Switup:
pls people, wat do u do to someone thass very annoying on the outsider buh very goodhearted on the inside

Fry them....

sleeknick:

Fry them....

Switup:
with the little responses am getting here, my dear, to be frank, am not motivated at alllll. But wat u think of the second??


Modified; no vex abeg buh pls dont ma'am me. I hate dah word eh.

its like a norm here...u wont get much audience as u start but immediately u start posting and consistently too they'll all start coming outta hiding

just continue and u'll the comments multiplying as u go




oh and i'll try to stop with the ma'am ma'am


but what should i use den

Switup:

Ecote tu la pelle va va vis ale vous

samyfreshsmooth:




its like a norm here...u wont get much audience as u start but immediately u start posting and consistently too they'll all start coming outta hiding

just continue and u'll the comments multiplying as u go




oh and i'll try to stop with the ma'am ma'am


but what should i use den

Yeah....that is truth

Crazy Samrich watsup

I dey enjoy ya diary tory and thanks for mentioning

I be original guguru (popcorn) seller in real life

My company is Adesina12 Exotic Popcorn

Kindly patronize our customize popcorn in all your ceremonies

We can deliver anywhere in Nigeria.....A trial will convince you

Help us with awareness campaign everywhere you go

Fenks

Adesina12:


Yeah....that is truth

Crazy Samrich watsup

I dey enjoy ya diary tory and thanks for mentioning

I be original guguru (popcorn) seller in real life

My company is Adesina12 Exotic Popcorn

Kindly patronize our customize popcorn in all your ceremonies

We can deliver anywhere in Nigeria.....A trial will convince you

Help us with awareness campaign everywhere you go

Fenks

HUH are u fvcking kidding me

dude u opened gregory

u're so done 4....u must pay....pretty miss oly23 ave gat a job 4 u...come to d inner chamber ASAP


i knew it...u're a pop seller in real life...

no fear i b ur ambassador and marketer 4rm 2day

oh and thanks 4 reading

And did she my mom appreciate it so much so that by December 8-11 that year, i attended the 3rd Garden City Literary Festival with theme; Nigeria: 50 Years of Post Colonial Literature with Nobel Laurates like J.M.G Le Clezio and Wole Soyinka. Enough of the modesty already, like am going gaga here, i met with Wole Soyinka in person. Yes, i also stood along side him in a photo next to Mrs Koko Kolango, the festival Director of the Garden City Literary Festival GCLF, next to the Director of Alliance Français, that French Mister whose name i do not remember and next to his superhot Lady Assistant whose name i never got to know. Yeah Me.

So it was that during the GCLF, I was booked into a Writer's Workshop (prose) fascilated by Adaobi Tricia Nwauabani, authur of the novel I Do Not Come to You By Chance of which she in person autographed in my own copy of her book. By the third day of the festival, there was a forum where each invited guest had the opportunity to share his/her prose or poetry depending on which one was good at.

The rounds came and went till it got to my turn. I was tensed and there was lots of em...em...em in my speech as i retold my Yimga story which was partly my life story and partly my fictitious idea. At the end of the rounds, there were three outstanding nominees. Two from poetry and one from prose. And yes, Yours Sincerely was selected as the third best in the section. Excitment was me personified. And worthy of note too, the then Chairperson of the Association of Nigerian Authurs told me in private that if i would change the story from ink and paper to a soft copy and sent it across to her, she would endeavor to help. She said simething about using Cassava Publishing Firm to get the work done.

But dear readers and readers, let me give you a sad tale. I lost the photo i took with Mr Wole Soyinka, i lost my novel that was autographed by the Author and i never ever got to forward my story to the Chairlady of ANA because i never did change it from hard copy to soft copy. Even till present. But i got to meet a New Friend and i also got a Certificate from the Writer's Workshop.

How come you lost the picture and the autograph?

What happened?

Adesina12:
How come you lost the picture and the autograph?

What happened?

so ure really reading this? My dear there could be many possibilities. I got admission into the University the following years as my next update would carry. I bet that transition frm home to school may be d reason behind the loss...

