libratedgrtl

[libratedgrtl]

Their friendship was something that wasn't destined to deepen.

She approached the opponent after the friendly match. She didn't know why she wanted to talk to her. The player wasn't so fantastic that it blew her away, nor was she so beautiful that she couldn't look away.

- Tall.

- Dark-skinned.

- Looked good.

- Reserved.

She had sat and thought about the first words she should say when she eventually approached the girl, and the more she stole glances at her the more she felt she shouldn't do it, there wasn't going to be a benefit or loss anyway.

What was it that was drawing her in? The fact that she was the only other position 3 player she knew aside herself? She knew that wasn't it.

A crush? It wasn't that either.

Either way, she walked up to her and strung a clumsy line of words into a few sentences before she got her number.

Indeed, there was no benefit or loss, and their friendship remains shallow, but she's glad she did what she did either way.

[libratedgrtl]

One thing I hate about men that I don't see them stopping anytime soon is talking down at me, speaking to me like I'm a slow comprehending child, and not listening when I speak.

The listening one I have experienced in the hands of my own gender and I was used to it, but it makes me angry every single time. I know my voice is low and can easily turn to background noise but I still hate interruptions and when they do what I asked them not to because I wasn't loud enough, therefore not serious enough. Human beings huh?

There was this one time a man told me he liked me and wanted to marry me, that was his first time seeing me (this has happened severally and I always find it puzzling that they want to marry a total stranger they are just seeing for the first time).

I politely declined and when he asked me why, I stated the obvious; we have only just met. Also, I didn't like him back. He gave me a sermon that was to teach me that as long as he was the one that likes me, me liking him back is not required because God created me to submit.

All I did was laugh when I wanted to hold his head under water until the bubbles stopped.

It had always been like that. I smile whenever I can't be bothered to get confrontstional, and when I feel it about to slip off my face, I fantasise about how I can easily trip them down the stairs and the smile fixes itself.

Recently I met this man (a know-it-all who doesn't know shit) who I told on the first day (so he doesn't get his hopes up), that I was an asexual that didn't want any romantic or sexual relationships with either gender, doesn't want to get married, and doesn't want children.

He told me everything wrong with my ideals, I didn't take offence because he wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last. Then he said, and I quote “what if I rape you so that you have that child that you don't want to have”

I told him without missing a beat that if he tried and succeeded, I was going to kill him and abort the pregnancy. “I would rather be a criminal than be a victim” I told him.

He had been mentioning taking me to a hotel “just to hang out and spend the night without doing anything but sleep” but I know a scheduled sexual assault when I see one, the sooner I cut him out of my life the better, he hasn't proven himself to be an asset to me anyway.

Now back to what I was saying. I notice men don't talk down because they see me as unintelligent, more often than not they know I am the opposite of that (at least I try to appear that way), I feel it's because they know they would get away with it because society has them convinced that the fact that they are males automatically gives them position at the top of the food chain.

One more thing; men constantly acting and implying that I owe them my body without question or refusal is going to be the start of my villan arc.

[libratedgrtl]

I didn't know how many mistakes I made until Mother died. Sure people complained way before her demise because I let my hair be, refusing to cut it or plait it, and many other things. They complained because;

It was too bushy and I should lower it a bit (Dad).

I should make my hair so I can be more presentable, because I am a girl (Aunt).

I should make my hair because men usually like women with long hair, I am now at a marriageable age and my husband might be in the majority (Mother's classmates’ younger sister).

When I mentioned that it was my hair and I could do what I wanted with it without my husband’s (or anyone's) opinion, I was mocked for having a childish way of thinking and reminded that I would become my husband's, therefore, he had absolute control over my appearance.

I dressed too much like a boy, it would have even been better if I was born a boy because I was too tall to be a girl. My intimidating height might scare off my future husband (should I cut my legs off, Karen?).

Hell, my voice was too deep, I sang too loudly and it was noisy (Dad), I was too proud and disrespectful, I avoided responsibilities, I was too lazy, I smiled unnecessarily.

Nothing I hadn't heard before. It didn't matter because Mother let me get away with those things, they were not worth mentioning and I was perfect even though I got on her nerves.

