Her Story, XXXII

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, people! Though, I have a wordpress blog, I’ve never written anything because i don’t know what to start with. So, I’m not a writer and I apologise in advance if this story seems all over the place (not well-arranged). I came across this blog accidentally, but I’m glad I did because maybe I’ll finally get the inner peace I need by sharing my story.

I am heartbroken and no, it’s not by a boyfriend or just any guy but by my father.

I’m an only child and this is the reason: my father cheated on my mother for 12 years before eventually marrying another woman. He claimed he wanted another child. My mother has tried her possible best to get pregnant again and even had to undergo a surgical operation. My father is the same person who wouldn’t go to the hospital because “he knows he’s alright”… When I was 12, he told me to my face that if I do good or not, it’s my problem because he’ll soon have another child… Not bragging but I’m the kind of child some parents wish for because I performed very well in school. Anyways, i digress.

Years later, his wife is still child-less. Then, early last year, the transfer of aggression began. He hated me and my mum, as if we are the cause of his wife’s barrenness. He eventually packed out of the house but comes once in a while to cause series of problems but the final one was when he came to the house at night and he poured boiling soup on my legs ’cause I said I can’t go with him and I’d rather stay with my mum (who has catered for my needs)… What if it was my face????

It was like a dream and that was the end of it all because my mum couldn’t take it anymore and neither can I. The incident made me hate guys and I can’t let any guy close even if I like him, I always think he’d end up like my father.

I am fatherless without having a dead father.
I wish I didn’t have the recurring nightmares.
I wish I had my father back.

Even with the much love I get around me, it’s still not enough. I’m not happy but I have to stay strong for my mum.
A friend told me recently that I smile a lot but Beneath My Smile is a broken-hearted girl who wishes for a better life.

I hope this gets published because I think it’s going to help me overcome the pain in my heart.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXXIII’ 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, XXXI

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

Life they say means different things to people.
To me, until recently it meant pain, hardship, loneliness, sorrow . In short, it was meaningless to me. *wipes tears*.

Last out of four lovely children, divorced parents. I grew up with my mum, while the rest grew up with my dad. How come? – mother was 8-months or so pregnant with me when she and father had the last argument and she moved out. Till today, all I know about their breakup was from my mother’s side of the story as I have never spoken to my dad. I am gonna be 20 this year.

I grew up without a father, I never felt his absence. He was never there. My parents got divorced a year after I was born. Mum left with us 4 children, but after a year or so returned the other 3 because she couldn’t cope with 4 children at the time (having not her own place to stay and all) and kept me ’cause I was still very little. So the rest grew up with father&came to visit on holidays. I never saw my father cause he never asked about me. Mum is a disciplinarian, since he didn’t ask, she never let me get in touch.

I am the definition of broken, faithless yet faithful, alone, but full of potentials. Lol. I have what people call ‘blessed hands’. :). No relationship whatsoever with my mother as we never agree, she grew up pouring her frustration on just me (I was always the one around). LooL several times, she told me to go and die- that she had other children (first time, was when I was 6). When I was 8 she told me my father wouldn’t have loved me ’cause I was too stubborn.

This is like opening old wounds for me, cause now, I am in tears. So I’m gonna stop here for now & tell you a short story.

Until July 2010, I had set eyes on my father just once and even this was in the night (when I was less than 5), I bet he barely saw my Colgate teeth as I was so excited to see my dad for the first time. But, my mum shut me up and placed me to sit well in the car. I was hurt, ’cause he didn’t even say hi back, wave back or complain about my mum telling me to give it a rest. Other times when my other siblings came to visit, I’d go through their phones to see if I could steal my father’s number. Lol i did succeed , gave him a call several times and every time he said ‘hello’ i’d hang up. ^_^

