Tag Archives: retrospect

Wading

I feel like I have to give a disclaimer before I get a call asking if I'm okay. I couldn't sleep and at precisely 0313, I did what I've been putting off for so long – I wrote. This is what came of it.

And I’m here. Reading our story and feeling so fucking overwhelmed by the utter dysfunction of it all, wondering how I managed to find love in you, in your absurdity. I can’t help but feel you’ve broken me forever and you won’t ever understand because it doesn’t matter half as much to you as it does to me. Nobody will understand. Nobody has been in love with you the way I was in love with you.

I'm floating in you, in what I want you to be. You can see me, clear as day and you know what I want yet you deny me heaven. And I deny myself by clinging on to the idea that is so evidently not you. Either I drown here and the death of me will open your eyes to the actuality of what you've done or I save myself, never to wade in you again but know you're still here, being what I don't need you to be – not mine.

I'm learning and desperately trying to unlearn the mechanisms I have used to keep myself together in this time of healing. I let myself cry, I let myself think, I let myself grieve and I realise I'm living a life that no longer exists to appease you.

Finality isn't what I thought it would be. It didn't bring about the coldness of the loneliness I know I need. I feel open. I am not new but I am.

I’d like to say thank you to everyone who encouraged me to start this again. From the people who asked me if I was still writing, to those who asked me to start writing again and to those who simply said they missed my blog. It makes me teary-eyed to think I’ve touched people enough for them to notice my absence and to care to ask me to try this all again. It means the world to me.

Not Built To Confront You

I really don’t like confrontation or tension. I know some people live for it, they live for the drama, they live for the buzz, they relish in the discomfort of others. I am a big ball of nerves; everything and anything will unsettle me. I was knitting my way to nostalgia one evening and I just remembered all the times I could have royally turned all the way up but the little chicken that I was just wouldn’t rise to it. Here are two of those times.

It was Valentine’s Day season and I was around 14/15. That year, we had this secret admirer post box where everyone could write little love notes to someone they liked and on Valentine’s Day, the messages would be distributed accordingly. I wrote a note and thought nothing of it. However, the day before the letters were going to be handed out, there was a lot of murmuring whenever I was in a vicinity until finally, someone several school years below me came to tell me this girl in my class had gone into the box, found my letter and read it out to everyone who would lend an ear to hear. I remember feeling wonderment initially. I found it completely bizzare and somehow endearing but then humiliation took hold, I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have felt ashamed, he was going to find out eventually but maybe it was because the crucial element of secrecy had been totally violated and stomped on.

Well, I confronted the girl in question and she vehemently denied all the allegations, expectedly. She was the only one who could have done it because she was the only one who was around at the time of the crime who knew my handwriting, see? I left the situation but it still haunted me, I couldn’t be in the same room as her at the same time, I avoided eye contact with her, it was so hard for me to just ignore all the tension. It was thick and sticky, just hanging over our heads like a pail of honey. The boy in question didn’t even see the whole mess as a big deal, he just found it cute. It got to a point where I had a dream about it and it was such a messed up yet visually stunning dream and I remember it vividly: my tormentor and I were in this fenced-off patch of land surrounded by oak trees, the sky was clear and beautiful, it was dark, the leaves rustled, the stars were bright and there was a breeze in the air, it was just us. We started shouting at each other, incoherently at first then Jacob from Twilight style, we literally morphed into white horses. I’m not even shitting you, we literally transformed into stallions and we were neighing our asses off, hot air streaming, tails flaying, everything. She was about to charge at me and I galloped away into the distance. I woke up at that point and I just stared at the wall in my bedroom, telling myself that enough was enough. The next day, I walked up to her, looked her right in the eye and said, “look, it’s all trivial, can we just get over this and move on?” and we hugged it out.

My heart isn’t built to hold a grudge. Even if I haven’t done something wrong, the issue will still weigh down on me until I solve it. I’m becoming more resilient with age but back then, I couldn’t hack it as you will definitely be able to tell by this next occurrence.