I really intended not continuing at all. but just because of u, ill do one more update tomorrow because ure reading my evry detail. Its already late now

Switup:
so ure really reading this? My dear there could be many possibilities. I got admission into the University the following years as my next update would carry. I bet that transition frm home to school may be d reason behind the loss...

I really intended not continuing at all. but just because of u, ill do one more update tomorrow because ure reading my evry detail. Its already late now

Awwwww thanks dearieee

Appreciate

Sweet popcorn for you bae

hmmmm so u got to meet wole soyinka


dats cool



oya update d next jareh lets see what happened wen u got into sch

samyfreshsmooth:


HUH are u fvcking kidding me

dude u opened gregory

u're so done 4....u must pay....pretty miss oly23 ave gat a job 4 u...come to d inner chamber ASAP


i knew it...u're a pop seller in real life...

no fear i b ur ambassador and marketer 4rm 2day

oh and thanks 4 reading

Reporting for duty boss

My popcorn in hand.. Abeg shift make I Sidon.. Sis go on..

Sorry, I am late

Registering my presence.

Switup:
so ure really reading this? My dear there could be many possibilities. I got admission into the University the following years as my next update would carry. I bet that transition frm home to school may be d reason behind the loss...

I really intended not continuing at all. but just because of u, ill do one more update tomorrow because ure reading my evry detail. Its already late now

abeg continue. in love with ya story.

Dedicated to Shabib, dabrake, oludare007, senrino and samyfreshsmooth


I continue>>>

It was the new year. January 2011. At this point, writing was out of my head. I needed to focus on more important realities like facing WACE and JAMB since i felt the writing thingy wasn't going smoothly. And guess what, fellow Nigerians, this this time i made it all; the WACE, JAMB, UTME and all other Nigerian-Educational-Hinderance-filled exam and thus got an admission into the University. But please, let it be made known that Graduate Mrs. (remember her?) finally gave me my manuscript piror to my admission.

And so it was that upon my admission into the University to study History and International Studies, i gave up on what i loved best; writing since i truely wanted to focus on my studies as it had been randomly rumored that the course was a tough one. I think i also lost the desire to write as i felt too discouraged that there had been no reason to continue. Just a series of breakdown. Just imagine two stories, many years apart, not one published (although i had totally given up on the first writeup. It was damn too childish a storyline. My second story rocked. Lol).

There in the university, a lot went down, ups and downs as usual, but ill only compile what is relevant to this diary.

So, there in School i came in contact with this young darling daring male colleague/friend who not only happened to be from the same LGA as I but also was a master of poetry him. For this diary I'll choose to let his name be LovePoet. LovePoet thus became my writer/mentor/brother/friend and he never gave on me even after i told him of my writing kaput. He emphasized so much that there was more to me than my buried (writing) past and he advised me to start writing again(more like story for the gods in my ears, i was too discouraged already). He even suggested i do poetry as prose seemed to have embarked on a journey of no return and he assured me that if i went into poetry, it would be easier for me to begin as it would be more about me expressing emotions and feelings in words punned upon.

I stubbornly ignored his appraisals for about a whole section and a semester by which time we were mid way into our 3rd year as i had met him in year 2.

So he began this new trick of writing poems and always often asking me to complete it with my own words. I liked that and soon after, we were doing duets once in a while when lectures seemed boring and all. Once more, there was a nostalgia for writing. But it seemed rather late as i had become excessively overwhelmed with writing my Project, Seminar with its accompanied historicalness....

At this juncture, i would like to entertain my readers with the first poetry i ever wrote, some time in 2010 after my secondary school year in one of those my boring states; a poetry which i considered then to be a useless waste of time.

POEM 1; Been Bitten Bitter

[b]Been Bitten Bitter[/b

NB: lemme add that i cudnt find the original write up of this poem. It was sometime modified by some extremely mature somebody in writing field and this is the modified version. But everything up there is my idea. It was written after i went through a brochure stating the effects of HIV from time immemorial.

am nat a fan of poems but permit me to say i've just been wow-ed!! by this....
its lovely dear

i thought u'd gven up on d story o....its nice 2 have u back

and thanks 4 d dedication


ps: hope u'll tell us more act lovepoet in subsequent updates sha

By February 2016 the following year, i was completely done with school and evry of its affiliations. All that was left was to return to school sometime in October for NYSC clearance. In essence, i had roghly seven months all to myself. The idea felt refreshing. But first things first; i had to recuperate.

