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Big Sister Duties

I have a little brother, for those of you who do not know. That’s him, the tablet (discussing this later) and myself here.

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I like having a little brother, I wouldn’t trade that for the world but there are days when I wish I wasn’t the oldest.

In Nigerian households, age determines pretty much everything. I’m the eldest grandchild on both sides of the equation. You know how it is, all your little cousins are instructed to call you auntie and if your relatives are really Nigerian (thankfully, this isn’t the case for me), the little boys will start prostrating for you and the little girls will start curtseying too. It is mortifying, let me just tell you that. I am an activist when it comes to kids doing that to me. I’m still a kid as well so who am I to demand respect in that way?

This is someone’s engagement day and this is what Nigerian men prostrating looks like. It is elaborate. Image courtesy – see image (duh)

 

Anyway, being the oldest can be a drag some days. You are the pinnacle, you are the golden example. You slip up and you are partially responsible for the (possible) failures of those who fall behind you. It’s a big deal. If your youngers are messing up, you need to get their asses back in line because you’re letting the troop down. When I finally got in to university, I got phone calls from everyone, congratulatory messages flew in from all directions. My uncles reminded me that I was indeed the oldest and I was leading all my cousins down the right path. No pressure.

Yesterday, my brother f*cked up. My dad bought him a tablet for his birthday this year and within a month, this brother of mine cracked the screen. It still works but it has this black blob right in the middle, pretty unsightly. My dad recently remembered that he had bought it for him and was asking why he hardly used it anymore, considering it was only a few months old. My brother would slyly dodge that bullet and say it was dead. Well, yesterday my dad wasn’t having that. He wanted to see it. Let it charge all day but he wanted to see it switched on. Long story short, my brother switched it on, my mum saw the black blob and asked what it was, my brother had the guts to say it was a customisation he’d done to the screen. If it wasn’t such an intense moment, I might have rolled on the floor with laughter. Soon after, my dad pointed to me and this followed:

“Your sister doesn’t lie! She might give you the run-around but she’ll get to the truth eventually! Why can’t you be more like your sister? Bolade (my Nigerian name, by the way. Pronounced bo-la-dey), talk to your brother and find out what his problem is.”

Am I Crimewatch, people?

I like being a big sister, I do. I am protective of my brother because, after all, he’s the only sibling I have and I do hate seeing him in trouble but jeez. This must be a problem a lot of fellow older siblings face. I can complain about this from morning ‘til night but this is a just a responsibility for life, I suppose.

But besides that, I have a cold and I’m feeling rather slow, if you couldn’t already tell. I need to beat this before Christmas Day or how am I going to chow down effectively? Pray for me, please. I can’t not induce myself into a state of comatose due to over-eating this year. It breaks the tradition.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

No rant, this itself feels rather rant-y.

Oh and my exam on Friday went alright. My friend caught someone cheating throughout the whole thing. Just casually scrolling on his phone under the desk. Best believe, she reported his hairy self.

Song of the Week – Uptown Funk (Featuring Bruno Mars) – Mark Ronson (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPf0YbXqDm0) & G.O.M.D – J. Cole (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MY2P8cURs5s)

Quote of the Week –

https://twitter.com/AZEALIABANKS/status/545840093484044288

I am Me, Not My Chesticles.

I’ve wanted to talk about this for a really long time but I felt it was too soon to be thrust upon you. However, we’re 8 weeks in, I think I’m allowed to discuss this.

Disclaimer: this has nothing (okay, maybe a little bit) to do with recent events (yes, point at yourself, I’m referring to you) so don’t think this is one my shadeful, judging lollipops to you. This is just an outcry for help of understanding the immense interest, or more like, the obsession with breasts. If you can’t handle the word ‘breasts’, you shouldn’t be on the internet, let alone this blog, okay?

When God made me, He decided that when I grew older, my breasts would also grow with me. He also decided to make boys completely fascinated with breasts right around the time that I (and a lot of other endowed girls out there) were beginning to accept and deal with their assets. I don’t go around shoving my breasts under everyone’s nose, I don’t confine myself to the wonders of turtle/bottle necks either. I wear what I want but I am decent. I wear tank tops under certain items of clothing, I wear camisoles, I am continuously tugging my tops up to prevent epic disasters. I even invested in a pair of minimiser bras from Marks and Spencer’s recently. I can’t help it if I lean over and you see Paris from inside my shirt. Leaning is a fundamental exertion. Let me live. There are times when I myself am awed by my own cleavage but I keep those moments to myself, mostly. I’m no Kim Kardashian, as you can probably tell.