Assembly time in boarding school was a mess. It was prayer chant after prayer chant, national anthems and pledges, some guy with the most awful moustache screaming at over 500 of us, all lined up just accepting our fate. This particular balls-less moment of mine happened days after my 12th birthday and menstruation was mother nature’s gift to me. I hadn’t worked out the kinks yet but I was in pain and there was no way I was going to stand all the way through the useless morning rituals whilst my uterus conspired against me. There was a policy, you see: if you were ill, you could sit down during assembly and the health prefect would come round to interrogate you. If your reason seemed legit, you could sit and be the envy of all the other poor souls who hopped from one foot to the other in agony. The health prefect that year was evil incarnate. She was like 6’3”; she carried around a bust that would have been so magical to lay my head on. She permanently scowled. She frightened me to no end. She made people cry; she spoke pidgin when she was lecturing the hell out of us juniors; she demanded to be called Senior *her name* and if you dared to omit the prefix, you were doomed. God, I have suffered in this life.

Anyway, my ass was firmly planted and I waited. She got to me, towering over me, peering down at me over her goliath chest and growled “what’s wrong with you?” I remember shrinking underneath her glare; I don’t think I could ever forget just how small I felt in that moment. I managed to say “I have period pains.” She leaned in even closer, turned her ear towards me and said “Eh?” and I repeated myself, a decibel louder. She gave me a cold look, eyed me up and down and asked how old I was. My brain to mouth pathway was well and truly frozen because before my body clock had time to reboot itself and consult my memory, I blurted out “11.” Without a second’s hesitation, she snapped her fingers, casually told me to “get up” and walked to the next victim. I was dumbfounded. I was utterly stupefied. I couldn’t believe I had just said that, I couldn’t believe I had forgotten my own age. With retrospect, I realise it wasn’t just I who had massively cocked up that whole moment, it was the godforsaken prefect too. How is she deciding girls who are below a certain age cannot have periods? What if I was genuinely 11, genuinely having a battle of worlds inside me? Every time I’ve replayed that moment in my head, I’ve always had myself tell the prefect to do one. I’ve always told her to get her facts straight and her life sorted out as she clearly doesn’t know shit. I’ve always had myself remain seated and dared her to move me. But alas, in that moment, 7 years ago, I just stared at the back of her mammoth-like body until she turned back to face me, screaming “are you deaf? I said get up.” And I walked to the back of the line, on the verge of tears, shame overwhelming me.

I’m really not here to be anyone’s enemy; I’m not here to make anyone’s life miserable. If I could make everyone happy, I would. I just want to sprinkle my fairy dust of love and life on us all. But let a bitch try me. I joke, please don’t try me.

Song of the Week

I can rap this whole thing, honestly. #Throwbackkk

 

Georgina ❤

 

The Issue At Hand Evolves

I have been MIA for way too long, I know. I couldn’t think of what to write and I wasn’t even prepared to bullshit you or myself through something meaningless. They say time is the best answer to everything (they don’t, I’m just making it up as I go along) but that’s all I needed. I got my mojo back.

When we were little, there was always this curiousity towards the opposite sex. There was the whole “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” kind of thing. There was this air of innocent intrigue, keyword being innocent. From year 4-6 of primary school, the whole class used to chill together, we were all friends, good friends, friends that MSN’d together at 6pm until dinner was ready. I personally think I skipped the “boys have cooties” phase, I was born hormonally charged. I’ve always liked boys; I didn’t shy for them nor them me either. I think I had my first kiss when I was 8. I remember being so blasé when we’d play truth or dare as young’uns when first kisses were imagined by others and cherished on the top shelf of the mind of others, kept with all the much-loved memories. I didn’t see it as something monumental. It was just a thing. It was almost something I could do without.

Did your mum ever give you that talk that scared the shit out of you when you were younger? Did she ever tell you touching a boy could get you pregnant? I am so lucky for a mother who didn’t wreck my mind like that. I don’t think I knew the actual mechanics of sex until I was 11/12. Boarding school made sure I knew every single excruciating detail.

