libratedgrtl

[libratedgrtl]

She now had strange desires.

To stroll in the early hours of the morning, to start farming, to exercise and watch what she ate. She, who lived like she designed the universe, had now become overly conscious of her health.

Her appearance and beauty never bothered her; beauty fades ultimately, and she knew she had something about her that would forever attract people. An aura, if you will.

It was realised one random day. No trigger, no cause to this new effect, and she no longer knows what to think about it.

Thankfully, it had no effect on her mood (no effect was always better than a bad one), and there was no change or improvement on her system.

Might as well take whatever she got and be grateful.

[libratedgrtl]

If I do grow old, I'd be an asshole to my heart's content. What are you gonna do to an old woman? Call her a witch?

I'd have an unhealthily amount of sunglasses and scarves, glare at people instead of flashing the polite smile I have permanently fixed on my face.

Silver and black jewellery.

Dark clothes.

Perfumes.

Vehicles.

Pets.

Anything I want.

I'd buy whatever I want as long as the cost doesn't rub me the wrong way (I plan on dying WEALTHY), say things without watering it down (example; telling chatterboxes to shut the hole in their ugly faces), flip people off, smoke cigarettes in public, and eat whatever I want.

I might not have my grandchildren because I don't plan on having kids. I say might because I might adopt, I might not, but I'm not producing a child myself, also not raising one from scratch.

I hope that, even though I'm not 100% healthy, I'd be strong enough to do things myself. Maybe slower than I am and in a little more pain than I feel everyday, but not at the mercy of someone's care. God forbid it!

I'll have a cane just because, and I'd use it to hit and poke people. If you make a wish for me to die because I'm troublesome, I'll outlive you. Yeah, I'm getting your lifespan bitch.

I'll prolly not own a gun because I WILL use it. At the slightest provocations.

[libratedgrtl]

Say what you want and form whatever opinions you want about me not wanting kids. Far as I'm concerned, I'm not psychologically equipped to raise a child (and I'm not the only one).

You're bringing a whole entire person into the world without their consent or request, so therefore, you must be 100% responsible for them as long as you live

I cannot be held responsible for that kind of commitment because I am simply not wired so.

A lot of persons have told me to pray about it, but I see no reason to ask God for something I don't want then end up ruining such a beautiful gift because I don't feel like running the race anymore. God will never forgive me.

The amount of 'motherhood is an instinct that you naturally have' I have heard is comical. What if i don't naturally have it? What next? Am I to throw the baby away? Abandon the toddler? Poison the teenager? WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???

I don't leave things to chance or expect Jesus to take the wheel of a ship I built without properly planning and using optimal materials. It doesn't make any sense at all

I'll raise a plant, a dog, a cat, a koi fish, a panther, a motherfucking anaconda because those bitches require minimal care (in comparison to a baby), you can leave them at home and run an errand, go to work, go clubbing, but NEVER a newborn. Hell, I'll raise a dragon if you give me an egg.

[libratedgrtl]

I never knew I was anxious until my darling pointed it out.

I have seen it portrayed on screen times without numbers and it wasn't like that with me, it wasn't me.

Yet whenever I hear my phone ring, I instinctively mute it, followed by an annoyed kissing of the teeth. But beneath that hot white unfathomable rage that washes over me momentarily, something keeps me from picking up the phone and answering ‘hello’ especially when I have a fair idea what the caller might want.

I think ‘why can't this fucker just text? Now I have to spend energy talking, the motherfucker’

On a regular day, I'm sure I have OCD. Granted, it is self diagnosed, but I'm the most self aware person I know. I hate when someone touches my things and doesn't replace it exactly how I kept it, I hate unfolded clothes on most days, somedays I hate cluster, and other days I ignore it's existence.

Things must be organised by size and not convenience, books and/or loose papers must line up perfectly with the wall or the edge of the desk, the obsession with note taking, to do lists and even numbers. My best servant and worst master.