Currently, i had the looks of a person suffering from TB. Please don't laugh. Let me make it clear that the way my body responses to stress is quite unlike that of normal people. Should i get stressed, i get so thin and worn that my collar bone as well as four ribcage bones on the chest become so visible. Infact, there were times when people i do not know from Adam would stop me and the way and assured me that if i took a break and went home to treat myself, i would be better of. Once, an acquittance outrightly told me that if i died, the University would still continue so i should go get treatment fast. Well, i didnt blame these people because at the time, i had become super stressed. My Project Supervisor had just cancelled Chapter 1-3 of my work, telling me that he knew i had better things to offer and this action of his was done only 28 days before final submission. And God bless my Project Supervisor because truely he knew i could give it my best shot.

So back to present, Miss Skinny Skinny needed some Chilly Chilly. And chilly chilly i did get to the maximum because for the next three months, i had a regular routine of eating, sleeping, watching movies non-stop and novel-reading like my life depended on it. It was during this R and R that i read among other books, Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, Mario Puzo's Omerta+The Sicilian, Chimamanda's Half of a Yellow Sun+Americana, El James 50 Shades of Grey and unfortunately, only two or three pages of the Bible.

Now the funny part of it all was that i didnt do these things at humanly sane times. For instance, i would have breakfast by noon, then push the sleep button till late pm when i know famiky members would begin to return home. Then of course normal typical 'Nigerian home' duties followed, with my mom either screaming my name at the top of her voice to come and give her her reading glasses on the table not too far from her, or calling out on any of my siblings to come do something for her and i help her echo that siblings name and She's would be like 'oh, you're even there, oya do it'. Then followed by a quick knockout as early as 8pm or 9pm whereafter i get up by 1am and stay up till dawn seeing one movie to the other. These were classic times i must say.

By May 1st, Yours Truly decided to go for a job hunt as my needs had changed now. I had become healthy and what i needed at the present was cash, eyi, ego. Readers and readers; money. And in all my zealousness, it did not occur to me that May 1st was a Public Holiday and so it turned out wasted. Meanwhile, LovePoet and i were still in contact. Thanks to all the various Social Media available to mankind in this age. Recently, our talks varied from our fellow colleagues to the recessed economy to how broke we had become(notwithstanding the many pre-post graduating get-great-job dreams we had) to life in general but never did we talk about writing.

Switup:
By February 2016 the following year, i was completely done with school and evry of its affiliations. All that was left was to return to school sometime in October for NYSC clearance. In essence, i had roghly seven months all to myself. The idea felt refreshing. But first things first; i had to recuperate.

Currently, i had the looks of a person suffering from TB. Please don't laugh. Let me make it clear that the way my body responses to stress is quite unlike that of normal people. Should i get stressed, i get so thin and worn that my collar bone as well as four ribcage bones on the chest become so visible. Infact, there were times when people i do not know from Adam would stop me and the way and assured me that if i took a break and went home to treat myself, i would be better of. Once, an acquittance outrightly told me that if i died, the University would still continue so i should go get treatment fast. Well, i didnt blame these people because at the time, i had become super stressed. My Project Supervisor had just cancelled Chapter 1-3 of my work, telling me that he knew i had better things to offer and this action of his was done only 28 days before final submission. And God bless my Project Supervisor because truely he knew i could give it my best shot.

So back to present, Miss Skinny Skinny needed some Chilly Chilly. And chilly chilly i did get to the maximum because for the next three months, i had a regular routine of eating, sleeping, watching movies non-stop and novel-reading like my life depended on it. It was during this R and R that i read among other books, Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, Mario Puzo's Omerta+The Sicilian, Chimamanda's Half of a Yellow Sun+Americana, El James 50 Shades of Grey and unfortunately, only two or three pages of the Bible.