But what I’m saying is, when we were young, heterosexual friendships weren’t something that was out of the blue. They didn’t threaten anyone, really. Seeing a young boy and a girl being friends didn’t necessarily raise eyebrows as it does now. Drama evolves with time. It may have been around when we were prepubescent and it is ever so present now that we are grown but it’s just so much more in your face. The fact that you’re not meant to have a genuinely friendly friendship with a member of the opposite sex is fiercely shoved down your throat. You are almost taught to believe your platonic relationship is destined to become tinged by attraction eventually. Just wait on it.

For instance, let’s say your girlfriend/boyfriend has a best friend of the opposite sex. Wouldn’t you want to know everything about this supposed best friend; be everywhere when your significant other and said best friend are together and most importantly, know whether they are having/had sex or not? It is just impossible to have peace of mind when your lover has an opposite sex friend who was there before you. There’s no way you would allow for such a friendship to form when you are in the picture, no way in hell.

Once we reach a particular age, I’m going to say 16 as that is the legal age (stay safe, kids) even though I witnessed this and have lived this since I was 12 – platonic relationships between the sexes do not exist. You cannot have a friend who is a boy/girl and just leave it at that level. There is always that underlining tone of sex being whispered in the background even if you know in your heart that you’re not necessarily attracted to the person. I remember I was texting someone I had just met and we were in that phase of asking questions and once I got past the standard enquiries such as how old are you, where are you from, what university are you studying in, I went straight for “do you have a girlfriend?” even though I knew I wouldn’t ever be with this person in any way shape or form. Or the time I was texting someone whom I had again just met and less than an hour into our text-versation and establishing common ground, he was asking to meet with a wink emoji. The wink emoji. It’s almost primal, dare I say it. Maybe it’s our bodies’ way of ensuring we find a mate and by doing so, we are psychologically programmed to find a potential, secure said potential, establish then eliminate competition. Occasionally and unknowingly, you just catch yourself on the first step of this process and ask yourself “wait what? I don’t even like him/her, what the hell am I doing?”

I guess with age, what is important to me changes. I’m getting old, I am 19 years of age. Before I can blink, the –teen will be a distant memory. With age comes maturity; comes change that I can’t fend off even if I wanted to. My attention has shifted to what matters now but might not matter in 10 years. Tastes have changed, tolerance has changed. Things that mattered, don’t. Things that I couldn’t think about without feeling a huge swirl of emotion only make me smile now. Every little thing that happens to me is a lesson to be learnt, wisdom to be acquired, another gem to be kept. The drama evolves but it will always be around. Maybe when I’m 29, I’ll look back at this phase in time and laugh too.

Song of the Week

This song makes me bust a move.

 

And this tune tune tuneeee. This album came out the year I was born.

I will be back, promise. I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed you, blogosphere.

Until then,

Georgina ❤

 

Writing Everything Down

Hello everyone, hope you all had a restful and meaningful Easter.

I always say writing is therapeutic because it’s never let me down. There is only so much you can vocalize to another human being and besides that, their emotions will get in the way of whatever is it you’re trying to convey. They will judge, they will give their two cents, they will have a response that 9 times out of 10 won’t be what you want to hear or what you even asked for. That’s why writing is so needed: it’s just me and a blank canvas that won’t betray me or rebut anything I say, it will retain my words, hold them for me, display them back to me, speaking louder and wiser than anything else.

I say this because I keep a diary. I’ve always dabbled for as long as I can remember but it wasn’t until I was carted off to boarding school around 8 years ago that I took journal-keeping seriously, almost religiously. Again, my diary wouldn’t betray me. I could write about anything, about anyone and that would be it. To today, I still write in a diary, a little less frequently as before but this blog serves as another diary for me nowadays.

