And then I met you…..

Dear journal,

It has been 3 months and 13 days since my last post and I feel it’s time for this post. As I sit in the midst of banters and high-pitched chatter, I wonder if the library is the ideal place to write this. Oh well. it’s not like I have that much of a choice anyway.

I met you when I first opened my eyes. I looked into your face and saw your smile. It was bright and radiant and best of all, full of love. I smiled back with my little chubby cheeks and my tiny Chinese-looking eyes as my aunt Glory would say. I fell in love with you.

I met you at the hospital. I stayed with you for a very long time. I learned to accept you and then to love you beyond words. I learned to understand the language of the eyes and walk in accordance to your byelaws. I felt your love every time you spanked my little butt for being stubborn.

I met you when I was brought home for the first time. You walked up to me and smiled broadly. You doted on me in your sweet way. And along the way, you managed to realise that I would cling to you forever if you let me. You didn’t stop loving me though. You even made my life turn out the way it is now.

I met you when you were brought home from the hospital. I was delighted as I had found a ‘replacement’ to that which was lost. As we grew, I thought I would never be close to you but our bond and love is unbreakable.

I met you when I visited you at the hospital. You were so tiny that the princess called you a lizard. But we all knew she was jealous and her reign had just come to an end. You were the most gorgeous person to me at the time. It was easy to love you and I can’t believe the term ‘my baby’ still applies to you.

I met you when I realised my dad had no brother. You were special and doted on me. You were the more open-minded one and I can easily see why I love you dearly. You slowly but surely became a second father to me.

I met you in my second year at University. I had seen you around the first year but only really knew you from the second. You were a sweet, loyal and the most stubborn human I had ever met with the exception of my dad and myself. I can't believe its been over 8 years already and you're still my best friend.

I met you when I didn’t even give myself a chance. You looked at me and decided to explore my potential. I still don’t know what you saw but you took a chance with me and it paid off. You quickly earned a spot in my heart. You became a part of my family and I would never trade all the time we worked together for anything else in the world. Hopefully, we’ll do it again soon.

I met you in a CDS group meeting. You had a deep voice and better things to say than most of the attendees. You didn’t know how to blend in. I think that was the attraction for me. My unrelenting penchant for the weird. When we worked together, our radio programmes were awesome. I’ll never stop smiling as I think of the name ‘Her Royal Swaggress’

I met you when I was looking at housing options in a new city. We had so many things in common, we even attended the same church! We quickly grew close and developed a routine that worked for us. It broke my heart when we had to part ways as God’s plan for us differed. I remember crying on the bus home with a hollow feeling in my chest. I’m definitely visiting America because of you.

I met you when I thought I couldn’t find more family in London. You embraced me and quickly included me in your plans. Your maternal instincts kicked in as you ensured I was doing alright and that all plans to spend time with you and your family is not sidetracked. All thanks to you, I’m off to a happy holiday in Scotland this Christmas.

I met you when I had stopped looking or caring. Those blue-green eyes definitely gave me second thoughts. I took a bet with myself about how long it will take for things to change. So far, it’s been great. I still go to bed smiling at all the weird jokes and silly adventures we embarked on. Thanks to you, I’ll have to keep facing my silly fear of heights. And I have started to care again…

And then I met you…. There are so many people I want to include in this. But I have a feeling that I will have to create a series for the post if I keep going on. There are so many people that have shaped my life with their love, loyalty and even minor slights, words cannot express the gratitude I feel. If we do not express gratitude to anyone and for anything, we are very lacking in great virtue. As Cicero says, gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.

Love

Sharon

The right to die...Suicide or taking charge?

Dear Journal,

I am not one to write about death or even wonder about it so much. Anyone who knows me know that the few times I talk about death is when I am asked what I want my entire life to look like. In response to that question, my answer is always; I want to travel the world, work in different countries have a small family and die in my sleep at a good age before I become a burden to my family.

Having spoken to a lot of people, I realised that most people would love to die when they are asleep but that rarely is the case. Battles with Cancer, Alzheimer’s and loads more make it really difficult to have a painless transition. When a person goes to the doctor’s office and is found to be terminally ill, do the person have the right to end their life immediately instead of prolonging the inevitable?