I refer to my breasts in many varying ways such as boobs (even though I use this the most, it’s one of my most hated words. it’s just so… irritating), jugs (only to my nearest and dearest), breasts and my all-time favourite, chesticles. I call them chesticles because there is power in this word. If a man stood before me right now and we were trying to engage in a somewhat meaningful conversation about the controversy over the reception of Ebola in the diaspora, for example, and my eyes continuously fleeted between his own eyes and his testicles, wouldn’t he be itching to grab me by the chin and tell me through gritted teeth, “Hey, eyes here. Eyes no go there.” Well, that’s exactly how I feel when I attempt to converse with many a member of the opposite sex. My eyes are on my face, right above my nose. They are not dangling from my chest. I don’t know, am I missing something here? Am I unaware of how my own breasts appear? Are my breasts the first to have ever existed? I’m starting to think that if one day, I had a mastectomy, I wouldn’t have nearly half as many boys attempting to speak to me. I really think my breasts are like a beacon for some of these aforementioned boys. It’s sad. I am a human being, you know. My bra size doesn’t determine how much of a person I am. I like to think I’m a good person, I’m intelligent (ish), I’m friendly, I can cook (ish), I like to read, I like sleep, I like buying things on Amazon compulsively, I like listening to music, I like blogging. All these things have no effect or are not affected by my breasts. So what is the problem?

I get it: there’s something arousing about them. There’s something sexual about them. There’s something there that makes the boys go loco. It offsets this burning sensation to mention my breast size, just to make sure I am aware of the power I possess on my chest. Hey, I do it too. I ogle at fellow ladies every now and again, I comment on their breasts. Even my friends do it too. They tell me how mahoosive my chest is. I can deal with people telling me or commenting on my chest size, it’s the very loose equivalent of commenting on how large someone’s eyes/nose/mouth is. It’s just another body part. But, sex is associated with breasts. And because of this, a lot of boys make it their mission to acquire information and visual data on as many heavily endowed girls out there as they can possibly get their hands on, no pun intended. And I’m done with that sh*t. No one should expect something like that from me or any other girl out there who isn’t parading their chesticles like a pay-per-view channel. Things like that equate to vulnerability, intimacy. I’m not just about to throw things like that to anyone. I don’t care how big a deal it is or isn’t to you. Even if I did want to share such moments, it would only be with my lover. My absolute lover. Or my mother when she walks in on me in the shower but you get the idea.

So, to my male readers and even some female readers (yes, I see you), think before you ask for that picture or before you comment on her chesticles in a way that you know will immediately eject her from her comfort zone with you. Think about the effects, short and long-term, on both her and yourself. Do you really want to wreck a friendship/budding romance/whatever because you couldn’t control what’s in that mind of yours or those boxers/briefs/whatever? Think about it. Think long and hard.

Remember ladies, you choose what defines you. If you want to be known for your chesticles, here’s a fist pump in agreement. If you don’t, here’s a fist pump in agreement. Don’t let someone call you prudish or uptight or even outlandish because of what you want for yourself.

Do you, honey boo-boo.

Mini Rant of the Week: Please look after our planet. I’ve watched enough films to know the people who write these things probably know more about the fate of Earth than I do. Recycle, turn your lights off when you’re not in the room, turn the switches on your plugs off, don’t throw food away if you can’t finish it. Save it for later or give it to someone who will happily eat it for you. Walk, ride a bike, take public transport more often. Interstellar (the movie) not only confused the hell out of my mind but it’s scared me sh*tless as well. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to meet an untimely death and I would like my children and at least my children’s children to live in a fairly decent world. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the generations to come. And if you really couldn’t give 2 sh*ts about humans in general, do it for the polar bears because who doesn’t love a polar bear?

Song of the Week: Miss Amor – Azealia Banks (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6SgqYMl5R8)

Quote of the Week: “My feelings don’t disappear but I’ve learnt, with age, to use them for the greater good.” – Unknown.

Georgina x

Do You Even Blog, Bro?

I was watching a vlog in the presence of someone who lives under a rock last week and this was the conversation that sparked up:

“What are you watching?”
“A vlog.”
“A what? A v-log?”
“It’s a video blog. Wow.”
“I don’t even understand how people blog let alone vlog or whatever you call it.”
“I blog.”
“Right.”

