My Fabric, My choice

I refer to myself as an aspiring writer trying to get her groove. I hope that one day , maybe during my “nursing mother | days I will be able to write something substantial enough to attract an editor . In the mean time I rely on every day to day happenings for my inspiration. Sometimes its that thing that affects me directly or at times just a situation that I identify with so much. Today is no difference. My wardrobe.  I am on lesser side when it comes to fashion consciousness and never thought I could ever be inspired (or at least pissed) enough to write about anything I wear.

In the recent past I have discovered my little dare devil side when it comes to fashion. Am becoming more open to new ideas on how to dress my body. Am a size 10, a little of size 14 around the thigh area. This has always made be very conservative on my dressing. But with time am being open to mid-thigh shorts, above the knee skirts, tights and many more. I don’t know why I had to give this backgrounder but I guess its cause I am a little pissed off with the notion that every lady should dress with a male in mind. Bull shit! Crap! Stupid! I always dress for me. My mood or at least for the occasion. Maybe in the future for my children and my mum in law. Of course not my hubby because he would already have loved and taken in what he saw  

Why should a man who feels that her woman should never put on a trouser lament when another , who isn’t his put on one? If he is in an environment that you are meant to bump into each other more often, its class and intelligent to talk it through with you.  Why would the world glorify Tina Turners’ legs and rebuke a sister with a knee length skirt. Why would a lady in leafy suburbs be justified to walk around in hot pants while the lady of the same size form another “less” residential area be condemned by the same men for putting on the same. I used to feel embarrassed of some of the ladies dress codes and I still do, if its someone I call my mama. 

“you know that you will never get a hubby if you dress that way “!!!! Grrrr!! That’s the vaguest explanation I have ever heard. Here are a few questions to that man:

1.       Did I tell you that am in need of a hubby?

2.       Do you have the authority to know whether I will get a hubby or not

3.       How on earth do you know that my hubby has the same taste as yours?

4.       Have you given me your not less than $10,000 cheque to revamp my wardrobe and I turned it down (of course i would because my conscience is not pegged on any monetary value) ?

5.       How much are you being paid to be my fashion police?

Be it tubeless, thong or mothers union, a biker , laced petticoat or none, heels or flats, bra or none , trouser or skirt , dear man love your preference and shut up of your hate!!!! 


She Needs A Shoulder Too

Yesterday evening as I walked into the house, I overhead Maricruz, of the Wild at Heart say something that caught my attention. I will try to quote her though I don’t remember the exact words “people think that a strong girl does not need a shoulder. They always assume that you can do it . Oh yes, I will do it, though am broken and in need of someone”. With the activities in my life, more so the past few months, I could wholly appreciate the words. It was as if it was me speaking. It was what had been running through my mind the whole day. The strong woman syndrome is the worst disease someone can suffer from. To the public, it’s a very good thing, and at times am also convinced so. But it takes super intelligent and sensitive person to know that strong is not okay. Strong is not success, strong is not numb, without feelings. Strong is not being that one person who can just take anything. It’s basic that for every ingestion there is digestion and toxins MUST come out.  

Here I will specifically talk about the super lady. There is a crop of women perceived to be super women. Those who have shown strong characters. They have withstood the storms, enjoyed fair weather, and went up the rocks, dove deep into freezing crocodile infested waters and still came out with a smile. Women who will do anything to see the people around them happy. Those whose tears will be profusely shed only when they are talking to the maker, because it’s the only time they can cry without being judged. A woman who will utter a convincing “am okay” when she is literally falling apart. This woman, who may have a tittle, earns a good 6 figure salary but never feels happy about her achievements. This woman who has known nothing but topping her classes because it’s the only pride she can muster. The woman who has great men flocking around her yet she cannot trust any, she can never love back.

I have a picture of this woman who goes to bed every night and keeps staring into the darkness. She wishes she could just sleep without having to worry what will happen to whom, or what she has to do to keep the perception people have of her. This is a lady who forces investments and happiness into her daily dreams though she wakes up empty at heart.

The only people who understand this woman are the “wrong” people. That harlot who knows what it is to keep in the cold just to send her kid to international school. That flirt who knows that the only way to keep the potbellied boss out of her life is to pretend that she is interested. That man who is no sorry for adultery.  That gatekeeper who by all means is not a match to her standards. The hairdresser who doesn’t care to make a referral to the best sex toy shop in town. And finally her “girls” who share a similar story, a closely similar story or at least they were just blessed with good ears. This is mainly because they have seen this strong lady at her worst. At least they have an idea of her tears away from the cross. They know how much she struggles to please all those who think that she is a super woman, self-serviced to survive any storm.