July 2010, I had come to Lagos to stay with my cousins for a week, my brother worked with my dad and I knew one of his work outlets. I went there with my uncle’s driver leaving my uncle with the belief that my brother knew I was gonna be there, knowing fully well he wasn’t even at work that day (I went in faith, hoping my dad would be there)… My heart raced as I approached this particular office and saw a white jeep out front (been told what he drove). I came down, hoping this would be some sort of Nigerian film. Lol. I walked in and one worker called me by my elder sisters name (striking resemblance) , I smiled and said no ‘i am looking for her Jnr sister’…. all of them wondered, whispering. I was directed to another office (my dad’s). But before I stepped in (not knowing it was my dad’s) my second sister came out and dragged me in anger by the hand, yelling ‘what the hell are you doing here?! , I am sure mummy put you up to this’. Tears rolled down my cheek, I got back into the car, shaking. My dad came out ,about to enter his car. I told the driver to reverse, I looked at him in adoration, very handsome at 50, tall, dark ,yuppee looking.

I was satisfied.

I told the driver to move and when we drove into traffic, the driver called me and said ‘madam, this man wey dey for this white car dey look you like im sabi u’ I turned to the left, it was my dad, staring at me like he was trying to solve the hardest math he had lost the formula to. Lol oh my! did I smile and nod at him, but he was confused and looked away. I went back sad, angry and happy. My dad didn’t look bad or however they painted him to be, he was TDH yo! Lol, 😦 but he didn’t recognise me, his last born.

I have never … 😥 been happy for a week continuously in my whole life. I gave up, I said to myself  ‘if no ones gonna help you, then help others‘.

That is how I stay happy.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXXII’ 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, XXX

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

You see…

Life is a beautiful mess. People will shit on you and YOU must pack it. How you put yourself together is what matters the most. There’s a Yoruba proverb that goes….

Eni to yagbe o kin ranti, sugbon, eni to ko, o’kin gbagbe
He who deposits feaces does not remember but he who packs, never forgets.

My story.

My father was a “big man” at the time I was born but he was not legally married to my mother. You would think she benefited at least a little from mothering a child for him but that didn’t happen. My mother worked hard for everything. Practically nothing was given to her on a platter of gold as should have been expected. It is safe to say I knew the hard life.

My mum would go to work early in the morning and leave us with our neighbor’s houseboy. She couldn’t exactly afford a nanny at the time so after school, I and my sister would go and stay over till she came back home. I think our neighbor had twin daughters. I don’t remember clearly.

All I remember is that at age 6, I was raped by this boy.

I knew something terrible had happened to me that would change my life forever, but nobody said anything. Nobody noticed anything strange with me and so I was quiet. Life continued.
Life soon got better for us all. My father started to acknowledge us and was now paying for our secondary school fees. We came over for holidays to see my dad. He lived in a very big house now.

Money sweet o.

He had house keepers and a young man who did the laundry too. Sometimes I wouldn’t feel like going back to Lagos. For what? Stay in a 3 bedroom flat? Although my mum was the owner of the house in Lagos, she had to rent out two of the “self-contain” under our own flat. That wasn’t much of a big house to me.

On one of our trips to Abuja, I realized the laundry man was getting too close to my sister. I warned her. Like he sensed I did, I had to take the blow for her. Only God knows if he hadn’t already ruined my sister…
At 12, I was abused as a child, for the second time.

Yet again, I didn’t speak. Speak to who? I lived like nothing happened. At some point I’d get really depressed. I knew something bad was really happening but I wouldn’t talk. I feared the stigmatization. If I dared to speak, people would address me as: “The girl who was raped.”

The next questions would be
Where was her mother?
Same mother who did everything to make life comfortable for us? I couldn’t live with the pain. I tormented the laundry man till he gave up his job. I was rude in every way… It was the least I could do.

I was rounding up with secondary school when I came across the word “Orgasm.” To the best of my knowledge, the dictionary didn’t do a good job explaining. All I knew was that a doctor would explain better to me. The school’s doctor was a very good friend of mine at the time. A handsome young man, who just got married, wife was pregnant, had a great job, very approachable, always willing to help, very nice man.
I asked him what orgasm meant and he said
Well, there’s the theory and practical” He started.
After the theory, you may not still understand but with the practical, it’s straightforward
Like a lamb led to slaughter, I put myself in harm’s way. I was only 15… going on 16.