But that last comment wasn’t made with a straight face, it was made with the dirtiest side eye I have ever been on the receiving end of. It felt like a big stomp on my blogger’s glow. I’ve gotten this response a lot of times before. There’s always that semi-gasp and hand on chest/cheek/any other appropriate body part accompanied by “YOU BLOG? WHAT DO YOU BLOG ABOUT?” I mean, damn, is it because I don’t emit blogger pheromones? I’m guessing a lot of bloggers get this frequently. I’m also guessing this is why a lot of bloggers don’t openly say they are actually bloggers. People just don’t expect you to be a blogger. You yourself don’t feel the need to wear your blogger crown so proudly. There has to be some uniform or code of blogging conduct that I’m not aware of because I just don’t get it. I mean, what is a blogger supposed to look like? Is that even a politically correct statement? Will I ever stop asking so many rhetorical questions? The list goes on…

Despite how much I am against stereotyping people into specific archetypes based on what they do or how they appear (exhale), I do it all the time. I am such a hypocrite, I’m sure you are aware of this by now but hey, someone’s got to not practice what they preach. So, if not me, who else?

I am an epic self-proclaimed judger. Let that sink in. Whether I’ve known you for 2 seconds or 2 years, I am judging you on every little thing you do. I do it unconsciously. I do it anywhere, anytime. You name it, I’m judging. I know, “Only God can judge” but I seriously cannot help it. It is a genetic disorder found on my 22nd chromosome called judgetitis.

If I see that a person likes posting pictures of their God-given assets – also known as thirst traps  –  and they’ve got a lot of followers on social media platforms and they don’t have any meaningful reason to have such a large following, I’m thinking they’re a hoe, straight up. I don’t care if they are male or female (or even both, or even neither), no one is exempt from my watchful, judging gaze. Seconds later, I may come to the conclusion that they’re actually not a hoe but that is my automatic instinct. If I see someone on a train, frantically but delicately rolling out a cigarette, I’m thinking they’re an addict of some sorts. If I see someone with an eccentric fashion sense, nose piercing and considerably intriguing hairstyle, I’m assuming they are some sort of blogger or creative entity. If someone cannot tell the difference between their, there and they’re, I’m assuming there’s a problem. But, you get the idea.

If anyone saw me, I don’t even think I’d make a slight impact on their peripheral vision let alone their instinct to judge or their she must be a blogger impulse. “I don’t look like a blogger, I don’t behave like a blogger.” I’m half expected to have a hoop halfway through my nose, a bush full of natural hair and be constantly decked out in something made by a high street brand in conjunction with a high end fashion designer (no shade to the Alexander Wang x H&M collaboration. I just wouldn’t want to walk around with the word “Wang” emblazoned on my ass, you feel me?)

Well, I’ve come to say f*ck that. F*ck the boundaries and the so-called expectations of what many people in your certain skillset are doing. Come to conclusions on anyone and anything you see, assume as you wish, throw your shadeful judges out of your judging basket like you’re giving out free lollipops but don’t let that initial opinionated thought of yours indicate how you treat others (note to self) or how you perceive anything they do. Don’t care if anyone’s initial perception of you has any true indication of who you really are. Do you, honey boo-boo.

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P.S. The picture doesn’t have anything to do with the post, I just wanted to show off my new glasses. I apologise for the lack of creative integrity. It was the best I could do at the time. I tried taking a pretty decent selfie today but I had so many layers on, headphones, the weather wasn’t attractive so it just didn’t happen. K, bye x

Mini Rant of the Week: I cannot stand people who are rude to customer assistants. No one is entitled to be an asshole just because they are paying for a service. Yes, there can be some employees who seriously deserve a backhand slap but if they are genuinely just doing their job and trying to help you out, why would anyone repay that with utter rudeness? Carry your bad mood and your foul mouth and bang it out against a brick wall or something. That store assistant’s job description doesn’t say “Put up with some grumpy goat’s bad attitude”. They are not paid to cope with your crap. Shout out to all the trainees and floor workers of every McDonald’s, KFC, 99p Store and every other store out there who are faced with abuse on a daily basis. You’re not paid enough. You guys are the real MVPs.