It’s not a crime to see one as a strong woman. To always look up to her. So is it that there are strong women and it will always be that way. What am sure is that every of the strong woman needs some affection, understanding and support. They are human. Give them time to be just that, human, a wife, a mother, a girlfriend, a friend, a partner, a small sister. Just let them be women. A woman is a “weak” being who needs to be understood and support. If you cannot support the super woman, she will have her way, in the process stepping on you. She will hide her feelings, in turn hurting you without knowing. She will prove that she can do it all in turn making you look useless. She will have it all in turn making you her servant. Everyone is human. Let the superwoman be human.


The Supposedly Ideal Man

It’s been a while since I got some inspiration to write. Feels good to be back in the zone, thanks to the hormones I guess. This being like my diary site, I have a confession to make. I am Sapiosexual, or 90% one. Yes, there you got it. I am in love with intelligence, brains, fast thinking, problem solving and at least above average mind. Long time I have loved sports, and at one point I was convinced that I might be one of those ladies who literally drool at biceps, well-toned thighs and compact abs. Not that they are bad, but that just lasts as long as my eyes are doing the feasting. Once turned aside, all vanishes.
There is just something about a man who knows what is happening at the stock exchange market. It stands out when a man knows that depending on the locomotive gadget; you can be doing Km/hr. or nm/hr. How awesome it is to see a man argues while using some IT jargon, or law terms. I would watch a man who sits up late into the night trying to figure out how to draw a U shaped kitchen for a very small kitchen, or one that spends endless hours looking at a picture of a backyard that needs a makeover then walks out of the house before I wake up to purchase the correct stone to be used. It intriguing to hear a man explaining what notes to hit when playing an acoustic guitar. It all boils down to a man who has some brains in the field he is good at, be it arts or sciences.
Its funny how at a tender age of around 8 I declared that I will never marry a man who doesn’t buy a newspaper. Little did I know what newspaper meant to me. And now I know that I want a man who reads. A man who treasures the value of a good book and can spend a fortune on one. A man who reads one magazine religiously ; be it motors, one on IT, medics, finances, property , just not play boy .
A man who is intelligent will crack jokes, is outgoing think most know when to pull a three piece suit, when to throw in a tuxedo and when to have those good pair of shorts. An intelligent man knows how to treat the average man with respect. Can fit across all categories of intelligent abilities.
The remaining 10% of the extras will go to a man who knows how to use a toothbrush well, and if not enough, a mouth freshener or gum. A man who respects women. A man who dreams, and wakes up not just to chase his dreams but to realize them. A man who values family. A man who knows not only to be a sperm donor but also a father. If he can’t keep it in his pants, a man who will respect his family enough to do it discreetly and use a condom (at least no pregnancy and infections) . A man who will fight for his woman; it’s a turn on to see your man get physical to protect you (at least for me) , of course not daily but once in a blue moon.
Just as he is the head of a house; a man should lead his house to put God first. My Sunday school teacher mentioned that. A dad who knows how to say a prayer is a hero. He knows that besides his wallet, muscles and advice, a house hold needs God to survive.
N/B:I have the audacity to share this on social media because number one rule is , until you put a ring on it , you a have no business to be a friend of mine on these streets . And if you were before we met, you will pretend that you don’t see anything I post.

Exits Stolen Mango, enters Savory Apple

If you read my blog , you are familiar with the details of “Is this stealing or taking ?” post . Apparently I have been doing my Apple, with total disregard to the Mango . I never realized that the mango season was over only when my apple stock ran out. Gotta look for a new fruit now . The hunt however is proving an uphill task, thanks to my allergies . All in all, i have to get myself one before the world cup starts. How else will I stay up late all nights without company once in a while huh? Le thirst of the palate .
I have come to realize that taking without consent is not same as stealing. i could have taken the mango anyway. Am not the only neighs so it would have been rather ambiguous to be attached head on by the farmer . Secondly , all I needed was to quench the craving of having that particular mango . Its not something I would keep feasting on for the rest of my life . Mangoes are juicy and probably another farm would have better one. In my quest to massage my wounded ego for not having the mango , I thought of berries , melons , pawpaws and many other fruits . However i came to realize am not good at buying either . I tend to love free stuff. I am not the girl who goes to the market to sample out . I tend to wait some one else to do the ground work , which I asses and depending on the finding , I have it, of course without their consent .
I tend to overlook all my definitions of the contents when getting the mangoes . The wild side of me allow devour , fill , wipe my mouth clean , pop up my legs and just like a lion, wait patiently for the next “food”. And just like the lioness , carcasses are not on my menu . the left overs can be helpful to some insects who love juice and can handle leftovers .
I can handle apples well too . Though I think I might have stumbled to a rare green apple ( my preference ) . It ain’t as juicy as my normal green apple, this is a little bit Savory .The funniest thing is that i have spent my entire first half of 2014 going through the logistics of getting it . I decided to go to the market myself and the promise from my grocery guy to get me one has been futile .So I have decided to plant . I have no idea how long it takes for an apple tree to mature and start bearing fruit but am so determined . I have self taught myself on how to nature this very delicate seedling into a plantation . I feel crazy that i have such strong cravings . This time round, I am not having any other alternate. Its either the appetizer mango , or replenishing Apple .
N/B: I may not be Maya , But the two fruit pieces need understanding of poetry to get it !!