But after her death, I had to go live with the said Mother's classmates’ younger sister and it was then I realized I was made up of more shortcomings than I knew (much more than I would mention).

The shorts I wore were unsightly because my legs were too long, my taste buds were dead, I was following Mother's footsteps and keeping a tight grip on the money she left behind, being neglectful of father just as she was, selling her properties and controlling the money.

A thousand ‘why didn't you tell me your mother was dead?’(s) and ‘why didn't you tell me as soon as it happened?’(s) later and I was ready to march to the morgue and wake Chief Dr. Mrs. right up and give her the phone to respond to them.

Long story summarized, I'm tired of walking on eggshells because of people Mother would have dealt with. And I'm even more tired because nothing is going to change the fact that she will forever be hugged by the earth.

[libratedgrtl]

November the second was a Saturday.

I had never been to an art exhibition, and even before the venue was announced, I bought a ticket for myself. A tad impulsive but I had this nagging feeling that I was going to chicken out if I didn't do it that fateful day in September.

As the month neared it's end, my life became a cluster fuck; planning a funeral, kissing ass, ignoring phone calls, getting crucified with false accusations, being on the phone for hours, BTW, fuck phone calls.

Insomnia, rage, stress, smoking cigarettes after I quit years ago, explaining, cussing, being looked down on and called a child.

I began to look forward to the second day of November, that date almost became an anchor because it promised an escape from myself. I didn't exactly have high hopes for a spectacular event, I have given up on hoping. It was simply a day that was going to be different from the darkness I had been staring into since June.

Truthfully, I had planned to go with someone but I changed my mind, deciding to go alone. I changed my mind once more and asked him on Halloween, I handled his ticket purchase, logistics, I invited him after all. After misdirecting him with my horrible description ability he showed up at the meeting point.

Waiting, bantering, shared laughter, complainants, and notifying him I was going to leave early, we were finally on our way.

It was easy to locate, unfortunately I have the worst retentive memory and I paid for it, literally.

He made himself at home when we got there while I tried my hardest to blend in with the walls. He asked if I wanted to have my pictures taken and after I declined he turned me into his photographer, I gladly accepted to do it, I even did same for one of the artists.

As the day progressed I saw him talking to a girl and my mood soured. It's not what you think, I wasn't jealous of her I was jealous of him, still not what you think.

He found someone to talk to and still managed to send me snaps while we were under the same roof, yet here I was, avoiding people after promising myself to socialise.

I had let that dark cloud follow me into such a bright place, it made me angry at myself. My phone vibrated and the caller ID exhausted me. It was 5:25pm.

My fingers traced the pack of cigarettes in my bag, I remembered the sign downstairs that warned against smoking and I sighed. It was time to go.

Slow steps, a brief halt to answer a call, two buses later, it had turned dark and I had reached my destination. The negative emotions intensified, I had to travel to my hometown the following day, I now hate the people that live in that place.

As for The Odessey I experienced, the photographs were my favourite, maybe I should have stayed a bit longer.

[libratedgrtl]

Procrastination. The act of postponing, delaying or putting off, especially habitually or intentionally.

It's something everybody is guilty of, admittedly, some (Gretel) more than others. I doubt it has any pros but if peradventure it does, the cons surely outweighs it.

I'll keep things brief and refer to myself. Whenever I desire to do something (usually productive) and I end up pushing it away or pushing it all the way to the deadline (if any) before I get started at all, I end up feeling like absolute shit, pardon my French.

But I'm sure I'm not the only one that feels that way. Feeling like absolute shit is not the best feeling in the world, so how do I stop feeling like, yeah you guessed it, absolute shit. I happened to have come across a way, by chance, which has proven to be effective.

First, choose a time you're willing to start that thing you want to do e.g practicing the guitar by 11:30am and set a reminder with an alarm clearing stating what you want to use that allocated time for.

Step two, isolate yourself from others before hand and put your device on DND, choose your least distracting thing to do with your phone or whatever takes up all your mental space. In my case I avoid Facebook, YouTube and Instagram and stay on Pinterest, YouTube Music or X.

Third, DON'T HIT SNOOZE! Or clear the notification when it comes. Instead, tell yourself you're only going to practice your guitar playing for ten minutes and pick up that guitar.