Quote of the Week: “We might not change the world but we’re gonna manipulate it, I hope you’re participating.” – Ab-Soul

Song(s) of the Week: If you follow me on Twitter, I think you would have noticed my incessant tweeting about Broke With Expensive Taste, Azealia Banks’ debut album. It is audio crack cocaine. I have a rather different taste in music, let’s just say, so this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. But try something new. Listen to the previews on iTunes here – https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/broke-with-expensive-taste/id935819478
You can thank me later.

Also, this remix is life-enhancing and I don’t even like remixes. Make sure you either listen to it with good headphones or very loudly, you really need to hear this. You just have to: Bill$ Bill$ Bill$ (ARVFZ Remix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71mqTDfeJQg

Georgina x

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events

Fun fact: did you know it takes 6 weeks for a habit to form (my brother told me this so it must be true)? I’m bringing this up because this is the 6th post = 6th week of posting therefore you and I should have developed a habit: me posting every Monday and you coming back every Monday to read! But… come to think of it, I think you have to carry out the almost-habit every day for 6 weeks in order for the habit to form… never mind.

Just to clarify, I don’t write the actual posts on blog day. I write them as the week goes by and somehow, there always seems to be a general theme that crops up in almost every single one of those seven days. This week, the theme was really prominent but I wanted you guys to see how my “emotions” about said theme changed. It’s pretty magical. Here we go:

Tuesday: 6 weeks in and I’m already feeling suicidal. By suicidal, I mean in terms of my university life but in the academic aspect of it all. Not my life life, if you catch my drift. I truly felt like I was going to hurl myself off the nearest cliff today because nothing made sense. Lectures are one thing but actually applying that stuff is another thing. Has a lecturer ever stood over you and asked you to think of the biggest number you could think of and the first thing that came to mind was the number 10? I mean, what? The biggest number isn’t even a number, it’s a word (or a symbol if you’re fancy), it is infinity. I felt so inadequate, so small. The weight of that lecturer’s PhD was literally weighing down my soul, I swear. I felt like £27,000 was being flushed down the metaphorical toilet of wasted opportunities because there was no way I was going to make anything above a pass (which is 40%) and there was no way I was going to get a job with this noose of a degree around my neck and there was no way in hell that I could survive another day on this course. There is something about your lecturer looking you in the eye that completely disarms you. It doesn’t help if the know-it-alls surrounding you are spewing the answers out like they are simply expelling carbon dioxide from their lungs. I am just in above my head. And since we’re on the topic of life, in a way, I want to talk about the personal bit of life too. I wish I had a little more freedom. Now, I don’t want to be that girl going out every other night, shouting “squad” on Snapchat with a bunch of people I barely even know, waking up with a hangover from hell next to someone I don’t even know. No. But damn, can I live a little? I want to live alone, I want to be independent and all that jazz. But, in all honesty, I like knowing that when I come home from a crippling day at the office (haha), my mum has made dinner, I don’t have any flatmates who will piss me off even more than I already am and I’ll be surrounded by people who actually care about how my day went and who won’t ostracise me if I don’t want to partake in any of their gang-banging activities for the evening. It’s a big catch-22 (I don’t think that is the right contextual use of the phrase but I’ve been dying to use it so just act like it makes perfect sense).

Wednesday-Thursday: laying low, sleeping late, waking up early, as you do.

Friday Afternoon: So, I think I’ve found the answer to all my questions. The answer lies in Pharmacology. It is basically my course but a whole less chemistry and maths with a lot more biology. Where has this course been all my life? I am actually stoked about this, I feel like this will help me out and make my life a lot easier. Nothing is actually straightforward, so it seems. Everything is changing.

Friday Night: I ran the idea by my parents. Rather enthusiastically, they told me to really really really think about sticking with the course I am studying now. My dad gave me a nugget of wisdom that I will carry in my mind forever: “nothing in life is easy. If anything is actually easy, there’s a problem.” And boy, does that make me reconsider my whole existence. I want to have a bright future and I want to succeed and I just realised that I don’t want to be a cop-out. I don’t want to be a giver-upper. I need to realise that the tools for me to overcome the obstacles I face are within me. The only thing I need to do is continue to thank God for putting all these people in my life who keep tapping me on my shoulder saying “yoo-hoo, you’re going this way, girlfriend.”

And that, my friends, is how my problem was solved. Told you it was cool.

