Tag Archive: 31 days challenge

Today’s post is by someone who would rather remain anonymous.
Do enjoy!



I read my uncle’s stories. Not Uncle Jonah, Uncle Joseph.
It gets confusing sometimes to differentiate
them in my head; all the twins I know look and think alike, even though mother says Jonah and
Joseph were as different as night and day. Mother has a folder of his stories and drawings, most of
them are from his twenties. All his teenage fiction is lost now, gone with the wind. There’s also his
diary from 2001, the one which mother took in 2002 and kept. I think I’ve read that from cover to
cover many times. Then he didn’t use so many big words and there was happier then. In one of the
pages he actually called mom and grandma hags.

Mother doesn’t talk about my Uncles Jo any more.
She doesn’t talk much, about anything. I’ve seen videos of her from younger when she wore really
small shorts and rode horses on the beach and seemed to constantly laugh at every little thing. She
isn’t that person any more. She misses them though, in her own way. The family portrait from when
they were younger doesn’t have any dust on it, unlike most things in this house.
I was tiny the last time I saw Uncle Jo, a baby really so I don’t really remember much about him.
But I know him.
I know he used to hate people shortening his name. There’s a day here, March 14, when
he got really angry because he introduced himself to a girl and she asked if she could call him Jo. He
was angry about it, his name was just two syllables, two phonetic sounds and she wanted to shorten
it to one.
People shortened his name a lot Joey, Joe, Jo, Jay; some even shortened his surname. He
felt shortening a name was robbing it of its power. Joseph meant beloved, everything else meant
nothing. He wrote that he felt guilty after, she really didn’t mean anything by that. And he’d taken
out his frustrations on her. Uncle Ed used to do that a lot, feel guilty because he stood up for himself.
I think he was a coward or too sensitive, most times a mixture of both.

I know uncle Jo felt under pressure, much like I feel. It’s a different kind of pressure from the one I
feel but at least the effect is the same. Pressure not to disappoint. Constant anxiety, its like this
physical thing, your heart in your mouth, sweaty armpits and hours trying not to rationalize the things
you’ve done, looking for mistakes in them.
Mine is from being the only child mother has. Her greatest legacy. Mother is a very hands-on person in her life. And she believes in results, that the work should be done in secret and the results presented like a magician’s show, so it appears effortless,
apparently plucked out of thin air. She is that way with her work. And she is that way with me.
At home I can be petulant and sad and needy and whiny, at home I’m allowed to have emotions. But
outside, in the company of strangers I’m only allowed one; serenity.
Smile to older strangers, walk slowly at the buffet table, even though I can people taking second and third helpings, eating my
plate covered with small clumps of remnant food scraped from the edges of the serving trolleys with
a demure happy smile.
The happy child.
Uncle Joe was the good middle child. Every other role was taken, stuck-up first born, sadist spoilt last born. Mom and his brother fought constantly for
grandma’s attention and in all the noise, his own rebellions seemed small, a welcome relief. So he
stopped trying and started writing and drawing; eventually he had to choose. He chose drawing and
dropped the diaries.

The pressure is pretty bad on most days but I think I have it better than he did.
I’m not being ignored by mother at least not as badly as he was.
I wish I could write like he did. But I’m already in my teens and the gift hasn’t been passed down.
Maybe his was like a disease that snuck into his body undetected because of all the activity that
puberty brought on, and when everything settled, his Immune system worked through and found it
and neutralized it. Or maybe he gave up one medium of expression for another.
His pictures are beautiful. They are of dark things, but beautiful none the less.

There’s this particular one, inspired by this song he loves. It’s a girl on a bridge, leaning forward and looking over, at a much smaller
reflection of herself, rippling in the dark still river. The girl in the water is not looking back at her, instead she is looking at her hands, which are cupped together holding a dandelion. She is smiling, happy and oblivious to black murky water that surrounds her. The girl on the bridge is leaning so far
out that its certain she’ll fall.
The girl in the water looked like mom and the girl on the bridge had Uncle Jo’s hair. When mother first saw it, she stood there, in the gallery full of white walls and stared at it as her tears fell.
I cried too.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because the girl in the water was already so happy she didn’t care about the girl on the bridge. Perhaps it was because I knew only a truly sad
person could create something like that. Something so ominous an yet so simple. Or maybe I just felt
jealous and somewhat protective of the girl in the water; she was happy, but her happiness was
dependent on the girl on the bridge, if the girl on the bridge walked away, she would just cease to
You are the girl on the bridge, leaning out too far, hoping to catch a glimpse of a part of you that is
truly happy and oblivious to everything around her. Drifting away slowly, cradling what remains of
your innocence in her palms.
You will fall.
That’s the only way you become the girl in the water.
Uncle Jo fell.
And his paintings and stories took on a life of their own.
I’ve been leaning over, reluctantly, looking for her. But so far, all I have seen is myself.