I was reading the Evening Standard when an article by Sam Leith (2015) caught my eye. He spoke of the law in Britain that prevents people from getting help to die. I know this sounds absurd but he puts up a good case. Since our bodies are our own and we all have the right to do whatever we please with it as gay and women rights activists would agree, why is it anyone’s business when you choose to end it? Why should there actually be a law preventing you from ending your own life?

Critics have said this would normalise the act of suicide and more people would turn to it as a way out of difficult times. That surely doesn’t make any sense I must say. This is like saying because homosexuality is now legal, young people will turn gay. We can see that is not the case at this time as we still have lots of teenagers that still prefer their heterosexual existence.

Sometime this year, an Assisted Dying Bill will be discussed in the British Parliament. The bill according to Leith (2015) will state that mentally sound adults with less than 6 months to live and who have been assessed by two doctors and a High Court judge can choose to die on their terms.

After reading this article, I remembered clearly a case of a doctor who stated that if she ever had to be placed on life support, she wanted her family to pull the plug. She thought that way, her family can start to come to terms with the grief instead of hanging in vain to the hope that she might recover.

I have never had a relative who suffered from cancer but I’ve heard some of them say that they wish this would end really soon. This is their way of resigning themselves to their fate but they wish more than anything that they have a chance to end the pain a lot sooner than the time they’ve been given.

As a Christian, I struggle with the idea of ending one’s own life. I believe in miracles and healing. I actually think in that position, I would hold on until the end even though God chooses not to heal me. But then, that is my faith and my choice. Would it be fair to judge other people by my own standards now? I don’t think so.

Please feel free to contribute to this as I always appreciate comments. If you’re in a situation as described above, (terminally ill) what would you do?

XX

Sharon

For the love of cycling

Dear journal,

I have never thought that I would one day write this article. Growing up with a big brother, we had a tricycle as children. My brother was always instructed by my dad to take me sitting in my cosy little section at the back for a ride. This became a fun part of my life that I have grown to regret. Needless to say that my brother grew up quickly, got his own bicycle and cycles very well. I, on the other hand can't ride a bike to save my life!

Prior to my arrival in London, my former boss had told me that people actually cycled to work in the UK. I couldn't believe it when I actually saw the Mayor of London- Boris riding a bike into Buckingham Palace while I was there. He even had the courtesy to wave back at me. I guess there was not much that he could do since I was waving frantically with my friend.

As I travelled through some parts of the UK, I noticed the same trend in Manchester, Liverpool, Coventry, Birmingham, Wolverhampton. One thing that I also noticed was that there is probably no written etiquette for cycling. The need to understand if there shouldn't be one moved me to write this article.

I think some of the rules of driving can be applied to cycling as well. For instance, the rules: Don't drive and text, or don't make calls while driving are even more important for cyclists. One that I also would like to add is- don't ogle ladies while cycling, it is completely dangerous guys! The absence of a motor on a bike makes its movement completely dependent on the cyclist. Little distractions like texting, ogling and phone calls can lead to accidents and even death. If you don't believe me, ask the blued-eyed blonde guy who fell off his bike because he was leering at a lady. Thankfully, his pride was the only thing badly hurt.

The less life-threatening rule should be- put your pants up and pack some deodorant! From my favourite spot at the top of the bus, I cannot help but notice that most cyclists have half their butt hanging out of their pants. Come on guys, looking at your hairy butt crack is not the most pleasant sight in the morning traffic.

As if the view is not distasteful enough, some cyclists neglect to apply antiperspirant/deodorant before and after cycling. If you cycle to work daily, please ensure that you have a shower at work or an antiperspirant. A boss once said she was dismayed at how people showed up for work every morning smelling like they had played football all night.

I want to believe that I speak for the bosses and London commuters when I beg you cyclists to please spare us the unpleasant sights and smells linked to cycling. We wish you journey mercies every time and pray that you drive with caution.

As always, I close on a happy note- I will be starting cycling lessons soonest. And yes, I have bought the necessary items needed for it. Knee pads, cycling gears, helmet and the ever-faithful antiperspirant. I'm looking forward to joining the cycling community here in London. Wish me luck, I'm definitely going to need it :).

Love

Sharon

When rape is your fault……

Browsing through my friends’ profile on Facebook is something I do once or twice a day to keep in touch with my contacts. Today, however, as I went through some posts shared by one of my contacts, something struck me in a shared article.