I’m always typing little things whenever they hit me, for posterity’s sake. Memory fails but once it’s been stored somewhere, that is it, it’s final. I was going through my laptop aimlessly, nostalgically and I found this document titled “Time” and you know what it was? I had written down my entire experience with my ex. Everything, from our first date, to our arguments, to what the sex was like, to when he broke my heart, every little thing. Everything that I could remember, I had written it down. Call me crazy, call me overly-attached, call me whatever. I am an investor: I invest my time, my feelings, my entire being into things or people that I love. Being in love with him was brand new, we experienced a lot of firsts together. I had never felt how I felt with him with anyone before and I know that at the time I wrote all of it down, I felt I would never achieve that feeling with anyone else. I read it over and I could feel the hurt through the screen, it was that tangible. I just had to share some of it, simply because it was like a gift from past me to now me: a me who is forever wanting and will, one day, be rewarded and I felt like that little narration of my first love was something that would benefit future me, one day. It could serve as a reminder of what was and what will never be, to keep me going and keep me hoping and to remind me that the love I have (hopefully) is all the more worth fighting for just so I won’t have to write something like this ever again.

“Unhappiness is a gulf. It is that patch of thin ice that you inevitably walk over during winter. It is clenched teeth during dreams that end as nightmares, sleepless nights that can only be ended by crying yourself to sleep. It is being unable to look at yourself in a mirror for months. It is not having the self-love or even self-belief that your picture is worth being taken. It is looking sullenly out a window or at nothing in particular while in deep thought wondering where the hell you went so horribly wrong. I was consumed with sorrow because I believed I just wasn’t good enough. I don’t want to say I was depressed but I didn’t smile with my eyes for almost 2 months. I watched the video tape of Christmas that year and I didn’t smile wholeheartedly once. Love is unrelenting in every aspect: when you’re in it, you are in it. There’s no side-stepping it or half-hugging it. When it breaks you, it doesn’t just break you – it destroys you, it disintegrates you. It ruins you from the inside, crumbling down everything you’d been so careful to not become so dependent on I don’t appreciate people saying “he’s just a boy, get over it” because it’s not just the boy, it’s what he brings about. I won’t be able to understand why God made it so that one person has the capacity to complete us but we still meet those who are almost the exact match to our missing jigsaw piece, even let them test their compatibility, let them wedge themselves into that space even though it is not a perfect match, but it is decent so we settle. But decent isn’t perfect, it isn’t good enough, so we are left exposed. We go through a lot in the name of love because it provides feelings and sensations like no other has ever been able to recreate. I know why girls take so much shit from their lovers. It’s very easy to say “if I were her, I’d leave”, hey, I say it all the time but anyone who reads this will say the exact same thing and wonder why I didn’t just get out intact but how could I? Love is everything yet life would be so much easier without it.”

Song of the Week

She needs to bless me with another album, pretty please.

Until next week…

Georgina ❤

Valentine’s Day

This is the first time in a long time that I haven’t even thought about giving a shit about Valentine’s Day. I’m not upset about me being a very single Pringle who is oh so ready to mingle (hey fellas), I’m not fussed about what other people are doing or their nauseating public displays of affection; all I’m hyped about are 2 things – I’m finally going to watch Fifty Shades of Grey that weekend AND the fact that I’m going to binge-play Sims for several hours. The simple things make me happy.

But, in the spirit of the season, I’m feeling nostalgic so I want to talk about the 2 times I actually received an actual gift on Valentine’s Day.

I think the first time, I was 14 or so. There was this guy in my class and it was practically an open secret that he had a thing for me but as always, I was in heavy denial. Let’s call him Dave. So, Dave was a sweet guy, actually. It’s always the sweet ones, right? He was tall and he always kept his hair low, socks white and his uniform neat. He had a chip in one of his front teeth but it wasn’t deforming. He had such a scruffy voice, not like a roadman but it was just deeper than what you’d expect if you saw him.

Anyway, Valentine’s Day rolls around, I’m sitting at my desk and he walks towards me with a bag and he says “happy Valentine’s day” and walks off. All his boys were outside, hailing him, as follows.

Can we appreciate Joe Biden losing it for a second?

Can we appreciate Joe Biden losing it for a second?