Till tomorrow comes, my parents know nothing about this. I do not intend to speak up either, not because I am afraid but because the stigma it brings is just enough trauma. These incidents have psychologically changed my life in ways indescribable but still, I find solace in making others happy. Smiling every time I can like I have no worries but indeed, the pain beneath is beyond this world.

My life may not be perfect but I do believe my accidents have made me to this point. There is joy in making others happy even though I rarely ever get that back.
Hi! I’m yet to be 20 but I believe there’s something more in life for me. Oh look! I just graduated from the university too!

NEMS.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXXI’ 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, XXIX

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

I’ve had this in my notepad for quite a while trying to decipher if to send it in or not because to be honest, I don’t think I can narrate my story well, I’ll probably just summarize it.

I haven’t written a depressing article in a long while. That’s what I view this as. At some point in my life, I decided to do away with any sad reminders and try to start afresh, try to be happy. But you know sometimes you try so much to be happy, you start to live a fake life.

I’m writing this now and I’m wondering what’s the point, its not like its going to make me any better or heal my wounds. Nah. I guess I just feel like talking even if Its to no one in particular. I’m in one of my moods now and I’m just here telling myself “its okay, you’ll be good and repeating: Jeremiah 29:11” …that’s the only way I stay sane.

I can’t exactly remember when but I just remember always being sad. I remember long trips to the toilet because that was the only place I could cry with privacy, I remember googling painless ways of committing suicide. Oh yes, I was about 13 or so. I grew up so fast. No, nothing particular happened to me, no I wasn’t raped. Yes, my parents are both alive. But somehow I’ve always been enveloped by this aura of depression, I’ve always been in a black hole, always felt alone right from an early age.

I was never good enough. They had to constantly remind me. Why can’t you be like your sister ehn? My neighbors, the parents. I’m sure they didn’t know what they were doing, I’m sure they didn’t mean to hurt me. So many negative words. All balled down to the same thing, I’m not good enough. But I got used to that, at least I think I did. Got used to being the black-sheep, developed a thick skin, stayed to myself, cried to sleep.

Nothing hurts more than rejection. I think that was the worst. Being treated like an outsider by the people you love the most. People I thought were friends, that was in secondary school and it just added to the one from home “I’m not good enough to be in the inner circle” I learnt early in life to depend only on me and myself, I immersed myself in school work. I was only good to be dubbed from, not to be asked out.They only wanted me when it came to exams and tests. Lol I was one wrecked soul, I built a wall around myself. “Can’t touch me” lol, I hurt people in the process and now I’m extremely sorry. I’ve pushed away almost all my friends and broken bonds way beyond repair. I’m just too much work.

I’m 19 now and I like to think I’m way better than the 13yr old me. I’m learning to be better, to improve on myself with God as my Pillar. I’m sure people see me and envy me. Look at her, tall, pretty, hot, smart. Complete. No, I’m not complete. I’ve never been, but I’m a step closer to that then I’ve ever been.

You haven’t felt pain till you feel heartbreak especially when you just decided to come out of shell, lower your walls.

I’ve loved and I’ve lost
I’ve given up on life so many times.
But somehow, I’ve survived. God’s Love. Amazing Love.
I’m just learning to live one day at a time with that smile on my face and an easy laughter to go with.
Soon. I’ll be complete and maybe all these scars will be healed.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXIX’ 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, 28

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

You want to know what is going on with me? Why I am shutting you out and it seems I’m being mean? Let me tell you all.

