidden. I hope you remember that your power can supersede any and every block placed in your path to fulfillment. I hope you don’t make my mistakes.

Respect your father. He’s inexplicably strong, and his love for you can be seconded to none. Love him, and take care of him. Complement his shortcomings, and don’t let him drown in misery, as he tends to. And if he marries again, as I have asked him to; respect his wife and take care of her. These would be your parents, your anchors.

Family is key. Honor them, keep them close, and don’t ever let anyone (even you) take advantage of them. They are your prized jewels, your world. Love them, and never let go. They will always love you, no matter what you do, or what happens in this whirlpool called life. I pray my friends and siblings become your family, and that they teach you the virtues I’d have loved to instill in you.

You see, baby girl, life can be like a song. Whereby things start off slowly and gently, in low notes, and then there’s a bridge of hollow happenings, and suddenly, there is an increase in tempo; a crescendo of events for good, and an explosion into beautiful melodies until they fade off into nothingness.

Your life, just like mine or anybody else’s is not going to be filled with only joy and rainbows. There would be harsh storms, my darling, and I pray to God that you learn the source of your strength early, and the ability to draw from it. So be strong. No one but yourself can make you unable to do something. When Life throws you hardened balls of hurt and hurls bitter bile of unkindness at you, stare her with all indignation flashing in your eyes, and rise beyond it, like a phoenix from darkened ashes. Strive for perfection. Never settle for mediocrity. You, my love, are the spawn of greatness. The blood that runs in your veins are not of mere men. Read far and wide. Broaden your horizon, and dream. Don’t ever stop dreaming.

Love wholeheartedly. Give all and expect nothing in return. Remember to love God first, for He keeps you in health and peace, and love others, for they are human and represent God here on earth, albeit their insufficient cage of flesh. Respect everyone around you, and learn to sacrifice; be it your time, words, or money for the betterment of another’s’ day or life. Employ courtesy and class, for without them, one cannot be called a woman. When heartbreak befalls you my sweetheart, break and build. Leave no cracks un-smoothed. Be it a boy or death, life would not always be fair. Find closure in your closet. Don’t let disappointments deter you from actualizing your dreams. Pain is addictive. Do not drown yourself in your own tears.

Build long-lasting, and symbiotic friendships and relationships. Learn from these people. Grow with them by your side. Never forget that people will fail you, be hypocritical, and try to hurt you; but don’t fail anybody. Stand by your word. Take them along in your journey. Grow into your own. Don’t let anybody push you down. I embodied strength, bordering on stubbornness. My obstinate nature in you must be put into good use. Do not let anyone – be it man, woman, friend or even husband dictate to you what is best for you. They may correct, contribute, or support, but never ever dictate to you.

Muliebrity entails brains, brawn and beauty. I pray you find that you find that these do not relate solely to the physical sense. They are innate in you, you just need to reach into it.
Make the verses of Proverbs 31 of the Bible your mantras, baby. They constitute a manual for womanhood.

Look within, find peace.
Be aware of the beauty you radiate. Bubble with mirth.
Never forget, everything I do, I do it for you.
You my love, are my light and life.

I love you, with every fiber of my being and every certainty of my existence.

Your mother.

• • •

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

You can send in your own written letters to obafuntay@gmail.com

N.B. The project goes on Monday, with @Delia_Maraj‘s letter.

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)

@Scarville’s Letter

Welcome to the second project on obafuntaydotcom, The Letter to my unborn child project. If you missed the preview, you can view it here, just so you have an idea what we are up to, as much as the project title, speaks for itself.

Ever thought of writing a letter? Better still, a letter to your unborn child?

What would you name him/her? Why not give your unborn child a name now and write him/her a letter? Yes! Right now! Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

What do you think?

Today, we’d be reading Jenim’s letter.

Hang in there.