I felt so angry after reading this article that I thought I needed to write this piece. The article in question was not the problem really. It was for a good cause even; a movement against rape. The last paragraph of the article was what didn’t sit well with me.

The police officer after stating that the suspect of the assault had committed the crime before, he ended by advising students that ‘they should not dress provocatively’. Really? My mind screamed in the silence around the library. Really?? My fingers started to itch. My eyes took on that glint that my grandma would have ‘tsked’ at. Not a look for a girl, she would have shaken her head. Well, that look my friends is that of unadulterated fury. It leaves me speechless and my body trembling.

How does the fact that a girl was assaulted become her fault? Did she choose to be raped? Why does society still blame the victim while the assaulter walks the street looking for more victims? When has the way a person dresses become the lure for rapists?

If you are a man and you’re reading this, please let me know if you feel like raping girls because they’re dressed in shorts on a sunny day. Or a bikini in a beach or even a short dress to show off their lovely legs? I can imagine you shuddering in disdain at the sheer thought of it. You know why? That’s because you are not a sick man who wants to dominate another person so badly that you would stoop so low. You are obviously a man who will woo a lady he’s attracted to and back down if the answer is no.

I remember growing up and being told to dress to cover up my body so as not to entice young boys. My parents are Christians who believed that you shouldn’t allow men lust after you as it is a sin. I was about 10 years old when I went to the countryside (village) where my grandparents lived. That afternoon, I was in search of my brother who loved football. He was in big trouble with my dad already for having stayed out that long. I was trying to be his lookout as usual by hunting him down and returning home with him.

Anyway, after walking for 3 miles, I met a young man who was a relative of ours. I asked him if he had seen my brother and he said yes, he would take me to him. Happy to have found the location of my brother, I followed this relative for another mile. On getting to an old school building, he asked me to go ahead as my brother was in there. Naively I walked up to the building and peered into it with a smile on my face but found no one. Then I felt him pounce on me and all my survival instincts kicked in (Thank God for WWF and my brother who didn’t realise until I grew up that I was a girl and not to be wrestled with). I kicked him in his groin and ran like the hounds of hell were after me. I did not stop running until I arrived at the front of my grandpa’s house.

I collapsed at the tap in front of it gasping for breath and taking little sips of water. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. I did not say anything to my parents and till this day, I have never breathe a word of that incident to anyone. I was afraid that my dad would ask why I went in search of my brother in the first place. I was terrified that they would not believe me. Or worse still, they might blame me for it.

It’s been 14 years now but I still remember clearly that event. And since then, I have survived one threat of rape and another near-rape incident during my undergraduate studies. I kept asking myself, how provocatively would a 10 year old daughter of a Deacon have dressed to entice a relative to attempt rape? Why would the other guy have thought it was alright to jump me on my way home and rip my shirt? For days, I couldn’t help asking myself if my shirt was too transparent or my jeans too tight.

After all these years, I have come to realise that rape is never the victim’s fault. It’s never really about how you were dressed, or which route you took or how late you stayed out. Someone out there who is just sick and hungry for control decides when to strike. They choose you not because you led them on but because they have mental issues that they have to deal with.

As always, I would love to hear from you….

Love

Sharon

Musings of a lost but found girl….

Dear Journal,

I sit here in a high chair with the lamp giving just the right amount of light I need to focus. I slowly sip cup after cup of hot water from a mug. I have spent the last 12 hours writhing in pain and pondering about my future. As I sat down after dinner on this chair, I broke into a broad, genuine and a-very-much-like-me smile for the first time yesterday.

As a mentor once said, ‘Sharon, try to collect your ideas and write a book’. Of course I said yes and seemed elated by the idea. However, some days go by and I feel that there is not enough interesting things to write about. I do not count my romance books as I come up with romantic ideas faster than anything else. Probably because I have read more than two people’s fair share of Harlequin, Silhouette and the rest that dare to write about love and prince charming.

The reason for my smile is that my life has so many twists, turns, pains and sorrows to actually write a book. Some hilarious experiences like yesterday when after self-diagnosing, I found out that I really was having an allergic reaction to a food/product. I had earlier thought I had scarlet fever and was actually suffering some of the symptoms! Well, before you roll your eyes at how wild my imagination can run, I have to say that wikipedia and google are not helping in that department.