From a family that was never meant to be if my father’s mother and sister had their way… But it came to be. The first 5-7 years seemed like we were heading all the way to the top. Lovely kids, comfortable home that could contain the family of 5 and some extended family without a hitch. All of a sudden everything started going down. My dad had extra marital affairs with the consent of his mother and was going to bring in the “new wife” who was even older than him and her last born was his first born’s mate. My mother was kept in the dark by him and his family and friends till almost at last-minute when the holy spirit revealed it to her in a dream. He however got into trouble with his “new wife” with the organization he was working for that landed him in police custody and on the evening news.

From then(1998) till date, my mum became the bread-winner. She gave to her children the best she could, sent us to prestigious schools, hid my dad’s secrets from those that didn’t know by making people think he was still the bread-winner. Gave him so much money (in millions) at different times to start-up a business but he had a knack for running businesses to the ground. She then started taking care of her family both small and large including his, with her basic civil servant salary and her business my dad set up for her at the beginning of their marriage. When it seems ends might not meet she had a shop to help out. She struggled under this weight for so many years, without complaining with little or no help from my dad who even kept blaming her for everything that went wrong in his life.

As I grew up, the rose-colored glasses, a daughter looks up to her father and the world with began to clear. I wasn’t really home since I went to boarding house and was on campus through out my university days. I started to see my father for who he was and the flaws were so much that at a point I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him and was almost always wishing for death for him. He wasn’t helping and was more of a dead weight than anything else (in my opinion) to this woman.:|

Her children… Two very brilliant and smart boys, and a lovely and almost perfect daughter as the middle child. My senior brother was as bright as they could get at age 10 on merit that made him so popular back then. Suddenly this bright kid has to repeat SS2, took him 2 yrs to enter the university, didn’t reach cut off mark for his proffered course and had to be given one to manage. In his 5yrs in school, drove 2 cars, dint have to go hungry, had everything he needed but had an extra year cos he dint do some courses only God knows why. My mother didn’t know till graduating list came out and her son’s name wasn’t there. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he almost had a second extra year but thank God my mum followed him through this extra year. She quickly did what she had to do and he graduated with a 3rd Class result.

O! You ask what he was doing with his time? “Working for God” yea… Serving in church/fellowship. He was the one they called when someone needed to be driven somewhere or somebody needed something. People used him and never really cared. But he never realised that and just thought we were against him “serving God”
Since he dint have such a good result he had almost nothing. Then one day he got tired of his life and came home and said he was fed up and wants to travel out for his masters. My ever loving-Children-first mother started running about. His 3rd class result made many agencies not want to help cos it would b hard to get a good school. He then had to go do pre-degree. My mother spent over 10-million naira around this period on him. Yup, you heard me right! 10 million not like she had it stashed o. Loans and what have you to get it all complete. Told him not to work that she would b sending money and just read and come back. However my brother went there to “serve God” and God knows what else he did with his time. He didn’t study and practically wasted the 10 million (minus feeding, housing, and all o) and had to come home now cause his visa was about to come to expire and he failed his masters program.:|

Me? I’m not the best in any way. Average student mostly through out, not such a messed up life but a little close to it. Have such a big dream that I think I am to stupid to think I can make it happen. As a girl, this is the period I should be having serious relationships and probably settling down asap. However, every guy I have met always has that lack in some very key areas of life that I cannot compromise. being hurt, cheated upon and had my hopes crushed over the years. However the one that seem to have SOME of these qualities and seems to be the only one in a while that looks like he wishes me well is the one person I’m least (if at all) attracted to. Don’t think I can date him talk more of anything else. Irony right? Lol. Call me childish, silly and what not, but there is more to that than what’s on the surface… At the moment, I almost don’t want anybody in my life sef, I just wanna be left alone.

My younger brother, about finishing university, Still believes/behaves like a child mostly. Annoyingly, a carbon copy of my father in looks, height character and attitude. Which is mostly not a good thing, cos he has a heart almost as twisted as my dad, doesn’t forgive, too know, people are put before family, spend thrift… Recently when I was away, I heard my mum was admonishing him and he walked out on her to report to my dad who then told him to walk up to her and say his mind and the two of them could have beaten her up if it came to that.