Now the funny part of it all was that i didnt do these things at humanly sane times. For instance, i would have breakfast by noon, then push the sleep button till late pm when i know famiky members would begin to return home. Then of course normal typical 'Nigerian home' duties followed, with my mom either screaming my name at the top of her voice to come and give her her reading glasses on the table not too far from her, or calling out on any of my siblings to come do something for her and i help her echo that siblings name and She's would be like 'oh, you're even there, oya do it'. Then followed by a quick knockout as early as 8pm or 9pm whereafter i get up by 1am and stay up till dawn seeing one movie to the other. These were classic times i must say.

By May 1st, Yours Truly decided to go for a job hunt as my needs had changed now. I had become healthy and what i needed at the present was cash, eyi, ego. Readers and readers; money. And in all my zealousness, it did not occur to me that May 1st was a Public Holiday and so it turned out wasted. Meanwhile, LovePoet and i were still in contact. Thanks to all the various Social Media available to mankind in this age. Recently, our talks varied from our fellow colleagues to the recessed economy to how broke we had become(notwithstanding the many pre-post graduating get-great-job dreams we had) to life in general but never did we talk about writing.

Go on pls. And thanks for the dedication.

switup, nice one. i'm still hoping i'll read that you've published one novel in your write-up.

abeg continue

I didnt blame LovePoet for this kaput. As human, he had done his best but i think his efforts towards me was far beyond human because soon he sent me this great poetry he wrote both in its audio and visual form and evry word from it was truely a motivation. And so again, once more, for the first time in many long years, i though of doing wat i love.

Gosh! It had been ages. I remember packing up all i ever wrote and shoving it into one box-like safe bag and tucking it underneath my never-to-be-used-anytime-soon set of books which were currently heaped at one end of house, more like a store house. I trembled at the thought of going to revivify my writing life and wondered what i would gain from it this time. I mean the writing thing had become more like a clumsy boring routing of; getting extremely excited, starting up something i consider interesting and mid-way through, the excitement fades leading to a long period of pause and then returning to the stale old safe-like bag.

Was this excitement i felt another series in my long chain of relapse? Would it be another shortlived temporary boo-boo? Just a mergre soon-to-be extinguished fantacy?(as had always been the case).

After all doubts, i dug out my writing case and i expected, it was looking all dusty and untouched. It even smelt like old cloths. Opening the safe though, evry of the cover-to-cover filled exercise book which carried both Yimga's story and some of my other write ups were as meatly stacked as i had left them just immediately after i gained admission. My reactions were both swift and volatile. First, a week smile as i remembered Yimga's plot then sudden transition to uncoordinated histrionics and loud cry. I cried for so long as all that floated through my head was "wasted years". Wasted years with no achievements. Wasted of years of talent(if ever this was even talent). I cried for the wasted years of compliing a plot and then having it stuck in some bag were no one would ever read. I cried also because i felt a certain void i could not decifer. I cried because maybe, just maybe this writing thing was not meant for me. Maybe it was meant for certain people with certain privileges because if it wasn't that way, i wonder why no matter how hard i tried, things just seem static. Tears didnt stop falling from my eyes when i thought of my mom. Somehow i felt i had failed her. She'd tried for me to make sure i " got there". Remember the first story? She played a role. And in Yimgas storyline too. But i couldnt deliver. I couldn't just get anything done. What was worse than failing oneself? That was how i felt as i glared into the pike of notes books carrying my write ups. And i cried even loudly some more. Thank God it was one of those weekdays when no one was at home.

(This may seem like an ordinary breakdown, but when i browsed the web much later on,i realised i that i had somehow fallen into minor depression. Depression for which many of us think does not exist in our Africa.)

After so much self condemnation and self bashing, i was consoled my depraved self. I was already feeling dizzy as a result of the almost hour long and loud series but i was still determined. I wanted to write. And i needed to.

First motivation, i opened up my Yimga story and scanned through.some lines were damn so hilarious that i could hear myself giggle. So!etimes i just wished someone else other than myself could read this. And with this motivation, all i needed now was just a pen and a page and i knew i would get something done. And so i choose a comfortable corner at one end of my room, the perfect spot to revivify my creative side. And so, i sat to begin. Pen on the right hand, book on the left all that was left was the 'idea' and i would begin.

But the idea never came and i never began. A minute, five minutes, ten minites, thirty minutes and more... And yet nothing.