Then, all my girlfriends surround me and they’re screaming “open it, open it” and we see that he’s only gone and bought me a gazillion things:
A watch (it wasn’t the best watch but it was still a watch!)
2 novels (they were both romance novels, one was a bit more erotic than the other)
A bundle of sweets and chocolates
A card

I had never felt so bad in my life, simply because I didn’t feel like I deserved the gifts at all, I didn’t even like him romantically and he had gone and spent a small fortune on me. I couldn’t give them back either because I think that’s just awful: it’s even worse than not accepting a gift in the first place. So, I thanked him as best as I could but boy, things were awkward between me and him after that day. I haven’t spoken to him since I’d left the school. If you’re reading this, I’m sorry. We just weren’t meant to be.

The second occasion, I was 15, methinks.

This time, I was actually in a “relationship”. I don’t even think the situation was worthy enough to be called a relationship, honestly. I mean, we were 15 and we didn’t do what conventional 15-year old boyfriends and girlfriends did at the time (not now, kids are crazy now). We never even kissed in our whole 2 month long “fling”. We used to spend each and every lunch break in this treehouse, trying and seriously failing to make any conversation, I remember hinting so badly for him to freaking kiss me but he never did. We broke up via MSN. I remember him writing the date of when he asked me out and the date of that day like it was a funeral. That day was the 22nd of May, don’t ask me why I remember that. I know he’s reading this, aren’t you glad we didn’t prolong our situationship? It was a hot ass mess from the get-go anyway.

He got me this heart-shaped pillow that I think he doused in his perfume because it was like having him in my room, I could smell him all the damn time. Oh, and a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates which I ate whole-heartedly.

From then until now, I’ve either been single or gotten myself a boyfriend after Valentine’s Day. I think the whole idea of the day is cute but simultaneously stupid. You shouldn’t have to wait for one day of the year to be romantic with your significant other, it should be a routine, don’t you think so? To all the couples who are going to go almost bankrupt in an attempt to impress a bunch of people who don’t know/like you, have fun. To all the sensible couples, please teach these fools. Last but not least, to all the couples who are determined to share every second of you and your boo getting all funky that day, we’re all looking at you like so:

Song of the Week: How Bout Now – Drake https://soundcloud.com/mrbusiness-3/how-about-now-drake

Quote of the Week: It has to be Tweets of the Week this time, I stayed up until 1am on Sunday as the Grammy’s were on and I was screaming with laughter.

Georgina ❤

A Few of My Favourite Things

This is the last Monday of 2014. To say this year went by fast would be an understatement. It’s been a rollercoaster of a year but it’s been one of the best years I have lived through.

6yic0l

The woman above is an accurate representation of how I feel about 2014. In honour of this, here’s a blog post about 21 things that have made the year so wonderfully interesting for me. There’s no deep meaning behind having 21 things listed. Only 21 things came to mind at the time.

Warning: it’s a long one so get comfortable, get a cup of tea and begin. (Public Service Announcement: I took all the pictures here!)

Ibuprofen (200mg because 100mg is for wimps) – it’s a painkiller, for those of you who aren’t familiar with this wonder drug. It came in handy on the days when it didn’t seem like the lining of my uterus was shedding but my uterus was indeed ejecting a baby. However, I do feel I have immunized myself from its pain-attacking powers. I’ve got 400mg running through my system as I write this but my headache is still rather severe. Oops.

Snapchat – I really began to appreciate Snapchat this year. It was there for me when I was feeling myself and wanted to show off a selfie that wasn’t quite as good for Instagram but good enough to be seen for 5 seconds. Also, I could keep track of people and pass judgements accordingly.

My Snapchat of the month? I'm so sad.

My Snapchat of the month? I’m so sad.

Samsung Galaxy Alpha – being an iPhone user for like a year and a half made me accustomed to suffering. When I hold my phone now and hold my 4S, I almost can’t believe how I managed to use it. Android all the way, especially Samsung.

Hand Cream – I have been blessed with luscious chocolate brown skin but that lusciousness didn’t extend to my hands. My hands are crusty almost all the time. Hand cream has saved my life, especially this winter.

wpid-20141229_133035.jpg

MIRACLE WORKER.

