Simply Fire: If you don’t laugh you will definitely cry.
Author: Nonny Poseidon
Think of the complex meanings behind the term ’versatile being’ and you would understand that one word cannot describe me. I may not have any evidences or awards to back up my claim but one thing is true - I write the best fictional - reality you would ever come across. If you like fiction that borders on reality, then this is the place for you. I am a young woman with a dream of writing the best novels and movies the world has ever seen, but until then I will share my work with you, every bit of it.
Happy new month, it’s a new day and a new month and it’s so exciting, maybe because it’s also my brother’s birthday but then I mean we woke up feeling good, we have food to eat, we are healthy, we can walk, we can talk, the list goes on. There are a lot of things we should be grateful for, most of which are sometimes overlooked.
So it’s a new month, what are the things you planned out for this month, what are the things you want to do? Where do you want to go to this month? Do you usually plan your day ahead? Do you write out what you need to get done?
I know the pandemic has really disrupted some things but still we can still get things done. I’d suggest writing your goals down for the month and breaking it to weekly and daily goals. Breaking…
Have you ever compared yourself to someone? I know I have and you have too. I guess it’s just part of the human nature. Often times either consciously or subconsciously, we find ourselves comparing ourselves to someone either in a positive or negative way.
Comparing yourself to others wouldn’t do you any good at all so you shouldn’t waste your precious time comparing yourself to someone, feeling sad and getting into depression. You don’t need it.
Comparing yourself to others is unhealthy for you in all ways possible. It lowers your self esteem, it makes you sad, it makes you angry, it could also make you depressed and envious. So tell me do you want to feel this negative emotions? Comparison is the thief of joy, when you compare your success to someone’s, you don’t feel to pleased with yourself. Take for instance, I’m feeling happy that I just accomplished…
Being single can be lonely sometimes but I’d definitely pick being single than being with the wrong person. You can definitely enjoy being single but will you enjoy being with the wrong person?
You’re definitely lucky being single, some people are stuck in a toxic relationship they can’t get out of and are craving to be single and away from the person. As you’re craving for a relationship, someone else is craving to get out of theirs.
THINGS TO BE GRATEFUL FOR AS YOU’RE SINGLE
YOU DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE STRESS OF A RELATIONSHIP: you’re free from the stress and hurt that comes from being with the wrong person. You are not constantly thinking of getting away from someone and being on your own. You’re not worried about someone not treating you right or making time for you. You’re stress free from a relationship.
Hey love, we’re back with a new topic in the single series, we’ve already looked at reasons why you are single and today we’d be looking at the different types of single people. So keep reading to see which category you fall under.
THE ROMANTIC: you’re a die hard rom-com fan. You’ve read every romantic book and watched every romantic movie. You have an expectation of what your boyfriend is going to be like. Piercing blue eyes that makes you want to drown in them, six feet tall so he overshadows you, six packs that you want to trace with your manicured fingers as you lay in bed…you just have an exaggerated idea of what your boyfriend is going to be like and what he’s going to do or how you’re going to meet. You’ve planned all the romantic getaways, how you’d travel to Paris the city of love, how…
My sister’s friend (18) died recently. It was a terrible loss for her family and close friends because her mother had died not too long ago. After a solemn ten minutes of reading her last words, one of her friends present asked…
Craving maternal love? What does that even mean?
Another seconded it.
Her suicide note had said she misses her mother and craved her love and care. But some of her friends did not understand why she would take her life because she craved motherly love – since every mother dead or alive would want their child to stay alive.
Do not get me wrong they were all furious that their friend had killed herself, but somehow her reason seemed implausible to some of them.
Only the Strongest Human Bond Ever
The mother-child bond is the evolutionary basis of love and compassion. Weeks back during the last moments of George Floyd’s life the one person he called out for was his MOTHER. That bond between a mother/child is so incredible that in times of difficulties we instinctively reach out for our mothers.
After Rey’s (not her real name) question. It dawned on me that many people out there do not know the feel of a mother’s love or what it means to love another unconditionally. They have never experienced the warmth of a mother’s embrace, or the love in her chastising. They have never known the worry on her face when her child has a fever, or the anger in her heart when her child is maltreated even by their own peers.
Only a mother’s love totally embodies the word UNCONDITIONAL.
Truth is, Rey will never understand what it means to have a mothers love.
As a young child she was constantly molested by her step father, it started when she was just 10. And when she told her mother that her husband had touched her inappropriately, she was slapped and called a liar, and then warned never to mention such lies to anyone.