I see the struggle almost eating up my mum. I feel my mother’s pains so much probably because of the love I have for her and hate to see her suffer. Almost the only confidant she has in her life at this time. Cause my father mocks her more than half the time and complains about the allowance SHE gives him weekly and goes around telling everybody about our problems,so he is out of it. I watch her cry, I watch her struggle, I watch her try to smile trough the pain and keep praying fervently for this trying times to pass. She goes to about 3 different churches weekly, prays all the time, serves God with all she has and does all that is in her power to do for the house of God.

You say you pray for me, do you? Why does my mother have to go through these? It’s too much. It’s eating her up and this is all making me almost lose faith. I try to read the bible and keep using Job’s case as a reference point. I know Job lost it all but was the pain this much? Did he feel surrounded by parasites most times. Did he feel unloved unappreciated and used always? Was he in constant sadness that was eating him up from inside?

My mum has had two shock attacks in less than a month and has been warned that a 3rd one could be very fatal. She is not 50 yet. She swallows nothing less than 10-15 tablets per day. Her first son at over 25 is almost a failure like her husband. She has been saddled with the responsibility of catering for her deceased sister’s only child who has lived with us for as long as I can remember. Now he wants to travel abroad for his masters just as my brother did. She has to raise millions for him too. At 50, she feels she has not achieved anything and has worked in vain.

I’m numb trying to detach myself from this world, the reality of all these pain. Praying I don’t cross any line in looking for that numbness because that seems to be the only way out. Had to take drugs to put myself to sleep at times and to shut out the worry and thinking that don’t even go to rest while I sleep. That what I am going through, don’t want to imagine what she is going through.

Its getting really difficult to hold on. This is life being cruel to a very innocent and undeserving woman. Why is she suffering for sins she dint commit? Why does it seem that all she has ever worked for is crumbling down around her. I know the night gets darker before the morning but for how long? How long before we keep filling baskets with water and nothing remains. She is close to retirement and has almost nothing stashed for her old age. I won’t forgive anybody in my family if she dies. I won’t forgive even myself if I don’t take care of her. I have made up my mind that I won’t knowingly give her a reason to be sad even at the cost of my happiness.

Now you know it all, how much has “talking” helped?

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

P.S: Today’s #VideoWednesday would be up by 4pm

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, 28’ 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, 27 by @stefsoshy

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 @stefsoshy

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Hey guys! I’m Stephanie and this is my story.

First of all, today is my birthday (whoop! Whoop!) and this story came last minute and I really appreciate Funto for this gift. I will remember it for as long as I live.

Okay, my story is not a sad one and like one writer said on here, this is a story of a smile “Beneath my smile”. I lost my dad when I was two years old, I have two elder brothers and I am the last born, so I guess my oldest brother was five years at the time. I can imagine how hard it was for my mum to take care of three little kids because I don’t remember us getting any help from anybody.

I think sometimes, that if she had chosen to sell plantain by the roadside, nobody would question her; after all she is a widow. I think of how strong she is and for everything she has done (by the grace of God, of course) and I am amazed. All the trips abroad, the good schools, providing most of our needs, stuff I know that even people with both parents wouldn’t do for their children.

Even though it is obvious she is struggling ‘cause she also has her disabled sister and my grand mum to take care of not excluding us, her three kids… she still gets stronger. My mum is not just my mum; she is a mum to everyone else. Even people I do not know call her ‘mum’ (with too much confidence sef *rme*). She is a hero/life-saver to people and families. She puts other people, even before her own children sometimes (don’t know if that’s a good thing tho..lol). People pray for her when they greet her by the roadside. I know that if dad hadn’t died, maybe we’d be living in a mansion with several cars, schooling abroad n what-not but I also know that maybe my parents would have been separated or one of us would be really sick something that would have made my life much worse. So you see my friends, God knows what He is doing.