Mini Rant of the Week: I’ve been an iPhone user and Apple worshipper for like, ever, but I finally jumped off that train and got myself a Samsung. The phone is pretty amazing but it’s so big and because it’s so big, I’m losing my grammatical accuracy. I’m one of those annoying people who text with full words (with the occasional use of WTF, WTH, LOL, LMAO, TTYL and LMFAO) and proper punctuation including actual full stops at the end of each sentence. People know me for this. I was texting an old friend on the day I got my phone and they actually said “The only Georgina I know remembers to put full stops at the end of every sentence so this can’t be her.” It’s practically my trademark. So it makes my blood boil knowing that I physically cannot get my fingers to press that full stop button without feeling like I’m going to fracture a ligament in my thumb or something. Stress.

Song of the Week: I couldn’t bring myself to choose one song for this week because I’ve (re)discovered some good music in the oddest places (thanks, Shazam) so here’s a List of Mismatched Songs for the Week:

Lividup – Disclosure (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRYQ9lecKi8)

All I Need – Mediate (https://soundcloud.com/mediatemusic/all-i-need-1)

Resonance Feat. Talay Riley – Luvbug (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEfYMcmIils)

U KNOW – Prince (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeHDFWKWjAE)

Ordinary People – John Legend (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIh07c_P4hc)

This Head I Hold – Electric Guest (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVSiwMVaKe4)

Quote of the Week: My dad’s nugget of wisdom (see main post)

Georgina x

Plot Twist: It Doesn’t Go As Planned

So last week’s post hit home with a lot of you guys which I’m super happy about. It’s good to know that there are a lot of people in the same boat as me when it comes to matters of the heart.
However, my number one fan (you know who you are) gave me some solid, ground-shatteringly good advice that I can’t help but share: “stop looking for love.”

It seems like a no-brainer but you’d be surprised at how unconsciously I do just that. Now, I’m not parading the corridors of my university with a banner screaming “I’m single. Take me now” but I fantasise (in the clean way, obviously). I daydream a lot about what my future holds and who it will contain and how my mystery man will look and how many kids we’ll have and all that stuff. Such daydreaming is healthy, I guess, but not to the point where almost any eligible bachelor is scrutinised heavily and then you mentally score him out of 10, depending on how close he matches up to your mind’s idea of “this is who you will spend your life with”. I’m guilty of this. I do it every day but I’m going to have to take up this advice because of another one of those clichéd taglines that inevitably affect us all: nothing goes as planned!

Honesty hour, I didn’t want to study pharmaceutical science. I’d always wanted to be a dental hygienist. Actually no, I wanted to be a dentist. Well, I wanted to be a doctor. Really, my first dream job ever was to be a singer but that ship sailed pretty quickly, naturally. With a dental-orientated career path in mind, I planned everything out and it all had to go to plan or else I was doomed. But hey, sh*t happens. You can’t be left holding on to a dream that obviously isn’t going to happen because it simply isn’t going to happen.

So, you improvise. You work with what you have.

I’m kind of adopting the “going with the flow” mentality because it doesn’t set me up for failure. I’ve come to truly appreciate people who say they don’t know what they want to do or who they want to be because it’s okay to not know. It’s okay to not have your life mapped out. I used to think such people didn’t want to live a good life but they turned out to be doing the smartest thing ever: they could never truly feel disappointment because they didn’t set themselves up for it. It’s good to have goals, don’t get me wrong, but I think it’s a lot healthier to not set your judgement on whether you’ve failed in life on whether you attain these goals or not. Right now, I don’t know what job I can get with my degree, I don’t know what type of life I’ll live after university, I don’t even know if I’ll end up with this particular degree, I’m trying not to think about who I’ll end up with and quite frankly, I’m not that worried. When I reach those hurdles, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to get my leg over it.

I just want you to know that life is not what it seems, it is not as clear cut as you hope. So, if it does all seem like a mess and you don’t know what to do next, just let it be. Let what you are so hell-bent on controlling be. Everything happens for a reason and there’s a reason for your life taking an odd left on the highway of it all. Ride with the tide and you’ll be amazed at where it takes you.

To end this amazingly inspirational blog post, here’s a quote from the flawlessly flawless Beyoncé: “Enjoy your life, it’s short. And that’s the message.”