The abuse continued and everytime she got pregnant by him her mother would give her some herbs to take out the growing fetus – this happened about three times. Then one day when she was 15 she left the house and never went back.
So when Rey voiced her doubts I wasn’t surprised, her mother isn’t one of the hero Mommas out there who would climb mountains and kick down walls for their child. So it was difficult for her to understand the importance of something she never had, or appreciate a love she never got.
My sister’s late friend was very close to her mother, they were like twin souls. They did everything together. Her mother had her at 16 so they were practically buddies.
Even though I had my own personal fears after her mother had died I never voiced them. I still beat myself up till this day. Maybe she would still be alive if I had voiced out my fear, maybe I could have found a way to help her.
Susceptibility has nothing to do with color
My sister constantly blames herself for not realizing how much her friend was suffering until she ended it and left us all with a guilt that would remain with us for the rest of our lives. If only we had paid attention, if only we had tried to talk her out of that grief, if only we had been there to wipe her tears when she cried herself to sleep at night. If only we had probed further when she said I AM FINE over the phone.
After my sister’s friend suicide we all realized it was time for a reality check, especially on the silent killer – depression. Most of all it was time to actively spread the importance of mental health awareness to family and friends.
DEPRESSION has taken many greats, it is no respecter of person, status or race. Just like narcotics it slowly messes up a persons mind until they believe their only way out is to end their life.
So many people do not believe that the mind gets sick, especially here in Africa.
I was talking to some people about depression recently and a friend who survived the disease recently had this to say.
She also shared this with me after I told her how someone mocked me for being depressed.
We are blacks we can’t be depressed – those words gets me everytime.
Every time I hear someone died from suicide brought on by depression I think to myself – we failed someone again…
the world has failed someone again.
Every human being has a mind, this simply means that depression has a ground to thrive. It is there inside everyone of us Black, White or Brown waiting to be ignited. Sometimes a difficult situation like grief, poverty, hopelessness, heartbreak, abuse and other life trials beyond our control can trigger it. And these are problems every race must face at different stages of life.
I have personally suffered its torments and I am not white. That is why I am very vocal about it.
The world of depression is very warm and hospitable and almost impossible to abandon for the real world and it welcomes all both Black, White and everything in between. Many who enter into that world never come back to the real world.
People who suffer from depression are experts at hiding their sordid affair with the disease.
So many people have woken up to the news that a friend has died from suicide due to depression.
Sometimes that friend may have been the strongest person you know. But because of their outward cheerfulness you cannot see that they suffer on the inside. They throw on their poker face when they are with friends and family, but on the inside their mind works against them setting them up for a fall.
Sometimes when they speak up no one takes them seriously – only a few people took me seriously when I spoke up.
It is important to let people no that it is okay not to be okay, that the mind gets sick and sometimes people die from it.
Depression is not racist.
I told a friend weeks ago that this is the era of great depressions. After decades of hiding in the shadows the disease has come to stay. It is even more viral and global than the economic phenomenon of 1929 that popularized the term.
The world hasn’t had a great depression in years. But the masses suffer greatly from depressions. It is picking us off one after the other.
It is no longer just a western phenomenon or continent thing (my uncle use to say things like – an African man cannot be depressed…he cannot kill himself because he is sad, we are not weak people) He has long taken back those words, now he knows depression and sadness are miles apart.
In time I discovered that it takes strength to end ones own life and even more strength to ask for help.
No one can fight depression alone, so I’d say speak up, ask for help it is the greatest show of strength.
Do not think you can beat it. So many people suffering from depression do not know that they are depressed, because they believe it can never happen to them. They believe erroneously that only weak people suffer from depression.
We should all be alert, even the strongest minds bows in the face of depression, in the same way nations cower in the face of depression. The word depression is a term strong enough to wreck nations, imagine what it can do to an ordinary man.
There are still people out there who believe depression is a white man’s illness. The same way some erroneously thought cancer is the white man’s disease until it started taking them out too…oh and COVID too.
Depression is not racist, it is very much color blind. It does not discriminate – oh this is a black person, I do not attack black people, let me go torment my white buddy instead. Obviously thinking like that is choosing naivety.
Till this day there are people out there who still live in the dark, both black and white and I know a handful of them. The human race should be aggressively enlightened on the hazards of depression. We cannot keep living like this disease does not exist because it does and it does not give a shit where you are from or what color you come in. It will mess with your mind regardless of your race – no disease is racist.