Most of all, my mum has raised a beautiful, intelligent, God-fearing, sweet, young lady, ME!!! I mean! Even though I’ve had my own fair share of challenges, health wise and otherwise, my mother’s strength and love has taken me through all those and I don’t even remember passing through such phases, in my life.

So today, that is, my birthday, I am not celebrating myself but the woman who God has used to make me the person I am today. I love her so much and I’m sure you love her too and Beneath my smile and all the smiles I will give today is a really-really-really big, genuine smile to show how happy and proud I am of my mum and to tell you dear readers that everything works out, in the end: D

• • •

Happy Birthday Steph! We Love You!

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Today’s  ’Her Story, 28’ by
Anonymous Writer (2pm) and ‘His Story XX’ by @aurellio1 (6pm)

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, XXV

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 smileHi 🙂

That’s something I like to say a lot, ‘Hi’, and I often do this with a smile, I smile a lot because I found out that I’m much more beautiful when I smile. It’s really been a tug of war for me, deciding whether to send in my own true story, because doing this means I have to go into my past and dig up bad memories that I’ve managed to bury. Well I decided to send it in hoping it helps someone out there. Okay, enough senrenre, onto the real gist now 🙂

Back in the old days when I was child, LOL, don’t mind me o, I’m not that old. But back then when I was little, in primary school, life was good and everything was perfect at home. Me ‘n my dad were pretty close, he was a good father who would take out time from his work to come see me during my break period. We didn’t have so much financially, but I never really lacked anything, I was happy. The good life continued until I got into secondary school, then everything changed. The funny part is I can’t really remember when everything started to change; all I know is I woke up one day and everything had changed.

I noticed that I and my father weren’t that close anymore, he was so distant, so far away from me and I couldn’t even understand why. I can’t remember ever seeing my parents argue or fight when I was in primary school, but now they were fighting, almost every day. They would always argue so loud and my father who was filled with rage would sometimes beat up my mum. He even beat up me and my brother too. There was hardly any week that went by without me hearing my parents shout and scream at each other. Dad always apologized after beating us up because he knew he had inflicted both physical and emotional scars on us. But what good was that apology when we all knew in our hearts that we would still get beaten up the next week.

My home became just a house for me, I would stay in the sitting room watching TV but when I heard the sound of my father’s car, I would run into my room because I didn’t want any trouble. I couldn’t even be in the same room with him. What made everything worse was that I was taken to boarding school and that was hell for me too (story for another day). So you could say I was in double trouble, lol, there was nowhere to run to; school wasn’t safe and neither was my home. I’ve never been one to easily open up to people, so I just stayed there and died in silence. The only person I could talk to was God. I prayed to God for help but things only seemed to get worse. Things escalated from just physical abuse to both physical and verbal abuse.

Things continued like this well into my university days. I thought as he was getting older he would stop, but I was wrong. It was safe to say that I now hated my father. There really is much to say, but I can’t even find the strength or courage to put them into words, because going down memory lane just hurts like hell.

Anyways, as the years passed, I became closer to God and I began to know him more and more. God started teaching me how to truly love, but anytime I thought about my Dad, and all the pain he had caused us, his family, I just couldn’t love him. I thought, ‘how do you love someone like that?’ But the truth is, I wanted to love my father again, because I wanted to please God, and honestly I was tired of all the hurt and the pain, I wanted to let it all go. And to God be the glory, I now love my father, I don’t hate him anymore :).

This transformation didn’t happen in a day, but it happened gradually, God answered my prayers and took my pain away and he helped me love a man who had hurt me for years.

My dad is now a partly changed man, lol, he’s not totally there yet, but I can see the work of God in his life. All these years, beneath my smile, I was really suffering and I couldn’t talk to anyone about it mostly because I was scared they would just mock me and that they wouldn’t understand my pain.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXVI’ by @sisi_OPE and ‘His Story XIX’ 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, XXIV

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

Hello again,

Back as a ghost writer. I have a story on this site already, as myself but I’m back to tell a story I cannot tell the world.