*Sigh* 🙂

Day 9

So I entered an odd mood last night and wrote this.


“You’re quite strong”

People have said this to me a lot. I’d smile and say Thank you but deep inside me, i chortle in disbelief.

Me? Strong? Since when?

I laugh because I know myself. I laugh because at night, I confront the true me. In the silence of midnight, my Cinderella moment disappears and the real person is revealed.



Easily hurt.

I laugh because of the clumsiness I encounter, trying to sort these feelings out. The feelings of inadequacy and need for support.

Now let me ask, Am I still strong?

Life has been unfair to me as it has to everybody. To the world, I have moved on with my life. I am smiling. I am achieving. You’re so strong. To have gone through all that and still be yourself. I smile and say Thank you.


You do not see the coward hiding behind fake smiles. You do not see the actress, passing the part of a satisfied lady. You do not see the cracks that appear when the mental burden becomes much. Of course, you cannot because I keep it under lock and key don’t I? I’m a strong woman that cries herself to sleep some nights just because life has been unfair.

Am I still strong?

My emotional detachment is amazing, I’ve been told. Celibate for so many years. You’re sooooo strong. I laugh.

They do not see the person that yearns for love. That wants to be held too. They do not see the one that struggles with her flesh for dominance. They do not see the one that craves the feeling of being wanted; to feel appreciated even for a moment.

Where is the strength?

No where.

I am a weak little shit.

Who is strong?

Lee, battling sickle cell anaemia is strong. She kicks, she fights. I notice. She is strong because she hasn’t given up yet.

Debbie, battling breast cancer is strong. Shaved head, slim, yet she resonates with strength. She resonates with a will to fight to live.

Chukwudi, your eyes are your problem. The first time you told me about it, I was so sad, I cried a little. You have not let the threat of blindness stop you from doing the things you love, from achieving, from writing. I pray your book makes it because you are strong and strong people deserve a fighting chance.

Uche, you were left with children because your husband decided he wanted to enjoy younger pussy. With your educational achievements in hand and God beside you, you made a way for yourself. You’re strong because you did not let yourself feel self pity for so long. You’re strong because you had a plan for you and your children and you pushed to make it happen.

They’re strong.

I am not.

I am just another pretender, struggling like everyone else.

I am weak because I am afraid of failing. I an afraid of failing again after failing. I am afraid of rejection.

I am just another pretender.

Not strong.





What is strength really?

Day 8

Today is the Sabbath and by the time you’re reading this, I’d probably be in the Temple.
Not sure why i wrote that. Lol.
Ummm… Got a headache so have no idea what to write on.
I’ll do free-form writing.
Good luck!


Her eyes are large, open with wonder.
Eyelids flutter, enjoying the feel of her eyelashes.
Pupils dart to and fro, soaking in every movement, every colour.
Her eyes widen, drinking every image into their watery depths.
Mama. Dada. Her eyes stamp names to faces.

Her eyes aren’t so large. They open in wonder at the images that flutter on TV. They absorb the shapes and forms presented.
Tom and Jerry. Dora.
Stamping names to faces.

Her eyes open in amazement at words; letters. They take in every curve, every slant. They transfer the message to the brain, begging it to teach her hands what they’ve seen.

Her eyes flicker with worry. Numbers.
They try to make sense of them.
Sums. Subtraction.
They dim with irritation and tear up in frustration.

Her eyes see more. Do more. Soon her eyes become adorned with kohl. Dark lines accentuating lovely honey-brown pupils.
Her eyes suddenly begin to notice the opposite sex with interest.
Lashes flutter with flirtation. They water with unrequited love. They glaze with intense pleasure.
They’re beautiful and they attract men to her.

Her eyes see too much. They cry too much. They harden. Glaring in suspicion, leering in cynicism. They see shadows in light. They see devils in angels.
Beautiful brown eyes have become hard as flint; emotionless. That which attracted people to her now drives them away.

Her eyes are lined with age. They grow weaker. They squint to see. Colours blur. They become smaller, rheumy. They hide under layers of sagging skin.

Her eyes take in her lonely home. Suddenly, they remember what it felt like to be huge and new. They cry because they remember what is felt like to widen in wonder, to see the beauty in all things.

Her eyes go dimmer.

One day, her eyes closes.
They would open no more.


Well that came out somewhat…ok right?
Have a lovely weekend! Happy Sabbath!
I’ll see you tomorrow.