Every human is built the same and we are all liable to suffer the same diseases. No disease is limited to a certain race. The need to actively spread mental health awareness is paramount especially in African nations, but first we must start from our homes and communities.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when I finally regained consciousness I realized I was in a moving vehicle. I woke up with a throbbing headache and a weary body. My eyes could barely stay open, everything around me was wobbly and my head spinned from dizziness.
When I finally forced my eyes open seconds later, I realized I was not alone, there were about sixteen other young girls in the vehicle – age range between 10–16. We were packed like sardines inside the steel walled vehicle, which I later realized was a shipping container.
Chiddy! Everything came flooding back and once again I began to panic, my eyes moved from one girl to another in search of her. After seconds of fruitless search my eyes rested on a small frame, curled into a ball and pressed to a corner of the moving vehicle – Instantly I knew it was Chiddy , she had on the same dress as the last time I saw her.
I tried to go to her but my hands and legs were tied, so I called for her, more times than I can count, but she did not stir – she was fast asleep.
“Please wake her up.” I pleaded with a girl seated next to her but she ignored me. Somehow I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl’s face – it was in a terrible state. Her eyes were swollen shut and had red patches around it. Her lips were also bruised and broken.
In return she glared at me angrily for gaping at her.
“Sorry.” I murmur turning away in embarrassment.
I had to make my way to Chiddy on my own. With my hands and feet tied in front of me I dragged myself on the hard steel surface of the shipping container until I got to her.
“Chiddy, wake up…it’s Chinny.’’ I tapped her lightly as soon as I got to her. She sprang up immediately – frightened. But as soon as she saw me relief washed over her already strained features and she burst into uncontrollable tears.
“Chinny! I have been trying to get you to wake up, I thought you were dead’’ She cried and grabbed me in a hug. My heart bled for her, I could see she had cried herself to sleep.
“I am fine Chiddy…why are we here Chiddy?’’ I asked taking her hands in mine.
“It’s Gida he kidnapped us!’’
The drive was never ending, I slept off twice and each of those times I woke up only to find out we were still on the road.
“Where are they taking us and why hasn’t the police found us yet?’’ I murmured to myself, but then I realized that the Nigerian police never really stop and search truck drivers, they only prey on innocent motorists from whom they are sure to get bribes.
What a rotten security system we have in my country, I connected my fist to the steel container in anger. The so called police officers in my country have renounced their humanity in pursuit of bribes, sometimes change as small as a hundred Naira – only a dollar divided in three places with some extra change. Every sector of the economy is sprawling in corruption at the expense of the masses.
The vehicle finally came to a stop at about 5pm after about six to seven hours long drive.
They had stopped to allow us a few minute of rest and bathroom break. Before they let us out they untied our legs but not our hands. Because we were not allowed to go earlier, some of the girls – my sister included had wet themselves in the vehicle, so it was quite a relief to be let out of the urine smelling container even in the middle of nowhere.
Why did Gida do this? Does he want money? What is his reason for taking us from our home? Those thoughts were racing through my mind when I saw the scoundrel. As soon as our eyes met, he gave me the most sadistic smirk I’d ever seen! His reaction instantly ruffled my already falling feathers. Without thinking I launched for him like the Apollo heading for its first space mission – forgetting that it’s hands were still tied.
“You bastard! How dare you do this!?’’ I yelled reaching for him, but he eluded me like the infamous Bermuda Triangle, laughing like a maniac every time he escaped my grasp.
When he had enough of toying with me he grabbed me and slapped me so hard it sent me reeling backwards to earth where I belong. My sister screamed and tried to run to me but Gida pulled her away while I struggled to pick myself back up. If slaps could make one see stars, I would swear I saw a constellation of dancing stars that evening.
However, the journey soon began again.
But after another thirty minute’s drive. We were told that the rest of the journey would be on foot.
We had walked for almost an hour when we finally arrived at a camp hidden smack in the middle of substantial greenery. It was almost dusk when we arrived.
The camp was in a warehouse in the midst of a thicket, it was like an abandoned testing site of some sort. It was shrouded roundabout by tall grasses and trees. Small shacks covered with palm fronds dotted the empty spaces around it. Barb wired fence covered in grasses surrounded the facility roundabout. Trees and tall grasses serving as shrouds stood on every part of the property.
The camp was filled with men – about fifteen in number. As soon as they saw us they began to jubilate.