Automobiles – I had the opportunity to visit two countries this year: Spain and Holland. I also had the opportunity to reach these places in two different ways: in the air and on the ground. I’m telling you, I would much rather sit in a car for 8 hours non-stop than sit on a plane for 2 hours. I just can’t. Here are a few of my favourite photos from the places I visited this year.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Music – my musical taste has grown with me this year. I’ve consciously made an effort to listen to different things. I’ve heard some real gems this year, some may give you a headache but at least I can bump to them. Also, thank the Lord for Beats by Dre.

FotorCreated

Albums that I’ve listened to continuously this year.

The gym – I’ll admit, I put on some weight this year but I can safely say, I am now at a place where I can look at my body and think “not bad, woman”. I’m not where I want to be in my head but in my head, I want to be Beyoncé so that’s not happening.

She's an absolute goddess. Image source: tumblr

She’s an absolute goddess. (Unfortunately, I didn’t take this picture. I wish.)

Chipotle – do I need to say any more?!

Two of my favourite things in one picture: Snapchat & Chipotle. The arm belongs to Robin, here's his blog:http://thefatseries.wordpress.com/

Two of my favourite things in one picture: Snapchat & Chipotle. The arm belongs to Robin, here’s his blog: thefatseries.wordpress.com

Bras – no, I didn’t just discover bras this year but I now know the power of a bra. It can make you feel frumpy as hell one minute, the next, it’ll be making you feel as if you could walk up to a beautiful man, kiss him right in front of his girlfriend and dare her to say something. Power is in the cup of the beholder.

This is the Victoria's Secret on Bond Street in Central London. I was beside myself with joy, just standing outside. It is here that I discovered the world's most amazing bra.

This is the Victoria’s Secret on New Bond Street in Central London. I was beside myself with joy, just standing outside. It is here that I discovered the world’s most amazing bra.

University – it’s been an emotional merry-go-round trying to get into university this year. If you had asked me in January if I was going to be in a university in London studying pharmaceutical science, I may have spat in your face. But, I thank God all the same for eye-openers. I’m really beginning to see the potential that lies ahead with this course. I’ve made some amazing friends already and I’ve used university as an excuse for many of my acts of deception so, it’s all good!

Two of the most amazing people I've met this year, waiting outside one of our labs. Don't we look cool?

Two of the most amazing people I’ve met this year, waiting outside one of our labs. Don’t we look cool? I look like a squirrel with acorns in its mouth. #BigCheeksGang

Whatsapp – not only can I talk to my friends whenever and wherever they are without blowing up my phone bill but that blue tick update saved my life. People can know when I do not want to speak to them and now I know who’s being a goat and airing my messages too. It’s a very good system.

Maturity – you know how puberty felt? It just hit you like what I imagine getting hit by a double-decker bus feels like. I think maturity is nature’s second puberty. For me, it seemed to just happen overnight. I just woke up one day and realised what I should be doing, who I should be doing it with and all the other little issues that I fretted over became beyond irrelevant.

Actual words to live by.

Actual words to live by.

Orange Wednesdays – I’m not cheap, I’m just not one to depart with my money too easily. If you had an Orange (the network provider, not a literal orange) phone, you were eligible for 2 for 1 cinema tickets on Wednesday. I’ve watched some great films this year with equally as great people. If you’ve ever been in a cinema with me before, I apologise for all my Nigerianisms during the movie. Sometimes, you just have to yell “what is the meaning of that?” in your most Nigerian accent at the screen, in the middle of a crowded viewing.

Emails – I’m still fascinated by them. You can send letters to people without leaving your house, without it costing an arm and a leg and it gets to them in seconds. It’s mind-blowing, okay?

Student Discounts – because I’m a broke-ass students who has an online shopping addiction. Tip – if you’re looking to open a student bank account, shop around. Some banks offer really good incentives like an NUS card which gives you discounts on almost anything. Also, download the Unidays app. It is essential, trust me.