I must swallow the water I'm drinking an even number of times, lather my body an even number of hand movements, decide to pause reading a manga for the day when I get to that even numbered page, count the number of times I chew a spoonful of food before swallowing, the number of times I brush my hair, the number of times I push the top of my perfume to get an even number of sprays, and I run my lip moisturiser six times on my lip.

Some days I follow routine like a crazy person, but other days, I just rot in my bed for hours, don't judge me, as abnormal as I am, I do some normal things (like you mediocre, vertical deficient [everyone is short in my sight. I'm over 190cm, go figure] peasants), disgusting as some might be

I complain too much and don't talk to God enough.

[libratedgrtl]

I went from having a phobia of dying because I was suicidal, to ignoring it's existence because I suddenly decided not to kill myself anymore (yet still not wanting to live, it's a very weird constant in my life), to hating death simply because it exists, it's too final; I can never undo it no matter how much I wanted. A control freak’s (me) nightmare.

My mind is empty most often than not, I never overthink, I don't think I have demons, he'll I just right be my own demon. Whenever I'm alone and doing nothing, my mind echos the background noise. Cicadas and frogs that refuse to shut the entire fuck up, someone's hollering mother, men laughing from the depth of their guts, my keyboard clacking as I use social media.

Name it.

It is calm, but when I cry, laugh, shit, walk or drink that emptiness never leaves.

God bare me witness, if it wasn't for my religion, I'd have killed people just because I was bored and could get away with it. Also dead bodies makes me uncomfortable to clean up (P.S; I'm talking about pests here)

I have no emotional attachment to people or things because I (probably) don't have emotions. I can't date anyone because I'd get bored of their entire existence or make it my life's work to hyperfixate on things they do that I don't like.

Some days I yearn to feel something, some days I cry because I'm sad I don't feel anything, yet I dont even feel that sadness that makes me cry for not feeling anything. It's a paradox wrapped and finished up neatly with a bow. I laugh when something is funny, that's really just reflex, I furry my brow with annoyance I don't feel, I smile brightly when I see someone I know.

Shallow, fake, pretentious, EMPTY.

How can I claim I'm not feeling emotions? You ask. I know that because it's always the same tempo when I laugh, get annoyed, smile brightly, there is no spike or change I feel internally or externally.

I hate my brother and my father and they just feel like a hereditary illness that I'm going to have for the rest of my life more than family. Horrible, I know, but I hate to lie to people, especially myself. Mother inclusive but she is dead and buried now.

I hate people in summary. I wish they'd all vanish and I'd be the only one left, but if that happened I might probably lose my marbles.

Or who knows? I just might not, but let's not find out. I've got things to learn and people to take advantage of.

I'm not sure I want things to change for me but I'm not sure I want to continue like this. I'll think about it later.

[libratedgrtl]

I want to say I've finally gotten the opportunity to gain control of my finances, but given the circumstances, that just sounds insensitive, God forgive me, the reason for the honesty is the fact that I don't want to lie.

Watching this movie titled Smart Money Woman, granted, it's a movie, they could be yarning shit, excuse my French. But the more it unravels, the more it becomes obvious that they may be up to something, they know what they are talking about.

The craziest part; I've already taken a lot of steps in the direction this said movie is taking way before I started the series. Is that fate or what?

It's till a mixture of disbelief, crippling fear of failure, making hard decisions, content with the decisions I've already made despite my extended family's effort to sway and unnerve me, scheming (on my side and theirs), kissing ass, telling white lies, occasional backsliding that always leaves me feeling like shit. But amidst all if that, I'd say I'm heading in the right direction.

I'm Nigerian, I don't rate Nigerian movies, you can bite me. True, there is a great improvement, but they need a lot of work.

Admist the shit production (background music from the pit of hell and the abrupt scene changing that gives me a headache), the sprinkle of ‘doing to much’ (proudly sponsored by the actors), poor camera work in many (avoidable) cases, and horrible sound engineering (I can write an epistle), go and watch The Smart Money Woman and come with your thanks.

You're welcome.

[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??