Yes , self esteem . From wikipedia, it is a term used in psychology to reflect a person’s overall emotional evaluation of his or her own worth . Many of us have battled with low self esteem at one point or another . Many books , magazines ,programs and blogs have tackled the topic so I wont go into the scientific/Psychological facts . I will delve into my own story . 

Growing up , I was a very out going kid. Topping my classes , favorite amongst many including my paternal grand Pa (who I  almost swear contributed to 50% of the dentist visits, blame it on sweets) and my maternal grand Ma who to date still has the magic of producing the ripest bananas and avocados whenever I visit . I was a very hardworking kid too. I would do both “boys” and “girls” chores . This was a range from fetching water using wheelbarrow (at least four 20 litre jerricans per approx 5 km hilly  trip) to cooking some of the sumptuous meals , my favorite being chapati . Despite all the activities , I never lost my petite self . My meat, as I love to call it, is my weapon . But then came High School ( I refuse to call it adolescent ) . 

2004 was the year I first encountered battles with my self esteem. I was no longer topping my class, in fact in the first time i was in the distant quarter of the 280+ student class . I suddenly realized that as a woman , I had no hips, one of the flattest chests, a very scarred legs , more testosterone as nothing girly excited me . What on this earth was a boyfriend important for? I still ran to my mama whenever someone hit on me . I had the most crooked dental formula (by then my two upper incisors had “refused” to grow) . I always did Vaseline from head to toe, thanks to roll on that I bought for fun , at least I would remember to smell different once in while .  

I never made it to “bff groupies” , maybe once in a while casual friend. Only got some one close enough a year later . But still had my insecurities . I no longer wore short skirts at home, with fear of exposing my legs . Long sleeved blouses were my best friends too . I started ramming through  my mamas’ wardrobe and almost thought we could share a lot . The bigger the cloth, the better it was for me . In 2006 there was some talk, i still cant remember the speaker but i guess it was a CU meeting that I attended . The speaker said that we should identify something unique that we have and use it to know that you are blessed . Its funny what I picked on ; my fingers . I had one of the longest fingers despite being quite short then (around 4’8″) . I loved my fingers like ,I think, any woman would love her skin. Even the  acne that had taken over my face was no longer a matter of concern. This however did not take away the fact that I stuck to covering my legs and arms . But it did boost me academically . Did I mention that I picked physics as an option of science subject having scored a D+ the previous term ? It was risky I know, but i wanted to prove to myself that i could handle it . I started working hard in Maths, the subject that I am always grateful to for making me realize that my life was not average . How good it felt to be amongst the best performers at Mathematics, not only in my stream but also in my form . This made me appreciate the potential I had in me but not anything to do with my appearance , which I considered nothing close to an ideal female .

I have gone through college with the same mentality about my looks . Too bad that the first man I fell in love in love with never spared bad comments about any of my physical letdowns . It was a 3+ years emotional hurt that i bore bravely . All along I can always remember how my Mum always stared at my teeth when I laughed and commented of how a replica they were to my dads’. This never helped that much either . I would feel it a mockery when a man hit on me . luckily in college, I had discovered that at least , I  had curves, good curves . I remember putting on mini skirts in the bedroom (read knee length) and wished that one day i will put them on . Having been a Sunday school teacher for almost eight years, dressing is one thing i never taught my children . I would say dress decently but never explained what decent is . 

My 22nd birthday was my turning point . I made personal decision to stop thinking i was less of a woman . I stared to embrace a changes, little by little . I shopped for my first sleeveless dress and a knee length skirt . I bought my first 500+ perfume. I did some 3 inch heels . Thats when I knew my Slow but sure recovery towards being the little Doris who loved herself wholly the way she was . I am not yet there but little by little , am better each day . I no longer see my scarred but some good legs worth showing off a little . I can do a decent cleavage now ( Oh yes I am blessed or well endowed as you may call it ) .

PSSSSST: There is this pair of shorts I put on and for the first time recently  ,and affirmed I got good legs . There was generosity of compliments from both male and female . 

LESSON: Low self esteem is all in your head and getting over it is withing your power.