These men had different ammunitions and guns strapped to their body. Most of them had keffiyehs of different colors wrapped around their heads. The clothes on some of their backs were overworn and in a terrible state. The general outward appearance of some of the men bordered between downright shabbiness and nonchalance.
It wasn’t long before I realized where we were.
The closer we got to them, the more I pleaded with God to rescue us forthwith. The men in the camp were the same men I had watched on my phone some weeks back, looting, kidnapping and murdering people in the name of religion.
Since they popped up on my phone screen I could not get the image of them out of my head, tales of what they do with young girls were still fresh in my head. My eyes darted towards my younger sister immediately and tears began to pour down my cheek – I am only sixteen how do I protect my ten year old sister from these monsters. I thought with overwhelming sadness.
My mind was in an erratic state when I spotted a girl of about 12 or 13 heavily pregnant and struggling to draw water from a well in the distance. Seeing her so young and pregnant confirmed my worst fears and drove me to further tears.
We met about four young girls there when we arrived but they did not acknowledge us or act like they had seen us.
After they made us all cleanup they put all sixteen of us in a single file. Then the leader asked the men without kwarkwarar – concubines/companions to pick one each from the girls. However, Gida quickly made it clear to them that he had taken I and my sister for himself – I almost threw up in my mouth as soon as those words left his foul mouth.
Thereafter, we were selected like second grade clothes from a local market by those men.
After the exhausting selection, three girls were left, they were given one of the shacks outside to stay in since all the men had picked out their own kwarkwarar’s.
I thought those young girls lucky and wished my sister and I were a part of them until later when I discovered the perverted reasons behind it – Those young girls became the camp prostitutes. The men could go in to meet with them and molest their young bodies whenever they needed a change of girls.
Describing my struggles with insecurity with a song that perfectly outlines what it means to be different.
As women we are naturally wired to be more sensitive, to have those extra concerns about our looks and feel every word deeper than intended. We also tend to lean more towards superficiality than reality. The beauty of being human is the ability to feel. This is why I believe every emotion should be counted as blessing – even insecurity, because at the end of the day these things make us better human beings.
Some people are generally insecure, while others battle with bouts of it here and there. Mine was the former.
My struggles with insecurity began in High School. While my friends were filling out their bodies, my boobs were sprouting like watermelons. I would look at girls my age and feel out of place.
Soon I began to envy their bodies, to yearn for that figure with the perfect waist line. In the process I began to hate mine. I felt many things didn’t fit – I hated my extra-large boobs, they felt too heavy for my body, and even my head didn’t seem like the right size.
I hated the fact that I didn’t have the typical fat ass and perfectly rounded body African females are expected to have. The kind that would catch the attention of any man and have them catcalling like lunatics.
Somehow I managed to survive High School hauling my baggage of insecurity.
I am not a stranger to the dark
From Neediness to Inferiority.
My insecurites heightened when I got into college. I thought the reason I didn’t have male admirers was because I was extremely small and somehow college boys could not see me – even being pretty did not seem to cut it.
Slowly I progressed to the stage of neediness – for a very long time I needed other people’s opinions to feel good about myself. It was like an incessant compulsion to be liked and accepted. Soon I was titering on the edge of outright bipolar. My general disposition was like night and day.
Outside I’d put up a cheerful facade, but in the confines of my room I wanted to rip my entire my body off.
Although feeling inferior wasn’t new, but being in college and faced with several species of hot females worsened my inferiority complex. So I hid away – hiding away meant less school and less socializing.
I wanted to be seen yet I made no move to put myself out there.
So I understand perfectly when Keala Settle sings – I am not a stranger to the dark.
Never conform to the bait of insecurity – it will lead you into arms that won’t fit.
I had a crush on a boy back then in College. He was the first guy I totally liked and wanted to be with. Somehow I thought the feeling was mutual. We would kiss and make out whenever we got together. I lived in blissful ignorance until he met my friend. Weeks after I introduced them he called to tell me he had fallen in love with her. She was tall and quite curvy – imagine how I felt when he chose her over me.
The need to be loved drove me into the wrong arms and it ruined me.
I Chose Doubt.
After that incident in College I closed up. I built a wall around my heart and made sure no one got in or broke through my defenses. I made myself believe that I didn’t need anyone, since no one needed me – I could do bad all by myself.
When he came into my life the restrictions popped up. But he was very good with words and would always call me beautiful. Whenever he calls me beautiful or uses any word denoting beauty to describe me, my insecure mind comes to life and says things like…
I know you’re playing, you just like the rest of em, you wanna get into my panties. Well guess what…no dog is getting in this cage.