Day 7 -Black Widow // Erotica

Hey! Today, decided to hand the floor over to @Tarhyel.
Second time here; another beautiful bouquet of poetry.


Black Widow

She mourns forever, she’s a black widow.

Cursed by Selene the moon goddess herself,

Cast down to earth a plague amongst men.

Beauty divine, reincarnation of an angel;

Heart as black as the flames of hell.

Lecherous appetite for men,

Looks so seductive yet sinister.

She possesses whomever she wants.

A vortex of forbidden pleasures she promises you.

All she asks is your soul in return;

Such a small price to pay for a night with a goddess.

It is but of course not aleatory that her beauty is peaked during the full lunar. nights

She knows Selene sets out to retrieve what rightfully belongs to her,

The soul of a fallen man.

Such agony she feels for she falls in love with every man she lays with,

Listening to the cadence of his last breath.

Eyes sparkle as tears depart from them.

A new day approaches, a curse rekindled

She mourns forever, she’s a black widow.


Eyes of burning desire,

 An Angel’s face with a bed devil’s grin.

 As the night swallows the day, thus a tingling sensation engulfs the body.

 I lust for her, I’m in love with my lust.

 Willingly I give in, and let nature take its rightful place.

Fingers run through hair full of lustre,

 Her skin is soft, and her grasp is strong.

 Pleasure finds pain and together they resonate in harmony,

 Ever so luxuriant are her silent screams of ecstasy.

 She is my Erotica, Reason for my Eroticism.

 Intertwined strings of life’s fate has brought us together.

 Sight, Smell, Touch, Taste and Sound of her;

 All five senses elevated to a higher state.

The Uncanny fusion between Man and Woman,

 Two souls have acquired Oneness,

 A higher Consciousness is attained.

 The realm of the physical is no more.

 The essence of free spirit ascending to the heavens,

 Welcomed by the Cosmos,

 And for a split second, I touch the hand of GOD,

 For this feeling of purity can only be Evanescent,

Hence I marvel at her powers,

 And lie in Awe at her unveiled world of enigmatic Beauties.


And that is it from @Tarhyel for today! A fantastic writer if I might say so myself.
Do leave your comments, we’d appreciate that.
Have a lovely end to the weekday!

Day 6

Well today’s post is courtesy of an idea by @nosmaass_EFX.
Jaded mood so pardon me if I stop making sense. I’ll be writing on Music.

Those who know me know my favourite music genre is the almighty Rock and Roll. I love Rock.
Before, the opinion about Rock was all ‘OMG Demonic music’ Yada yada. I am not writing to disabuse you of that notion. Believe whatever the fuck you want.
I love  Rock mostly for one this: Guitar solos.
A rock song is like a sacrifice. The worship builds up until the bridge where the guitar solo comes in. That is the highpoint for me; the point where the virgin’s head is cut off for sacrifice. The Crux!
Life fades way for me at that moment. My whole being is concentrated on extracting the nectar from what I am listening to.

Take a song like Sweet Child O’ Mine by Gunz’n’Roses. If you haven’t listened to this song, do. Old skool beauty. When Slash takes up the solo, I am lost.
I feel this crazy euphoria inside me. My heart pounds. My hands shake. My eyes become blurry with tears. My body unites and merges. In my head, I am the guitar and Slash is using his fingers on me. I rock to and fro, I hug myself. I try to dance but my legs feel too heavy. The rhythm weighs me down. I lay down and cover myself, praying for it to go on forever. This madness stops when Slash’s solo is over. Moments like these are the reasons I’ll forever adore Rock and Roll.
Another song Hysteria by Muse. The chorus gets me. Then the Solo. Lord Jesus, the solo! I have tears in my eyes EVERY TIME IT STARTS. I’ll probably go to a Muse concert with a box of tissues. I’ll bawl my eyes out. Lol. Listen to this song. Even if you don’t like Rock. Listen. You won’t regret.
Third song I’ll recommend for good guitar solo, Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch.
Solos touch something dormant in me. There is a garden of Eden inside us and beautiful music taps into that core. I feel like a baby after a particularly good song; incapable of hate. Of course it fades (because reality is shit) and I have to tap into  it again and again.

Note, these songs are not Metal. I know Metal isn’t everyone’s cuppa so won’t go into it.

That is the beauty of Rock. There is something for everyone.  The genre is so diverse, some sub-genres would soon become genres.

As much as I love Rock, I love other genres as well; Jazz, Old Funky tunes, Old Skool Head bobbing hip hop.