When you eventually start your practice, you'd notice your body getting conditioned to it and you wouldn't be so eager to get back to your phone or games or whatever consumes all your valuable time, and slowly, you'd get in the zone and easily over your 10 minute mark.

It's not magic and on some days it wouldn't work out, but your determination and effort is required. Goodluck love.

[libratedgrtl]

I read Things Fall Apart and half of There Was a Country by Chinua Achebe.

TFA was the first book written by a Nigerian literary giant I ever read and I felt nothing but respect for the man and awe in regards to his talent, hell I felt he was the only one to exist for some odd reason.

I have also read Purple Hibiscus which made me read Half of a Yellow Sun, and currently, I'm reading the digital copy of The Thing Around Your Neck.

And it suddenly made me realize that as good as I was, these people were just in a different league.

Achebe's understanding and implementation of the English language, and the history he had lived is, beyond and doubt, unmatched.

Chimamanda's ability to describe and simplify the emotions of the characters she gave life to would have you thinking these people were real, that they are your neighbors even.

These authors are gods.

I regretfully never finished Children of the Eagle, I read Tears of Motherhood twice.

There is also Sector IV, I didn't enjoy Independence but I ended up reading it twice, and one more book whose name I've forgotten now.

Long story short, I want you to recommend books written by Nigerian authors to me.

[libratedgrtl]

Time and again, I've been asked if I was a model and sometimes advised to become one, but I find it difficult, near impossible to agree to it and start working towards it

Let me explain; I'm more in touch with my masculine side. It has nothing to do with my sexual orientation or whatever else you might think, it's simply more comfortable to wear a pair of shorts and a shirt than it is to wear a halter top and a skirt.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem wearing skirts but the comfortable ones end up not matching my figure therefore they are reserved for Sundays. I prefer gowns to skirts but I can't spread my legs as much as I want to or rest my ankle on my other knee without giving innocent people an eyeful of my privates.

Female blouses are either ugly or uncomfortable or both and for someone who doesn't exit their comfort zone; a nightmare.

As for the aspect of modeling itself, I imagine I'll be a nightmare to work with.

First of all, you'd never catch me in my underwear or worse; heels, I avoid sleeveless clothes like a plauge (I only wear them to bed), I'd want to wear only male clothes and I get awkward the moment a camera is pointed at me.

What do I do with my hands? Don't my legs look unnatural when I stand like this? My eyes look weird. Damn my smile is quite ugly.

I start to notice things that aren't even there. Also, models are versatile creatures and were fashion is concerned, I'm as rigid as a mountain.

Walking on a runway wouldn't be fun either, the HEELS, the swaying of hips, the very feminine poses; I could never.

I know for a fact that I would make a good photographer once I get the hang of it, or a good director but facing a camera lens would be a huge obstacle to overcome.

[libratedgrtl]

That Saturday was a mix of emotions.

First the disappointment in herself for failing to figure out how to set the alarm on her phone and oversleeping for a negligible amount of 30 extra minutes (which didn't matter in the end, but she was a sucker for rhythm and control).

The mildly dark humor she gladly welcomed from the suffering of an acquaintance she coincidentally met at the park; his roommate had emptied his packed bag and travelled with it before he woke up and he was not happy about that. She had to warn herself internally not to tell him what she thought about deep sleepers.

Pain she had to endure because her long legs were pressed into the driver's seat for the entire trip. Struggling with her ridiculous travelling bag while cursing herself internally for packing too much (which wasn't true but she wanted to blame something, maybe she felt blaming herself was a way of maintaining control over the situation).

Control was slipping with her sanity following closely behind. Though the food she ate in the late afternoon while listening to the pleasant sound of the rain hit the window and the ground had now made her drowsy. It was almost too salty, the chef, her aunt, talked a little too much, and she didn't want to attend the Mormon service tomorrow or cry herself to sleep tonight because insomnia and rage kept her awake.

But right in that moment she was feeling good and it was enough for her.

[libratedgrtl]

The problem isn't 'what would people say?' It's actually 'I don't want anyone saying anything'

If that makes any sense.

[libratedgrtl]

Not yet.

Where's the post button??

[libratedgrtl]

Where's the post button??