Because I’ve been broken before when I found someone who truly cared for me I could not believe in the love he professed. So I doubted him and did what I know how to do best – I ran.
Insecurity kills all that is beautiful.
I never believed a word he said, but dude was like the black widow – I’m gonna love you, until you hate me. Dude was everywhere! Doing just that.
Those times I’d think to myself why is he so adamant about being with me? He is the kind of dude romance novels would tag a heart breaker. He was tall, handsome, well built, killer smile…the whole enchilada.
Still I worried – why does it have to me, why does he want little old me? I ain’t all that, I ain’t even pretty enough – despite being quite a beauty I never saw myself as beautiful.
They say that every bad boy and well acclaimed heart wrecker would definitely meet his nemesis – his beauty in a world full of beasts. So I thought to myself maybe I was his girl of reckoning, that one who is destined to tame his roaming heart. Like beauty and the beast. Only in this case it was in the reverse – it turns out dude was beauty and I was the beast.
That is what my insecurites did to me, it turned me into a beast. It killed beauty and left a beast in it’s place. I built such solid walls around my heart that I became a beast to protect it.
Conformity is not beauty, conformity is the height of insecurity.
When I finally realized he was not going to give up I decided to give him a chance. But when it was time to get intimate, I froze and asked him to turn off the light. I was too ashamed to show him my body, but he said to me – I want to see all of you.
After a beautiful moment together he took me to the mirror and made me stand in front of it, then he said to me – how can you not see that you are beautiful? Do not conform to the worlds definition of beauty, conformity is the height of insecurity.
Those words stayed will stay with me for the rest of my life.
After we had sex I expected him to move on. I had programmed my mind and was quite prepared for disappointments from men. But he did not leave, he stayed with me. He would whispers to me at every chance – you are beautiful, the day you start seeing your pretty, is the day everyone else will start seeing it. Do not conform to the worlds definition of beauty. Soon his whispers began to shape my mind and thoughts and soon I began to see my beauty.
Pretty doesn’t have to hurt.
Being pretty use to hurt for me because I chose to conform to the worlds standard of beauty, the stipulated and manipulative yardstick the world has set for females, mostly.
Music videos and movies today parade women with the perfect body shape. The entertainment industry in general play a big part in stereotyping the female body. They make women believe they need to look a certain way to be beautiful.
No you don’t!
The only thing anyone would do with a coke bottle is drink it.
People who think like that do not see you, neither do they see your brilliant mind, they only see something to quench their taste/urges.
The glamour of the entertainment world is all glamour and gloss until the camera is gone. They only show the world what they want the world to see – PERFECTION. But when the curtains fall, the performers go back to the real world and leave us stuck in the illusion they have created. I was stuck there for ages until I pulled the surgical blinds.
I was always trying to fix something about myself, but in reality it was my mind that needed surgery. That’s why I could not stop probing and poking until I fixed my mind.
P.S thank you Bey for that incredible song and thank you Sia for that beautiful lyrics.
I do not see those faults anymore, somehow the body I hated and thought was ugly has become my most prized possession. Everything I thought was wrong with my body I do not see them anymore because I fixed my mind. Although I had help but if I did not work on my mind nothing would have changed.
Mind is the Matter
Everything in this world comes from the mind, the idea of a house came from the mind, the idea of building ships and planes came from the mind, the idea of not being beautiful enough is from the mind, and the idea of body reconstruction to fit the supposed standard of beauty is also from the mind, so align your mind and revamp your thinking.
I still have some insecurities but it is not about my looks, and I do not let them run my life. I do not hear those whispers anymore, those voices telling me I am not good enough, or beautiful enough or intelligent enough. I kicked them to the curb and sent my mind to booth camp. Thankfully with the help of my lover I resurface with a revamped mind, a modified identity and an unwavering confidence.
I have switched my garments of insecurities and low self-esteem for confidence and I tell you it fits perfectly and I ain’t taking it off anytime soon.
P.S Love yourself unapologetically, only self love can kill that insecurity.
This is for every woman out there who still struggles with insecurity…
You Are Glorious!
In whatever shade or color you come in – you are glorious!
In whatever height you come in – you are glorious…
In whatever body shape you come in – remember you are glorious…
No matter the size of your brain – you are amazingly and gloriously capable of anything.
These days whenever I am face with my insecurities I scream to it – This is me! And I won’t change me for anything! And somehow I send a flood and drown out those insecurities.
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