₦airaland Forum

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.

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.

*walks in and sits at the ending corner* another one coming from this bushbiafraboy. Ayam following closely as ive always been doing(ghostmoodly)

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.

[b]Been Bitten Bitter[/b

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

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

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.

sleeknick:
Fry them....

sleeknick:
Ouch!

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

samyfreshsmooth:
anything you say ma'am


would you also post the two stories u wrote as stated in the diary?

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.

Adesina12:
weldone dearie

I am enjoying ha tory with ma guguru oloyin

keep it coming bae

really Thank u

Hadampson:
Wow! I think somebody is falling in love o

*To samyfreshsmooth* i tink switup is usin style tew ask me out shud i accept her proposal or nt *waiting 4 reply*

lol really.??


@samyfreshsmooth ure married to a twinkiet lol. Lemme alone and just read. Ur wife na fire. *winks*

sleeknick:
I'm not understanding..

i understand ur not understanding. Its actually a thing of the mind

That morning, i got a pen as an idea got into my head; the protagonist name would be Yimga.
"Yimga a boy who begins youth with writing gives his teacher his work to help him proofread. A year after, he goes for his piece but there is this new aura that sounds his teacher. Fame. A certain fame he could not understand. Somehow however the teacher get in contact with him and they get to see. He demands for his writeup which he did while in secondary school and she tells him plainly that her husband, a lecturer in some University in the state and with the assistance of Junior WACCE board official had assisted her in promoting the story to be just right for one of the JS3 literature books to be used in secondary school. She however promises to offer him a certain huge amount as compensation for his idea which she had materialised into something big. Yimga refutes the idea.
"While at home Yimga begins to make plans to attack this teacher of his. He meets up with some rugged rascals in his neighborhood who assure him that Guns are a liability and very accessible. He begins to make plans and schedule on how to pull a trigger through his teacher's skull. So much hate for an ordinary plagiarism.
" Close to the arranged period, for the sake of the love of his mother, he lets go of such extremity but he does not tell the rugged rascals his new wish.
"Meantime, Yimga's Mom falls ill. And Yimga been the most mature person within his family is left to treat her himself. A good reason to have his teacher back in the picture. He would go to her, he would ask her for the commission she had promised she would give to him. He would take it without any iota of hate and would disappear from her life forever.
" So it was happened, Yimga goes to see his teacher and she welcomes him with much gusto. Now after hearing Yimga's reason for coming back, she promises to double the way. Why wouldnt she, when with the support of the right hands she had gained fame in d literary world? For which Yimga could not attain.
"In her philanthrophism, Yimga is happy he did not carry out his former plans. There he was, sitting in her house expecting to get a cheque from his rich/famous theft teacher who had just gone to her room to get the required drawing of figures and then next thing, there's a shriek and there's a fire of gunshot. Yimga in shock rushes to his teacher's room. Shes dead with a bullet wound to her Cranium, a gun to soaked in blood to her left and a cheque book covered in blood to her right. In his most delusional state, he picks up the gun(a mistake that would cost him much trouble later on. Only if he knew, he wouldn't have touched that Gun) stares at it in fear before he is knocked out by a person or two who had heard the gunshot.
" When he regains conciousness, he finds himself in Police Station and within some time, hes in Court. With the right prosecution and testimony against him, even from his sick mother who said she had often heard her son fantacised about killing the teacher, but had retracted his steps, the Judge deemed it fit that he should be hanged as the death penalty is the equivalent for a murder case but with the consideration of the age of the Fellow who was only 18 at the time, sentence was passed, and Yimga got a 30year Jail term insrtead of the death sentence.
"Fast forward to his thirtieth year in prison, somehow, a renowned writer at the time needed to write a new book but he intended to write his story frm the perspective of a long jailed-in prisoner. The fortunate inmate been 48year old Yimga. Within this period, Yimga's experience is heard, things happen and some other things happen. Now and here at this point, in Yimga's thirtieth year in prison, few months before his release, the truth is out. Someone else killed Mrs Bill(yima's teacher) and wanted to make it look like suicide. The person is shock to find out that that day, Mrs Bill was attaining a visitor.
" Yimga is granted immediate Federal release for his innocence. More truths come out as the world get to know that some 30years back a wrll read book was from the former accused (now old)man, Yimga. Theres is a Nationwide Authurs Forum that is held. Yimga is given certain and many honors. But all these can never downplay the fact that Yimga spent 30years of his life in prison for a Crime he did not commit".

So that was it. My second plot for a story. And like my mom had envisaged, it was even better and bigger than the previous. The plot was superb and mature and my mom kept liking my giftedness.

BiafraBushBoy:
Hi... sorry for the late reply. I think if you don't have a PC. Then your phone should be of a high grade to also function as a PC.

But just try and buy na... even if na pentium zero

(aside*ure nice*). Can a tab do d deal. PC may come buh not now. Blogging on my mind

SirWere:
Pardon me, I'm a tad confused here.