Provisional Driving License – I’m in no rush to get on the road but my provisional has come in handy so many times this year. Have you ever been clubbing and seen someone bring their passport as I.D.? That sure won’t be me again, I’ll tell you that. Having my provisional gives me pride. I want to whip it out even when I’m not asked for it. Bite me.

Online Box Sets – I don’t have a subscription to Netflix because ain’t nobody got time for that (well, a lot of people do but I don’t) but TV has produced some real nuggets of entertainment lately and there will always be days where schoolwork can suck it and you just want to get into bed and binge watch something. This year, my shows of choice have been Orange is the New Black, Walking Dead (even though I’m taking some time really getting into it), How To Get Away With Murder and Masters of Sex (not what you’re thinking, dirty child.) Watch this Vine of a violinist playing The Walking Dead theme song. So COOL.

Novels – Just before 2014 started, I gave myself a challenge to read a lot more American literature and I actually stuck to it this year. I finally read To Kill a Mockingbird which actually deserves to have sold a gazillion copies worldwide, it was fantastic. I read loads of the other considered “greats” and some weren’t all that, in all honestly. As of now, I’m this close to finishing Charles Bukowski’s Women and it’s put me off reading any more of his work, this one was just… too much. Up next, I’ve got Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho. Prayer is needed, I know it’s a mind-f*ck of a novel. I think my next challenge will be Nigerian literature. Anyway, novels are escapism; they obliviate journey lengths. They are needed and always will be. Also, I don’t see myself getting sucked in to this e-Books thing. If I want to read a book, I want to feel paper and weight. Call me old-fashioned, whatever.

From left to right: 1. The book I'm reading now. Struggling to finish. 2. The mindf*ck of a novel that I am so looking forward to reading. 3. Funniest book I've read all year. Found it in Waterstones for £1.50! 4. I read this again and it still made me teary-eyed. 5. Have you watched the movie for this?! INSANE. 6. My favourite book of all time. These aren't nearly half of all the books I've read this year but I borrowed a lot of them from public libraries, you see.

From left to right:
1. The book I’m reading now. Struggling to finish.
2. The mind-f*ck of a novel that I am so looking forward to reading.
3. Funniest book I’ve read all year. Found it in Waterstones for £1.50!
4. I read this again and it still made me teary-eyed.
5. Have you watched the movie for this?! INSANE.
6. My favourite book of all time.
These aren’t nearly half of all the books I’ve read this year but I borrowed a lot of them from public libraries, you see.

Candles – I’ve taken a serious liking to scented wax this year. I think my favourite candle right now has to be this sugar cookie one in my room. I’ve had it for a couple of months now and my room permanently smells like a Starbuck’s toffee nut latte. It’s magical.

My candle from Heaven.

My candle from Heaven.

Prescription Reading Glasses – if you’ve known me long enough, you’ll know I’ve always wanted glasses. Actual prescribed glasses because any other way would have been lying and that’s not cool. Well, this year, I succeeded in degrading my sight to the extent of getting reading glasses. I’m happy.

And last but not least,

Blogging – starting a blog has probably been one of the best decisions I’ve made this year. There’s just something about knowing I have a blog; knowing that every week, I will push myself to retell my week in a way that will keep both you and I interested enough to keep the cycle going. It’s helped me in more ways than none and I’m very sure now that I’m in this for the long run. Thank you all.

Just to let you know, I plan on changing the theme of the blog for the new year so don’t worry if you find yourself on here and the layout is completely different. It’s still the same blog. Hey, I might even pay for the new theme, that’s how invested I’m becoming in this blogging thing.

I wish you all a Happy New Year, whatever it is you’re doing to bring forth 2015. Be safe, either way.

See you on the other side!

Georgina x

Starbucks Date with Myself.

Hello everyone 🙂

So I’m having one of those weeks where nothing has out-rightly struck me as blog-worthy or better yet, many wonderful things have happened but I’m not readily allowed to blog about them (I don’t want any trouble) so I turned to The Daily Post. They post these things called Daily Prompts which literally do what they claim: they prompt. This is the one I chose. Et voila.