Few days ago, I sat with tears in my eyes. Although I have a reputation of being stoic and mostly emotionless, I do have my weak moments. One of such was when I returned from a really hectic 12 hour shift and could not imagine how I would survive the next month. My final exams are around the corner, the course work deadlines fast approaching and the ray of hope that has always shown overhead was elusive this time.

I have felt betrayal, displacement and terrifying anxiety (especially before I sent out my appeal) in the past month. Last night, I even had power-cut for 5 minutes! But then, I have met new friends-Lynette, Rita, Maria, Julie, Robert and we could be friends for life. I have worked with new partners like Jess, went on a boring date with someone from a dating site, had 55 year olds hit on me, heard again that I looked 18 and that I have an Irish sense of humour.

Those are the happy days that replace the distressing days. Besides, everything else has gradually started falling into place. As an old friend once said, take life’s punch on the chin and keep your head up like your nose is bleeding. I have learnt in these last 30 days not to take life too seriously, I would never get out alive anyway. I have decided to take a step at a time, move away from people not worth a place in my life and focus on my happy place. My group members Kyra and Cristina would surely be smiling at this last statement.

I will end by sharing the reassuring words of my beloved dad. ‘It is when the night is darkest that the dawn comes’. It might not be exactly true in theory, but that has always been the pattern in my life and it has kept me going. As always friends, feel free to share your thoughts on my piece as I always welcome comments.

April Fool…...Revenge…….Prank….Risky?

Dear Journal,

It is the first of April again. I laugh as I am reminded by friends of the post from exactly one year ago.  Well, I don’t know what people are expecting but I have been asked to pull a prank to mark this day. I cannot do it, I said. I do not even know how to pull pranks! But then I thought my readers might want to know about the one prank I pulled that still ranks the top on my pranks list.

Sitting in front of the dressing table, I looked straight at the mirror through to the man sitting behind me and smiling. He had just made me really upset. And this was two days in a row and he showed no remorse. Given that I am not one to ‘hold a grudge’, I almost let it slide until a thought flashed through my mind.

I stood up from the dressing table and headed to the bathroom. Half-way there, I swooned and hit the carpet like a sack. I came to few minutes later to find I was wrapped in the arms of Jamie who was clearly terrified. He was trying to call 999 with one hand while his other arm held me to his chest. (yes, before you comment, I have to say it was 999 he tried to call, not 911. This is not America :))

He kept saying ‘Sweetie, please be fine’ over and over again. I slowly stood up to his dismay and said I felt better now. Of course, he didn’t believe me as anticipated. I carried on the whole day under his watchful eyes. During that day, he saw me tightly hold on to a few chairs in the house for fear that I might faint again but he kept quiet.

I jumped out of bed the next morning and headed to the bathroom where I started to retch. Jamie knocked on the door a few times asking what was wrong and begging to let him in. As I opened the door few minutes later with weak knees, he lifted me gently and laid me on the bed. As usual, I told him that I was fine and he should just get ready for work as usual.

As expected, that brought out the fire in those clear blue eyes of his. He glared at me for what seemed like forever and calmly said, ‘we are going to the hospital’. I thought if we go to the hospital, things would get out of hand real quick so I said the only words that could stop him in his tracks.

‘I’m late jamie’ I said with trembling lips. At first, he did not understand what I meant as he was staring at me blank. As my eyes fell on everything else but him, I saw realization and then panic slowly dawn on him. What??? he asked. No answer. I sat quiet watching him with a blank expression. He paced for a few minutes and I could see his hands run through his hair. Are you sure? he asked again, this time his beautiful eyes were begging for a ‘no’. I simply nodded with trembling shoulders and put my face in my palms.

A sigh. And then a hug. ‘Its alright babes, he said into my hair. we are in this together’. At that last statement, I lost the willpower to keep a straight face or to contain my laughter. For a minute he thought I was hysterical. He lifted my face and stared into my eyes and he saw it!

You’ve got to be kidding me Sharon! That is not funny! Thankfully, jamie is not one to raise his voice so it didn’t attract undue attention. Why would you joke about that? You scared the daylights out of me, he said. As planned, I looked remorseful and apologised profusely.  

Thankfully, he forgave me in the end (bless him) with a promise to never pull another prank like that. And I have never pulled a prank ever since then. So dear friends, it would disappoint a few of you to know that I had no prank lined up for today that people call ‘April Fool’.

As always, I would love to hear what you think. More importantly, I would love to hear your own April Fool pranks if you have ever pulled one off.