Is this a "real" story or is it just a diary in the wrong section

this is a real story i chose to write in a Diary Format something like Anne Frank's Diary of a Young Girl

So pls manage it

AyamConfidence:
I didn't get your mention but I'm here and I got front seat for that matter and I'm riding with you

Somebody praise the Lord

Abeg who dey share popcorn

Actually you spaced my moniker cc Switup

as a matter of front seat things, oya take ***huggs ***

Hadampson:
Switup i welcome u tew d world of NL literature writer.. Just a little piece of advice 4 u dear make sure u update d story everyday

STC.. #walks to d front row nd sit# harameede99 dearie come nd sit with me.. adesina12 plz i need popcorn!!

thankies already. U are the sugar in my tea, already. XOXO

samyfreshsmooth:
hmmm i'm here now but b4 i start reading or anything i need u to ans this 4 ques ASAP


1) are u a he, she, male, female, her or him


2) is dis a story or some random diary about urself


3) would there be alot of pretty ladies reading this


AND


4) would u be updating everyday, often, sometimes, once a week, or once a year


oh and hadampson thanks 4 the mention

use dis rare 1807 drink take blend ur popcorn jareh

awwww. Thankusee. Am all teary. Lemme begin to answer your questions one by one;

1. Am female. Like she. Like girl. Like lady.

2. True story. My life; my words.

3. <<shy>> i no know o. Lol. Its not about romance and love and sex o


AND


4. I'll most def do my very best to keep u entertained. Meanwhile chop kiss

<<story continued>>

With Mommy's support at the back of my mind, years passed. Years later almost during my WACE days, she made for me to give my piece to a renounced graduate from the University of Port harcourt, Theatre Art department who was taught by one famous nollyword verteran named Sam Dede, a then and current Lecturer in the department of Theatre Arts, Uniport. So with this graduate lady proofreading my piece, i would focus on the WACE before me, of which i prepared for so well and also failed woefully.

By this time, as a new postsecondary school leaver, i was always at home, and alone. My parents were always at work, my elder brother was well, my elder brother and my other siblings were in school. And again, that urge, that desire welled up in me. To write ofcoures but really there was nothing in my cranium to write about. So i began to crave for the previous written story i had given to the graduate-lady to proofread for me, prior to my WACE examination.

Atleast having that that back would spur me on. Or so i felt. Thus, i began sending messages across to the graduate-lady-friend as she'll be known throughout this process but these messages may have barely ever gotten to her. You know the year was 2010 and i was not quite sure if cell phones were as rampant as they are today so the only way of sending across any message to this graduate lady friend, was to send someone who knew someone that knew her. Interestingly enough, at the time, she was a teacher in some school and she was single so i expected her to had been through proofreading my story but there was never any reply from the multiple delivery system.

Time gradually ebbed away, and i was becoming really bored staying home along, and so there was more pressure by me to Graduate Lady Friend to give me my Manuscript (as i began calling it). This was during the wee months of the year. Mid into 2010, nothing from Graduate Lady Friend. Late into the year, still nothing from Graduate Mrs Lady Friend (that was what she had become as she got married that period) at which time i had become extremely angry at her.

So i went to my mom, and she found no difficulties sympathising with and encouraging me, urging me to give Graduate Mrs sometime to enjoy her honeymoon and all that accompanied new marriages. In my head, in poor head of mine, the only honeymoon i imagined Graduate Mrs having was she having nonstop round-the-clock Three-Sixty-Degrees sex with her husband and having no time atall for that poor Manuscript of mind.

By the end of the by year, there was as much as nothing from Graduate Mrs and so i had to cut her off my affair, erase her memomy and the memory of my almost forgetten Js2 written story but there was this unending flush of hate and anger i felt towards her because i felt cheated and betrayed.

But funny how things change when we least expect it. Few weeks into early November, a student from the school where Graduate Mrs taught, came around my house and told me that Graduate Mrs had told her to tell me she was still crossing the 't's and doting the 'i's in my write up. Plus she just got married. That was all. After a whole year of silence, all i got was that Graduate Mrs at the time was doting and crossing. How uninteresting.

Somehow though i felt enlivened. Thanks to my mom making me believe Graduate Mrs was doimg "the work". Fews days later i came in contact with the girl that had passed across the information from Graduate Mrs and i pleaded with her to get back my piece from Dearly Beloved Graduate Mrs. whether she had proofread it or not. I was fed up already. The new excuses i got were 'you how tasking teaching can be' 'i just got married' and all other excuses i couldn't bear to take in.

I was extremely livid at this time. Once i went to my mother and began shrieking and wailing and saying all sort of things defeated angry people would say. My mom understood how devasted i was, and she said to me in these very wordd
" its not about the noise you're making right now. If u can write you can write. Worrying and crying won't bring back what you've written no matter how loud your noise becomes. So write my daughter, write something better than what you had written there. Write and write the best you can. That's the only way to forget this stress"
Quite a speech. Mommy was good at that, but her words didn't have impart that night because i cried. I cried till my eyes soared and i fell asleep in my tears. But when i got up next morning; volia all the bitterness, all the bottled up anger, all the hatred and disgusts had vanished. And there was this biting urge to start something new, something more realistic and didactic.