Good Tidings

Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee. Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to. (For the sake of simplicity, I’m talking to 10-year old me. 8 year old me wouldn’t be up to this, I’m sure.)

*I couldn’t find a picture of myself at 10, no joke. So, here is 6/7/8 year old me. Not entirely sure.

Hey, don’t you look tragically cute. I look a lot different, right? Not nearly what you expected to look like at 18. You thought you’d be skinny by now and well, so did I.

Next year, you’re definitely going to boarding school. Mummy and Daddy may be making you do all these exams for all these other schools over here but trust me, you’re ending up in Nigeria. For that exam, just remember BODMAS. It may seem like the stupidest acronym ever but it is a life-saver. Boarding school is nothing like what you’re thinking it could be. Every night is not one sleepover. You will cry every night for the first week. You will bathe with freezing cold water at 6 o’clock in the morning. You will eat things you never thought existed. You will be the victim of puberty. You will be on the receiving end of a collapsing bunk-bed. You will meet people who find your diary, read it and chase you, threatening to club you with a metal T-square because they couldn’t handle the truth. You will make a public fool of yourself (I know you will but don’t send a lovenote to the cute guy in your class. He’s kind of an ass, he’s only 11, he doesn’t know any better). You will become very thin and it doesn’t look good on you but it happens. You will get what the school doctor claims to be malaria almost every month but you know it’s worse than that. You will convince the parents to let you out of that school after the first year.

Somehow, you end up in a proper Nigerian school. Yes, those schools. Where they have even more canes and the teachers aren’t afraid to slap you for not greeting them properly. Sticking out like a sore thumb is the least of your problems. You will get typhoid, it is very unpleasant. On the plus-ish side, you will actually meet someone who you fall in love with years later and he loves you right back. I’m not even making this up, I couldn’t. I won’t give away too much but it’s a disastrous mess to begin with. You will sometimes regret knowing him but despite all of that, both of you find a way to function dysfunctionally. Hang in there, okay? I mean it, really hang in there. Think about it like this: he’s like a stray cat that won’t leave you alone but you feel almost anxious when he’s not wondering around.

Finally, you make it to the Promised Land of schools. This is where all the magic happens. You make friends for life. You will meet your soul sister but she’s Indian, that’s the only difference. The number of amazing memories that you’ll make will astound you. There’s a particular teacher who does library with you. He turns out to be pretty awesome and makes you read stuff you wouldn’t normally touch with a pole. He’s very cool. You will love that place, that’s all I can say.

You will come back here when you’re 16 and you are going to be chucked right into the deep end. People will find your accent – yes, it happens – a little funny but you’ll learn to do you. You’ll meet some people who you’ll wonder how you managed without them and others who you’ll totally regret looking upon. You do a lot of adaptive maturing in those 2 years of college.

Only thing left is university. You get in, that’s for sure. I’m still figuring out the rest.

Your life really begins the second you’re left to fend for yourself in boarding school. You become who you’re looking at right now. I know how bittersweet you feel about it. You’re scared about not making friends and all the friends you’re leaving behind. All the important things and people will stay put, that’s not an issue. Don’t worry about a lot of things, it’s all pretty trivial. Just stay focused and stay happy. Keep smiling. Keep writing. 8 years may not seem like that much but it is and it goes by quick so just go with it. Put your heart into it all, that’s what you do and always will do.

Coffee tastes pretty grim at 10 but just wait until you come back to Starbucks to buy things besides their cookies. Coffee is life-enhancing.

Do you still love Beyoncé? Love is an understatement.

No rant this week, I’m in a happy place.

Songs of the Week: Beyoncé – 7/11 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4YRWT_Aldo) & Sebastian – Embody (https://soundcloud.com/edbangerrecords/sebastian-embody)

Quote of the Week: “One thing I’ve learnt in uni, you’ve got to go and get it yourself. Whatever you want, probably won’t come to you.” – Laveen M

Georgina x