Mini Rant of the Week – This is going to sound rude but oh well: why does inspiration always seem to hit certain people in Starbucks? Why? Why does it so conveniently hit those writers that are sat, perfectly poised at the coveted window seat with their MacBook Airs’, notebooks sprawled with messy notes and of course, the Starbucks mug covered in lipstick stains just so you know they’ve been there for a while. I don’t understand it. It’s like the ultimate writer’s cliché. Are the employees at Starbucks instructed to sprinkle something in the air that attacks people who are armed and ready with their laptops in their bags? It irritates me. It makes me feel that some of the integrity of writing is lost because people will automatically think you came up with your total gem of written gold in the window seat at Starbucks with a MacBook Air in front of you.
And before you ask, this little explosion hit me on the train… just after I’d left Starbucks.

Song of the Week – I’ve been replaying the On The Run Tour version of Beyoncé’s “Countdown” for the past 7 days. It’s too damn good.

Quote of the Week – see main blog post.

My Take On Boys, Perhaps?

I know, I know, 3 weeks in and I’m already talking about boys. Sue me, it has to be done. I’m not here to preach about the bad side of dating, I’m not here to tell anyone to abstain, become a nun, close your eyes whenever an attractive being walks past, no. I’m just here to speak my mind and this week, I’ve got boys on my mind.

People always say university is the place to make lifelong relationships in the friendly aspect and otherwise. I’m not even slightly ashamed to say I depended on university to help me meet people, men in particular. Yes, I said men. There is a difference between a man and a boy but it seems to me, university is just another breeding ground for boys. I still haven’t met any Nigerians, by the way. It’s making me spiral closer and closer to insanity as it’s making me lose bucket loads of hope.

I’m surrounded by blossoming relationships and there’s a pattern emerging: there seems to be quite large age gaps between the lovebirds. One of the newest friends I’ve made at university is engaged and she’s 19, her fiancé is 24. I think for my particular age group, boys just aren’t ready for the level of commitment a LOT of girls my age (or should I say women) are yearning for. As always, males and females at the age of 18 aren’t on the same psychological level yet and so us ladies are left, flailing our arms around, beckoning for our male counterparts to hurry the f*ck up and get to where we are. I think I’m targeting the wrong age group but I don’t want to date someone 5 years older than me: I just know they will be patronising and almost parent-like and that’s the biggest no-no in my rather short list of requirements in whom I date.

Am I too young to be wanting such serious relationships? I’m not even interested in getting engaged right now, I just want a serious boyfriend/manfriend, damn it. Is there something wrong with me for expecting the total embodiment of my dreams to magically cross paths with me on my university campus? I guess it’s okay to dream… but there’s only so much dreaming can fulfil. In all honesty, I miss being in a relationship and the fact that I’m enveloped by so many happy and healthy ones makes me jealous. There, I said it.

I’m the kind of person who devotes themselves to anything that I’m passionate about: be it a relationship, be it a project, be it Beyoncé. I guess I just love being in love or better yet, I love the idea of love. I’ve always been that person to crush really hard on people ever since I knew what a crush was. I’m a sucker for romance, I’m a sucker for love but as always, the harder you love, the more agonising the heartbreak.

I also think a lot of factors are at hand, hindering the average 18-year-old boy’s ability to want to “settle down”. I’m just going to mention 3. We don’t have all day:

  1. The media: I mean, “bad b*tches” seem to be in ample supply nowadays and some boys are dumb enough to actually want those kind of girls. But see, they’d rather chase a couple of girls like that for now than have one girl who’s probably not that outlandish but guaranteed to make them happy in the long-run. It’s so unfortunate.
  2. Immaturity: this doesn’t apply to just boys, oh no. There are girls out there who just serve as the exceptions to the rule and somehow, every bloody time, they seem to get their clutches on the good guys before us. They end up tainting the guys so much, they are either so bitter, they will do absolutely anything to hurt other good girls or so disinterested in girls, they won’t give anyone a second glance. Sigh.
  3. My idea of a serious relationship differs drastically from theirs. Enough said.

I feel like this post is full of contradictions and ramblings that make close to no sense whatsoever. I could blame this on the fact that I’m heavily intoxicated by Benylin cough medicine and concentrated doses of Obas oil but actually, I’ve just been in a “someone, love me” mood all week and this post was the only way to get it out of my system. Forgive me, readers.

Mini Rant of the Week – I don’t want to be one of those people who think every single action towards them involves some form of racial discrimination but I feel like I should document this as I might be on to something… Just in case.