Shabib:
switup, nice one. i'm still hoping i'll read that you've published one novel in your write-up.

abeg continue

for u, i write. Thanx for following. I just realised this is a bit too "unsexy" for many. But its my thing, so ill write.

Switup:
for u, i write. Thanx for following. I just realised this is a bit too "unsexy" for many. But its my thing, so ill write.

how is writing 'unsexy'?

Take this the inspiration will come sharp sharp

oludare007:
how is writing 'unsexy'?

no sex bites hence poses as boring to the public eye

I couldn't believe it. A writing kaput? From me? It seemed so funny. I mean in my head i thought i was good at this. And now all that was happening as i glared into the blank space was practically nothing.

"I wont let this stop me" i murmured and i was determined not to sulk over this condition. So, i sealed up the books again and kept the bag-like safe in my trolley where i would have easy accessibility and left the writing thing until another convenient time. That convenient time came along soon and i went back to dearly dearly beloved bag-like safe. Things had to be better today. But no, things didn't get better and neither did it get better for d next couple of weeks as all that happened where me always leaving behing an empty page soiled with splotches of ink. This was indeed a writer's block(as i had later come to realise) but more was involved. Karma, if there is a thing like that, was playing on my imagination for having dumbed the creative spirit during the past fews years.

Thank goodness though, that at times like these, i had people to turn to. My mom. I told her everything from tge forgone years to the reawakened desire and ofcourse to present hitch and my mom was as optimistic as ever. ,"you don't having to worry too much. All you need do is free up your nerves and do some writing. Ure consumed with so much doubt" she assured more jokingly than serioisly but i knew she meant those words.

Later that night, i had a conversation with LovePoet online, and related to him my current dilemma and as always, LovePoet was as supportive as he could be, assuring me that this was just a 'phase' that would soon pass. Few mornings later, i picked this new exercise book which i tamed *poetry book* and without thinking these were the words i scribbled in
[center]After so long these years
Its obvious indeed
That i have lost the flare.
That desire that had burned in the air.
Now i can't figures out the words
As they seemed to have gone on vacation.[/center]
That was all i did but i didnt just close the book or retire sluggishly. Instead, i left it open and shoved it a distance away and kept staring at it like a nursing mother starring at her baby she just strangled. Hours later, i cant tell how many, after starring motionless at five-line gibberish i had made up, i went back to the exercise book to express anger

[center]I can't.
Maybe because its so long
Maybe because i choose to let go.
A lost tomorrow
To a numero Uno.
Try finding the lost yesterdays
When you choose to bury it in yesteryears.
I only hope that in time,
The rhythms shall rhyme
And ease this growing roar
That is now soar
Just like cancer[/center]


**********intermission****************

In one of those days, while flipping through some old exercise books of mine, i came across this
This is a short story
Not found in any history
Very plain
But mixed with pain.
About a certain bloke
And a shy brunette
That met alomg a block... To be continued!!!

This was something i had done many years back when i was in Ss1 as the book were i found this was in my SS1 Literature Notebook. I remember not been able to continue it because i had nothing in mind back then. But presently, as i looked at this write up, i was certain i felt tinglings in my innards and so i went over, picked up my poetry-assigned exercise book and as wondered, the words simply danced before my eyes bringing about this
This is a short story
Not found in any history
Very plain.
But mixed with pain
About a certain bloke
And a shy brunette
Who met along a block.
Love they found as they connect
Buh knew not what would come next.
For in between fear and dread and anxiety,
In his loins, she found genuine prosperity.
And on her breast
He would lay his head to rest.
Peace indeed!
Or just a chill before the war
For indeed there loomed war.
Not by them
But on them.
From force forced upon them;
Like the land, the mother and the tribe.
So much so their love could not stive.
For the land hated the son
'Cus the mother knew the law...
That their love was not bound by tribe.
A war indeed!
And so this story ends
Just where love was 'bout to begin.
'Cus forces external and beyond.
But for a certainty they knew
That of all uncertainties,
Love exists.
And they once had it in their arms.
This was it and i was amased as the word flowed in just one piece. This newness seemed more like a reconciliation with the buried past and with all this sudden smoothness i had attained i was determined not to back out. Atleast not anymore.

I would appreciate readers very much