Adesina12:
I am already here reading your short epistle aiming to elongate and elaborate later...

Keep it coming ma friend.........we will bring a subsidiary of my sweet popcorn here to entertain our guest

first to comment. Lol. Thankies. Pls be on d lookout for errors and errs

TemmyWon:
I'm starting to love this blogging thingy. can I be a blogger? what will it cost

same question in my mind. But to add to d question can i even begin one without a PC?

@biafrabushboy its ur thread. Pls come and answer

*this is me finally doing this*


At the end of this diary you will understand the statement above.




Introduction=======>
Em, let me start by saying that i am going to write this diary as the words come to mind. So if in the process of though, i am stuck and am in that period of 'err err em', am going to put it down like that.

Thank you.


In d mean time i am extremely nervous. Reasons been that this the first time ever am writing anything for the public eye. But i bet every thing is going to be fine. Meanwhile,while this is not a professional piece and will not be a perfect projection of what the public may desire, it is an expression of a part of life. All criticism is welcomed be it mild or wild. Lol, as i see it as a part of a phase. Another thank you.



I begin...
Different people have different reasons for starting a Diary. Well, mind is this; i write. Like i love to write. I am a writer-holic(that is if there's a word like that). Its been there since i knew myself and if am not mistaken, the first time i ever composed a story or anything writeable was in my primary 2 and my Daddy had just rushed my Mommy to the hospital because she was in labour. So i stole my elder brother's pen(since i was still using pencil at the time) and began to write a story of how i was going to have a baby sister and how she would be so tall and beautiful and how she would have curly hair and how she'll be very chubby and how we will be all chubby together wen we grow up. The end. The main reason for writing this was because Mommy and my elder brother had fantasied so many times about having a baby boy while i desperately needed a baby sister. So to prove my point, i needed to write it down.

Meantime, wen mommy returned home two days later, d baby was born. It was a she and she looked chubby and beautiful and she had curly hair but she wasn't as tall as i expected. Childish expectations i must say.

But i still showed mommy my story and whether she liked it or not, she assured me that "tar tar" is happy and that left me happy. And so this passion of mind began. And time began to set its pace in my life to put things in the right places. Times when i fell ill, times i felt better. Times i thought i had grown taller. Times i thought i was ugly. Times when i felt suicidal, times when i felt gory, times when i felt happy and times when i felt evenly evil. There were also times when i felt stupid, times when i acted wise. Times when i realised i had truely grown up and times when i came to realize that writing could be a part of my life. There were the times also when i came to a conclusion that nobody is ugly and that every body is beautiful, with just the right time and tide.

Then it was again, that urge, that desire to scribble something down, anything. And so in my JS2, in some topnotch University Demonstration Secondary School, i wrote a story. That was my first story ever and it was about the lives of three friends in a secondary school within the university environs.(apparently, a story sorrounding my circumstances. Obviously, that was the environment in schooled in). And we all know how stories like these go. Lol lol lol. There's always that boy in the school who is the cutest but then is in cult(with those University boys)and then tries to get every one else to join cult. And then there's this good girl who sees the good in him and tries to make him leave his bad habits. This good girl character was in the clique of the three girls mentioned earlier. Now the other two friends begin to envy the "good girl" as she's got the cutest guy. They join bad gangs. They try to hurt their friend. They kidnap her. They demand ransom from her parents while they join in the search for missing "good girl". Then as all young stories would have it, nemesis caught up with them and they get betrayed and former mr bad boy cultist is somegow involved in the rescue story and then all ends well.

Am sorry if the story line above confuses anyone reading this, but i was in JS2 and i was barely 12 but trust me, my friends who read it back then were super excited. The story turned out to be massive. After typing it on an A4 paper with single line spacing, it totaled about a hundred and something pages.

My mom loved it. My family loved it too but my mom loved it better and she promised to support me in anyway, so I'll get there.(the 'there' been that famous phase of been a writter or maybe that stardom 'there'. Whichever way she was ready to help).

<<pause>>


Shoutouts: YungTemi(pls help me call that moniker u suggested is a good analyist), Adesina12(heard ure the popcorn guy), babysho, oludare007, Hadampson, moscow0147, Ayam confidence, madamkilljoy, freecocoa, jackpot, ABJDOT, sleeknick, isiAbuncha, Ade345, omolodMikman93, senrino, sucess001, arise007, Ohara1901, Aseki, Fellycutie, timbros, Benzyyn, Caspian22, sucess001, dabrake, Mendie2, kadata, slimfredo, Debeloved87, kambee, logoDWhiz, kayspark27(no vex i no why i just mention u)

PS:sorry if i did bore u with a mention. I randomly did a mention to all my followers