Unsung Hero

Just watched this incredible video and I cannot do but share it here.

After watching, I hope you just don’t only like it,

but it makes you get out there and witness happiness.

What is it that you desire the most?

Enjoy.

P.S: Please join @SmileCare tomorrow at Asokoro General Hospital, 12noon as we show love to our brothers and sisters affected by the Nyanya Bomb blast. Your support and prayers are always welcome.  Say one today. 🙂

@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)

@Femme_Fatale018’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 Ohita’s letter.

Hang in there.

Dorothy's Letter

Ohita’s Letter

KIT or STRIP, I wondered to myself as I walked into the white-walled gleaming pharmacy. I had no idea which was more reliable; I had never done this before or being in such confusion. I knew I wasn’t well, nothing seemed normal; I would wake up in the mornings feeling woozy, get back from work and sleep the entire time, same sleep I struggled with during working hours.

I had never had a ‘proper’ intercourse or at least so I thought, no one would believe “Virgin Mary” was long gone. My periods were still right on time and with the usual excruciating pains from beyond BUT I still felt something wasn’t right. I walked out of the pharmacy again and paced for at least another 30 minutes right in front of the doors until I thought to call your aunt Esther. She on the other hand was as clueless as I was, but then she was the one person I could try trusting a 5.83 on a scale of 10.

Speaking to her on the phone, I back into the pharmacy and headed straight to the counter, I ask for which is more preferable for my friend over the phone and he advised a kit.

For the first time in weeks, I was so eager to get home and see my bathroom. On getting home I thought of the thousands ‘what ifs’, and for a pessimist I am a pretty good optimist. Straight to my room, doors locked behind me, read the instructions on the kit… I was actually going through with this “Dr Gregg’s Pregnancy test kit” I tested and then…

I called my mister up and told him how my day went and how I had a rather fulfilled day. He knowing me well asked whether or not anything spectacular had happened for this my sudden gush. I sent him a photo of the test kit and screamed that I was fine, I had tested negative. He was pretty composed about it and even tried unsuccessfully to make a joke or two.

Little did he know…
How much I had contemplated taking out a child if I ever got pregnant before marriage, after all, friends had gotten it over and done with, I mean.
What’s the worst that could happen?

– A baby’s demise, actually.

Days went,
Weeks,
Months of the usual menstrual downhills… I was perfect now or again, so I thought.

Until Saturday the 13th of May, 2011, approximately five months after my kit/strip dilemma something rather startling occurred.  The mister and I had always wanted to go mountain climbing but for some reasons largely due to our location, it took forever till we chose that day.

  • A camera
  • Two bagpacks
  • Three bottles of water
  • 6 perfect ‘neka cupcakes
  • Earplugs.

All checked and ready to go. On getting there, all set to overcome this mountain, ahead of us. I felt a sharp pain in my lower abdomen region but guessed it was my tummy being itself, it couldn’t be more than a rumble, or so I thought. Soon after, the pain became unbearable that before the mister could help figure what was wrong everything was in twos and then BLANK!

Lots of white lights, Doctors, Nurses, stethoscopes, whites and stainless steels…

“Ohi, Ohi, you are going to be fine the doctor says you were five monn..”

****
My Darling One, My very Own, The One I live for,
I was asked to get on a project, writing to my unborn kiddo. So here goes nothing.
First off, I’d like to give you some safety tips for Life’s journey. These are to serve as guidelines not necessarily compulsions, but then call them “MOMMY S BLUEPRINTS TO LIFE”.

God -Nothing is ever too little or too much or too inappropriate to speak to God about. Nothing at all! I know this. Whenever it seems like no one will understand you or you are in a state of confusion beyond even your comprehension, a word of prayer can do a lot. Often times, the effect might not be instant but eventually peace comes.

Family -Family is all you have. When I say family I mean your nuclear family: Dad, Mom, Siblings. That’s self explanatory. Your siblings should be the most important persons to you. Arguments and squabbles will definitely arise, my love. It’s only human nature. In the end, always sort out things. As your great-grandfather would advice”Never go to bed upset”

Friends – “Trust no one. God is your best bet” but then, “No man is an Island”
Be careful of the company you keep. It doesn’t necessarily have to define you. If you stick to your guns and know what you want from whatever friendship or interactions.

Education/School – I m a strong believer of going to school, studying, good grades and all of that, but then I can only help you make the right decisions. Keyword – “HELP”. Whatever you decide to study or become. I m behind you all the way and would love you still come what may. Yes, even if somehow, its football you wish, we can work it out. Probably take summer football classes or holiday academy but that doesn’t stop getting a degree.

Life as a whole is one you will own, control yours. “Life is what happens while we are busy making other plans”. Do what’s right always, be diligent, be kind, always polite amongst others be tolerant. – Make each day your master piece, put your best foot forward at all times.

Eventually, you will get curious about love, relationships and sex. Don’t worry child, we would discuss these in person.

How???

Well, because the story highlighted before this letter was at first a scare but nah, that wasn’t how you were conceived.
I was five months gone, diagnosed with appendicitis and not taking safety precautions, it wasn’t healthy for me. I’ve got that all sorted now.

I love you forever and always, my dear Aisabolopia, Ohiolomokelede, Ian, Chiefulumekene, Titemini.

P.S – I m sorry you have a lot of names; I have a thing for them.
MOMMY!

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 tomorrow the 14th at noon. Letters received after this date, would not be published. Thank you} 

N.B. The project goes on tomorrow, with @Sirkastiq‘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?

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The Female Child. by @Anubabyy

paintings-2
Her parents knew she was meant for great things.
As a child the birds were drawn to her
Leaves grew greener on paths which she walked.
The air always seemed fresher where ever she stepped
And her smile… Oh yes! her smile made flowers blossom.

As a teenager she made fresh water rush
The flowers bloomed around her
The butterflies fluttered
She was springs queen.

In Autumn she would watch the leaves fall with tears in her eyes…
She would whisper words as she said goodbye
It confused her parents, but still they believed she had a kind heart.

She became a woman
The most kind hearted and free spirited woman ever
She would dance with the wind and sway her hips

The gods came down and told her they had waited for her to grow and become a woman,
they had long awaited for her arrival,
The day she was given birth to beautiful snow fell
The softest snow that was ever felt.
They told her she was mother nature
A queen of seasons who would birth a child of hope.

Anuoluwapo Kalejaiye.
@Anubabyy