The thing with music is that I am attracted by instrumentals. Heavily.
I am not a lyrics person. Couldn’t care (most times) what is being said. I just want to immerse myself in the melody; the harmony. The discordant arrangements of music that somehow manages to blend in the ears.
It’s all about the background music to me. In fact, I do think the singers are the background noise; they’re the accompaniment. They can shut up and the song would still be as beautiful.

My music list is a weird mix: Death Metal bands like Kalmah, vying for space with James Brown, Elvis Presley and Tom Jones.

I was going to talk about how Music acts as a spiritual gateway for summoning celestial beings but I doubt you wanna know about that…or If I wanna write about it just yet.

That’s it really. Hope I feel better.
Have a good day.


Day 5

I was going to write something interesting today. I just have this irritating ringing in my ears that is making it hard to concentrate. Decided to post another ‘game’ I of course did three years ago on Facebook. I’d delete my answers and put in new ones.
Here we go!


1. Last beverage→ Is Water a beverage? If no, the the tea I had on Sunday.
2. Last phone call→ Vanteya! ^.^
3. Last text message→ College friend
4. Last song you listened to→ Hades by Kalmah
5. Last time you cried→ Ummm…sometime like that. 😡
6. Dated someone twice? Yes.
7. Been cheated on?→ Probably. Did I care? No.
8. Kissed someone?→ *Shows Pro-Kisser badge*
9. Lost someone special? Yea.
10. Been depressed?→ A lot.
11. Been drunk and threw up? → Nope. I can’t waste my money to buy alcohol then throw it up. Am I mad? When my name is not Dangote.

12. Black
13. Lapis Lazuli
14. Black (and yellow Black and Yellow :|)
15. Ummm…Black?

16. Made new friends → Yes!  ^>^
17. Fallen out of love → I’m too fat to fall. I rolled out.
18. Laughed until you cried→ YES!
19. Met someone who changed you→ Yes 🙂
20. Found out who your true friends were → Yea…i think.
21. Found out someone was talking about you → Yea! Good things sha. 😀
22. Kissed anyone on your friend’s list → Hehehehehe. Mhmm. 😡
23. How many people on your friends list do you know in real life → Not much asides old school mates and the few I’ve met up.
25. Do you have any pets → No
26. Do you want to change your name→ If it were necessary. Siobhan or Hades.
27. What did you do for your last birthday → Was a Saturday. Church praising God.
28. What time did you wake up today → Lol. 9am to turn off alarm. 9.30am to turn off alarm. 10am to switch off phone.
29. What were you doing at midnight last night → Proofreading something.
30. Name something you cannot wait for → Just one? Naruto to end. It haff do.
31. Last time you saw your father → Don’t ask.
32. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life → My ummm…temperament maybe?
33. What are you listening to right now → tapping of keyboards from the laptop
34. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom → Tom Marvolo Riddle? Yes. In my dreams.  (Harry Potter fans would get)
35. What’s getting on your nerves right now? → Hmmm… I won’t complain.
36. Most visited webpage → Spankwire. -_-.
37. What’s your name → Chi
38. Nicknames→ Chichi, Weirdo, Chimchim. Chubby Chubs
39. Relationship Status → Nna mehn, I just dey look.
40. Zodiac sign→ Picses
41. Male or female or transgendered→ Trangendered. I was Chinonso before. -_-
42. Primary→ Pampers Private School
43. High School → Rainbow College Senior High
44. College → Tower Hamlets College
45. Hair colour → Black 1B
46. Long/medium/short → Going medium.
47. Height → 5ft 5 inches and some jara
48. Do you have a crush on someone? I want to crush someone. Same thing?
49: What do you like about yourself? → I am nerdy
50. Home Town → Umuonyeagwu/Okija (Fear me beeshes!)
51. Tattoos → No thank you.
52. Righty or lefty → Righty

53. First surgery → None
54. First relationship → Ah. I been start early. E don tey.
55. First best friends → Chiemelie from Primary 4 Red and Onyinye from Church
56. First sport you joined → Athletics
57. First pet → None.
58. First vacation→ My village o.
59. First concert → iGospel Concert
60. First crush → Michael Jackson (First and everlasting)

61. Eating → Nothing.
62. Drinking → Nothing
63. Already missing → Someone
64. I’m about to → Go to sleep hopefully.
65. Listening to → Tap. Tap. Tap. Laptop keys
66. Thinking about → When this questioning will be done
67. Waiting for? Christmas break

68. Want kids? → Dunno.
69. Want to get married? → Nope. But I can’t stay celibate forever so Yea.
70. Careers in mind → Plenty plenty.