So, one of my lecturers was introducing himself to the class and this line of talk began:

“University is about having your big boy trousers on.” *Looks at me* “Do you have your trousers on?”
“Um, yes.”
*Class laughs*
“Stand up and show me then.”
“Um, no.”
“Do you have a skirt on?”
“…”
“*KISSES TEETH*”

FYI, I was actually wearing trousers that day. Now, kissing one’s teeth showcases annoyance, impatience or even a display of attitude amongst Africans and Afro-Caribbeans mainly. He was very white. So, what I didn’t get is why he decided to do that to me in particular. He didn’t do it to anyone else. He did however, call an Asian boy “bruv” but I guess that was because the boy in mention kept saying “innit”. He’s also the boy who irritates my soul in all my classes (I’ll most likely rant about him next week). The more I think about it, the more it irritates me and I keep finding underlying meanings to what he could have meant. Either way, I didn’t find it funny at all or even necessary and I’m not looking forward to his lectures.

Song of the Week – Jhené Aiko – Spotless Mind (https://soundcloud.com/albsoon/jhene-aiko-spotless-mind)

Quote of the Week – Since I’m in a sentimental mood, why not quote from my favourite book in the whole wide world: “Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting.” – Audrey Niffenegger (excerpt from The Time Traveler’s Wife)

Georgina x

P.S. Random fact about me: I’d rather lose my page in a book than doggy-ear the page or use a bookmark. Odd, no?

And So It Begins…

Hi there 🙂

I already sound like I’m trying to sell you something, oh well.

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That’s me, the summer of 2014 in Amsterdam (it was amazeballs). I don’t usually look that put together, trust me. I’m a hot mess half the time.

I’m first of all a citizen of the world but I am British by birth, Nigerian by blood and a healthy mix at heart. I’m currently an 18 year old.

I’ve always wanted to blog as I love to write. I find inspiration in the oddest things but lately, I’ve been suffering from the world’s worst case of writer’s block. Ironically, I figured the best cure for my yearlong mental seizure would be to make a blog but I wanted it to be special and meaningful. The only way I could think of making it special was by publishing my first post on my first day of university. So original, right?

University – to me – is pretty much one of the biggest steps I will ever take in life, along with moving out, getting married, my first job related to my career and so on. I want this blog to be like a gift from present me to future me. I want to look back and see some kind of development in myself or something along those lines. However, I’m already not enjoying this whole university experience: I’m staying at home (one of the biggest bummers I could ever attribute with university life. Ever.) And the general population of my class are just beyond what I had hoped to be amongst (Hint: I think there are only 5 black people in a class of almost 150) but luckily for me, I can mingle with almost any pringle so it’s all hakuna… for now.

I keep a diary but there was something that keeping a personal diary didn’t offer compared to making a blog – I couldn’t share it with people. Now, when I say people, I mean people of the world, people I wouldn’t readily have the opportunity to speak to on a daily basis. The internet is a powerful thing: it brings people together and boom, you’ve started a discussion. Do you know how crazy social media is? How insane it is that people on a social platform are partly responsible for groups of people coming together and becoming friends? God knows how many times I’ve met people who watch the same YouTubers as me and how many friendships have blossomed based on that alone. Also, keeping a blog means I have to commit to it: I can go for weeks without writing anything in my diary but by making this blog, I have to be consistent because hey, I hope people actually read this thing and come back to read again!

So, starting from today, the 29th of September 2014, I solemnly swear to publish a blog post once a week, every week. I will commit, I will persevere no matter how busy I claim to be, how many views I get or how insignificant my life may seem at the time. So help me, God.

This blog will be personal, it will be heartfelt and most likely emotional but I want it to be real. I will rant, I might swear, I hope I won’t name-drop or slut-shame anyone but most of all, I will say it all. I hope by the time I reach a certain stage in my life (not sure about what this stage is yet), I’ll be able to look back on this post and say I have touched people and I have started a discussion with the world and it’ll all be worthwhile.

Until next week!

Love, Georgina x

P.S. I will have little “add-ons” with each blog post and I’d like to start with my song of the week and my quote of the week. I might add more as time goes on but this is all I’ve got for now!

Song of the Week – Papaoutai (Pentatonix Cover): it’s amazeballs, trust me. (YouTube link – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgFRkBeJBGY)

Quote of the Week – “i am mine. before i am anyone else’s.” – in