Tired, very tired. Of everything, tired of being tired. Tired of hopelessness, pain, cheating, adultery, faithlessness, repeated patterns, stealing, acting fine.

I have no name, this is my story.
A twisted story.

I grew up sheltered, somewhat sheltered. Parents always monitoring. I’m lost in this lonely world, begging for love, always begging in one way or the other. My shoulders are always high, my smile always bright. My tears invisible with a broken heart.

I came to bring peace to my family, reincarnation of my grandmother in everything that’s important, my mum said my first words were ‘please’, polite little fucker and all y’know.

My first memories of my childhood were my mum and dad fighting, exchanged words, heated arguments, my mum lost her tooth because my dad hit her, outside he was so calm and reserved, the nice man, I can’t say what he was called or you will have hints of whom I am. I’m tired, too tired, this story is draining me as I write it.

My mum went to university with me, so she’d teach me in between her classes, I grew up with mature minds, I guess that’s why I look at life, like this, it’s useless here when people hang on too much.

I started using my dad’s phone in grade 2. I was extra smart, I found out he had girls on the side. He had pictures of them naked and even videos of them touching themselves, filthy things. I was heartbroken, so sad, I couldn’t show my mum because I am a peace maker, I hate people breaking up, they were fighting too much already, I was hurt, really hurt, the man I looked up to as my dad was a sadist, a wicked heartless cheat, how would you swear to love and protect a woman and then betray her like this, I can swear on my useless life that my mum has/had never thought of looking at another man but my dad didn’t just look, he went the extra mile.

Urggghhh, you should see me, I’m tall and pretty, I have dimples and my smile is beautiful, with my long hair and perfect teeth. The perfect belle with my perfect accent, I’m known really good in my school too, at least half the population knows me.

Anger is a bad emotion, my dad was a fucking adulterer who got me angry almost everyday, I was just a child and there was no way to get back at him, so I started taking his money, little bits, then more, I never used it, I didn’t want to touch his money, the dirty man. I gave out the money to beggars on my street and my school. I kept on stealing his money, he grew up poor so he was money conscious and I loved it, anything to get back at him. He noticed the missing amounts. Him not giving me money just made everything worse, little princess who didn’t have money, I was a bloody straight A student for Chrissake.

It’s like he didn’t love me, I still wanted that love, as twisted as I might seem, I did everything to make him love me, I needed love, I need love. It wasn’t forthcoming, my sisters found out about his girls and I discovered porn.
The first time I touched myself, I was crying, it became a routine, get angry, sad or depressed and masturbate, what kind of girl does that ? I’m dirty, very dirty, lool, little Christian in church acting all holy, all was good on the inside, but was hell on the inside. Praying for forgiveness and still committing sins.

Bad enough, my sister hates me and I found out she’s been sexing different men, people who send her money. My mum just looks for reasons to shout, I can’t blame her, we all need an outlet for our pain. I hate my home, I keep praying to die but I guess I’m out of prayer requests. Now my family is together living a life that is fake, no one wants to be seen as an infidel y’know ?

I’m scarred, I can’t love a boy, I can’t love anybody because they will betray me, in one way or another, they will show their true colours after a while, i’m done with this story, it’s draining me. You’re draining me. I want to be alone, I’m tired of begging for love. Johnny walker has walked into my life and I’m falling in love with him, Mary Jane has my back, a pen and a paper. My blood as ink. I write of my pain and fear.

I’m tired of the pretense, the lies, hatred, disgust, momentary pleasure, stealing, lovelessness. Will I ever get married ? With this fear in me ? I don’t trust anybody. I have so many friends still. When people say things to me, I just look and smile, nothing touches me yo, I’ve gone numb, no pain again, no feelings, I don’t know what love is, no heart again.

In school, long strides, shades on, smile on, earphones in, with my cocky attitude, fuck what you think, fuck what you heard, you think you know me ? Think again. You think you know my story ? Guess again.

This is my life, this is who I am.
Good luck trying to figure me out.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’Her Story, XXV’ 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)