Jenim's Letter

Jenim’s Letter

My child, my child
Welcome to a world I was welcomed to
What seems not so far long ago
When the air was not eerie
And life was placid and not so scary
Of course I lie, what is now is what has been
All you see, the sun hath seen
The air is tense and always dense
And life is acid, it makes no sense
But I know of one I met while I yet lived
And came to know and came to grow
To love forevermore
One from whom emerged branches
Branches loved differently by different souls
And has his roots deep in the human spirit
One inspired by the muses or of God himself
One that had the power to make a grown man weep
(I’m a woman, I wept a fountain)
And a new-born dance
One filled with words which are as shallow as a stream
Or as deep as the Pacific on a rainy night
One whose end calls for an encore
I met him as a child and it indeed was love at sight
For the rest of my days I sought for depth
In him was character no one could touch
Loved by all yet none could touch
He speaks aloud with lots of words
Silently moulding the lives of them which heard
I can only try and fail to explain to you
The joy that fills my heart when I listen to a song I love
Or when I fall in love with a song for the first time
The urge I feel to see the song again and again and only again
His words or his rhythm
Music is my only love
If one could plant a grin upon my face
Or put a grey upon my days
Or weave pain through my heart
It was music, it was music on any day
I watched in adoration as a hundred thousand people
Sang while the musician stopped singing and watched them sing his song
He laughs in joy for the song he wrote had changed lives
I smiled at the hope that music transferred to those in pain
I wondered at the most powerful creation
That had such an impact on the soul of man
How a frog needed not the eloquent voice of music
To have a song in his heart
The power it has over the feet of men
Oh, to sway and lift mortals off the ground
To neutralize the acidity of life
One that could make you high on a bridge
And depresses you at the refrain
Which modulates your emotions as the waves of the ocean
Mouths that can’t talk explain with music
Hearts that can’t beat say so in songs
In all you do, never disparage the branch a man loves
Love yours and always carry a song in your heart
Go for his lyrics, they’ll increase your depth
The rhythm is important, more so for the shallow
Guard your heart, music has his yin
Yes his darkness, which darkens the hearts of men
What more can I say of that I love
More than the air I breathe
The string instruments will melt a heart of stone
If you meet a boy that plays the violin, marry him
Oh, I kid, take me not seriously on that last line
But do marry him by all means necessary
The acoustic guitar, the piano I love too
The drums that beat the beating heart
The harp, the flute, the sax, the mute
Doth play, music hath no inhibition
I’ve loved a few, a few have loved back
But when the wind it blew, it blew both loves away
And memories are all that’s left
Music was with me before I loved
And picked my heart from the floor
And with the hand of time healed it more
The secret chord that David played
That pleased God and king him made
On the wings of music I talk to God
As Moses did, face to face, heart to heart
The children’s flaw hath made them bound
Their captors required of them a song
God’s own children could not sing his song in a strange land
What indeed is in a song
That frees the slave with amazing grace
On days of angst, music reminds me I’m not alone
What’s a song but a heart that’s dancing through the mouth
And when the mouth be dumb
The heart it dances through the feet
And when the feet be numb
The heart it dances through the ears
And when the hearing’s gone
And it seems that sound can no more be born
And music can no more be heard
And he who hears not wishes he were dead
God creates a man to show the world
What music seems and what music means
He named him Ludwig Van Beethoven
He who once heard but one day heard no more
And when this acid of life was poured upon his face
He wished to see his days end before his day
But when hope hath walked to him
And shook his hand and sat with him
He composed his Ninth Symphony
With his heart’s melody
And when the performance was done
He with his back to the crowd
Heard not the thundering applause of the audience
That gave him reverence
Till he was turned, and began to weep
And he which heard not changed the century in which he lived
Music is faith, that tells you light up, even if you cannot hear my voice I’ll be right beside you dear
Music is hope, that tells you if everything we got is fading away, we’ve a rock in a Rock till our dying day
Music is a voice, when he declares: questions of science, science and progress do not speak as loud as my heart
Music is a friend, especially to the lonely, he says I’m holding onto you holding on to me, maybe its all we’ve got but its all I need
Music is spiritual, that transcendental breeze between mortality and deity
Music is healing, he whispers, tears stream down your face when you lose something you cannot replace but I will try to fix you
Music is sublime, as water is to the body so is music to the soul
Music is peace, it lays the soul at war upon lake placid to take a nap
Above all, my child, music is life alive
Before you took your first breath it was
After you take your last it’ll be
But do not dare take that deep, sorrowful last breath my child
Without letting the world hear your song by the life you’ve lived.

• • •

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on tomorrow, with Aw3L3’s letter.

You can send in your own written letters 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)

Letter to my unborn child, The Preview

This would be the second project on obafuntay.com, a big thank you to the contributors of this project who didn’t mind me disturbing them every other minute just to make this possible.

lrt son

Starting from the 19th, we’d be publishing these letters,everyday.

@EdGothBoy’s Letter
@ObaFuntAy’s Letter
@Seuntomas’ Letter
@FrankUgo_’s Letter
Olawale Ayoade’s Letter

ltr to unborn female

@scarville’s Letter
@Aw3L3’s Letter
@Femme_Fatale018 Letter
@TheSilentMaeve’s Letter
@Victoriadegboye’s Letter

On this project, we have 5 male writers/bloggers and 5 female writers/bloggers writing letters addressed to their unborn sons and daughters. Here, we aim to tell our unborn kids, things we would want them to know about life, friends, relationships, from personal experiences and lessons assuming we can’t get to tell them in person.

You can send in your letters to obafuntay@gmail.com and 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)