Love

Sharon

Struck by the Green-eyed Monster

Dear Journal,

Like many people, I have always felt proud of the fact that I am not a jealous person. By this, I mean in relationships, professionally, in sports or achievement. I have always believed what my pastor says “there’s no need to be jealous of your neighbour because God is blessing him/her, be happy for them simply because God is in your neighbourhood and he will get to you”.

Well, all that righteous thought flew out of my head when I was struck by the green-eyed monster on Saturday. I can still hear myself rambling and trying to justify the reason why I was jealous! My family and pastor would definitely have been disappointed if they had seen me at the time.

Maybe you are wondering why I am making a big deal of this, I should explain to you what led to this insane bout of jealousy. (oh, it was really insane. I had never seen myself like that in all of my soon-to-be 24 years on earth)

It all began when I started my part time job with a staffing agency. Week after week, we (my colleagues and I) booked different locations and events we want to work at. Given the wealthy reputation of football clubs, I made sure to always sign up for shifts there. Things were going delightfully well as these stadia lived up to their reputation in that the clients in the boxes were very generous if great customer service is delivered.

I met every shift with a positive attitude and confidence. I was sure that every week, I will get tipped generously and it was so. That is, until my boss thought it was a good idea that I sign up to the rugby stadium (Twickenham) as well. He believed that if he gave me the ‘platinum’ corporate boxes, I will gather huge tips! I was so excited that I willingly accepted.

To keep this story short, this is my second season at Twickenham working really hard and delivering excellent customer service and only once have I been tipped generously. Never was I tipped by the ‘platinum’ corporate boxes, but I was always rated excellent for providing amazing customer service. This begs the question, if you feel that way, why won’t you tip? I am almost sure you all are asking the same question. The box that tipped generously by the way in comparison to this ‘big’ corporation is very small.

Well, I was just coming to grips with the fact that my boss will never reassign me to another box other my current one, when I heard the most amazing news. (Amazing that is for the beneficiary)

While I was busy collecting an excellent rating in service (eyes rolling), a colleague (we worked in the same building) was getting tipped £400!!!

Okay, for my friends and lovely readers, I will convert that to today’s exchange rate in a few currencies. £400 in Naira is (N118, 252), In US dollars ($593), In Euros (560), and in South African Rand (R7,357). I can literally hear your gasp for breath and trust me, I know the feeling.

It was on receiving this news that I unwittingly squeezed my job card (without it I can’t get paid) alongside other pieces of paper and threw it in a nearby bin. Well, I found out my mistake at check-out and had to go back in the bin for it. Thank God it was a recycle bin for bottles, I didn’t have to look for long. (My friends from Nigeria, yes they recycle bottles here as well but in a different way)

Still blinded by the monster, I signed out and kept moaning about how awful it was that my hard work yielded no tips. I couldn’t believe that someone else got nearly 8 times the amount of tips I have been receiving and believing was generous. I was still stewing at the fact that this act far exceeded generosity! As if to rub it in, the security lady at the gate with a huge smile asked if I heard about the guy with the £400 tip (he had become a legend instantly. Talk about how fast news travel). She went ahead to inform us that the ‘tipper’ left in a helicopter after tipping.

I could feel the burn at the back of my eyes. I will not cry, I said to myself. But I was no longer my happy, vivacious self. In fact, some of my friends were so jealous that they hoped the guy who was tipped would get robbed on the train home (hahahahah! I’m sure it was just the monster speaking through them. They really are nice people).

Just when I thought I could write the day off as my worst day ever, I had the best train ride ever. Remember in my previous post when I said most Londoners do not talk on the tube? Well, they actually talk a lot and even sing when they have had one too many drinks. It was a very jolly good ride home as my side of the train was engulfed in happy jokes and our own hilarious version of ‘The Voice’.

Although the monster struck me at my most vulnerable, I am proud to say I did not stay on the floor bleeding. I decided that I will use his experience as a motivational tool for me like Templar says in Rule 14 (of his book, The Rules of Life). It just means everything is possible. This experience serves as a reminder to me that I am still human. I was ashamed of myself the next morning of course (horrified is actually the word). But like Templar said, it is alright to feel regret but dump it quickly and move forward.

As always, I would love to hear your views and comments. Have you ever felt jealous? If yes, tell me what you did about it :)

Love

Sharon