71. Lips or eyes → Will eyes kiss me? Mschew. LIPS
72. Hugs or kisses → BOTH
73. Shorter or taller → Shorter than me? Is he a 4 year old? Hia!
74. Older or Younger → Hehehehe. No preference.
75. Romantic or spontaneous → Umm. No idea. Both?
76. Nice stomach or nice arms → I like my men with slightly pouchy stomachs. ^>^
77. Sensitive or loud → Middle ground
78. Hook-up or relationship → I don’t set P. Rela-tion-ship.
79. Trouble maker or hesitant→ Trouble maker!!! But with sense o biko.

81. Drank hard liquor → Yes.
82. Lost glasses/contacts → Nope.
83. Had sex on 1st date – Nope.
84. Broken someone’s heart → Hobby.
85. Had your own heart broken → Nope.
86. Been arrested → Not yet.
87. Turned someone down → Yes. “I don’t like you like THAT sorry -_-”
88. Cried when someone died → Yes.
89. Liked a friend that of the same sex? → Yea. that is why it’s called a friendship. You like them. -_-

90. Yourself → Sometimes
91. Miracles → In hardwork and Prayers
92. Love at first sight → No.
93. Heaven → Yes. *builds ladder to heaven*
94. Santa Claus → LOL On top wetin?
95. Kiss on the first date? → Well it depends…
96. Angels → Yes

97. Is there one person you want to be with right now? Yes.
98. Had more than one boyfriend/GIRLFREIND? LOL. Back in the day mehn…
99. Wish you could change things in your past? Yea. Getting a D in an essay -_-
100. Are you posting this as 100 Truths? → NOOOOOOO. -_-


And I am done!
Have a lovely day! See you tomorrow!

Day 4

Day 4 today.
Had a test yesterday that went pretty ok so, very chuffed. Occurred me to me to write about something important.
Why do I write?

I write because I can’t NOT write
It’s not about just putting thoughts to paper for me. It’s not only about its therapeutic effects. I live through my stories. Everything I write has happened in my head. I am somewhere in a particular scene. It is the only way I see things vividly.
I know what it feels like to give birth to a child; to kill, destroy, be a succubus, be a monster, be an idiot. That is because I have lived them. There are worlds inside my head. Worlds that do not need to obey the laws of whatever binds this present world together. In those worlds, I can be anything and get away with it. I am the Law.
This might sound a bit kooky…actually it is kooky but i’ll carry on.
My mind isn’t a dark place; it is just a place where dark things happen.
Madness holds a terribly allure for me. It enchants me. I wish to sit a clinically insane man down and write down everything he says. Sometimes, I pattern my writing to this madness, to channel, feel. Let’s all be mad together. For a few words or  thousand.
Let’s step into that world.

I write for an audience. I write for genuine bibliophiles. I write for those who know bullshit plots from real stories and not just the washers. I write for the writers who live inside their heads too. I write for them because it is a communion; a conjugation maybe of minds. I want to show you what’s going on in me, show me yours?

I write to make me laugh. If my rants do not raise a chuckle from me, I do not post them. That is the only reason they are really funny, because it is really difficult to make me laugh with written words. I write rants in a bad mood to lighten me up; to remind myself I am just another stinking human on the planet.
I write to make me cry. I want to cry because I want to feel pain. I want to feel pain because Pain is what makes me human. I want to cry as I write and laugh at myself as I cry while I write. I know, I am a mess.

I rarely write to pass on a message. Truth is, I have no message. This is why I really love horror stories. Where is the message in one dying? Lol. Whatever message comes out of my write ups should be attributed to my subconscious.

I write because I love to read. I want to write what I’d love to read. I want to pen a book as crazy as a ‘King’. I write because that is my goal. Do I want to get published? I don’t know. I just want to write something, read it and pat myself on the back. Reading has always influenced my thought process. My thought process influences events in the worlds in my head. When that world spills out, we have a tale. You get what I am trying to say. I hope.

I write to be remembered. Not like a huge monument to my name or works; No. I want to stay on your mind. Even if it’s a little corner. I write because I want you one day to read a book and think “Oh I remember someone who had a similar story”. I write because I don’t want you to forget me. Don’t. I’ll make you laugh. I’ll try scare you. Two hardest things to do as a writer. Just. Don’t. Forget. Me.

A piece of me is in every story I’ve ever written. I fear one day, I’ll have nothing left to share. What next then? I’ll have to start writing to collect my soul back. The insane part of me believes my life force is in my stories. The more I write, the shorter my lifespan- as a writer? as a person?

What am I trying to say?
I write just because.
That is it.
Just because I can. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. It’s my imagination not yours.
Expression, like fine arts, only with words.

I am done.
I should sleep. It’s past 4am! x_x

See you tomorrow yes? no?

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