Far beyond the alliteration, there’s a difference
Between the gullible and the humble,
While one believes my mum invented Mercedes Benz
The other’s distance from pride is immeasurable.
The matchlessly Mighty resists the proud.
Who and what can save such a heart?
Should they even cluster into a crowd,
The Mighty versus the minute? Pitiful impact!
The shortcut to the top is named “Humility Road”
In it is an elevator through life’s pressures
To ply this path is worth more than finding gold,
As God grants these pedestrians, honor and treasures.
Beyond the spelling, there’s a difference
Between the one who’s meek and the one who’s weak.
While one has a will which so easily bends,
The other bends easily to the will of the One who made every week.
Aug 11, 2009
SWAG!
Swag! What on earth does that word mean? In the now famous context (no thanks to Soldier boy), I frankly don’t believe that it still means a sway in your gait.
In his words? “Put some swag on. You could get disqualified for lacking it you know”. I listened confusedly to one of the judges of an audition I attended. For an audition that sought more than anything, oratorical skills, I was perplexed that my celebrated oratory could lose its weight in the absence of my swag. What is that? I don’t know if I was being too courteous to the judges (to project innocence and rig my chances) or if I was too ruffled to even speak but I really wanted to ask these judges what that word meant to them.
As I contemplated that, an opponent walked in and they immediately pointed out what they meant by “put your swag on”. As I looked at the young man in question, I could only see arrogance. Did they mean swag and arrogance are undefined synonyms? I feel so bad. Why did it take so long for me to have deciphered this? Yet I wonder, are they supposed to praise the level of confidence that swings deep into pride? Are they supposed to applaud he who says loud and clear: I’ve gat it, you need it, so listen ‘cos I’m talking”?
Well, that's what I saw.
And yes, I was eventually screened out for lacking the necessary swag. I wasn’t swaggerly enough!
A debate needs confidence, how much of it makes up arrogance? How much of hands tucked into my trouser beams my swag? I understand that I might have done better, smiled wider but swagged further? I don’t know.
They did their best- the judges - and I have taken home the assignment to be more gestural. I hope when I am again offered such a great chance by life, this take-home assignment would make me shimmer in high flying colors. If I ever have to stand before any judge or a group of them, then I sure hope I’m well clad with a swag that would be so ‘in-their-face’, they would call me the best ‘Swaggard’ so far. For crying out loud, ‘no swag’ just cost me three million naira!
In his words? “Put some swag on. You could get disqualified for lacking it you know”. I listened confusedly to one of the judges of an audition I attended. For an audition that sought more than anything, oratorical skills, I was perplexed that my celebrated oratory could lose its weight in the absence of my swag. What is that? I don’t know if I was being too courteous to the judges (to project innocence and rig my chances) or if I was too ruffled to even speak but I really wanted to ask these judges what that word meant to them.
As I contemplated that, an opponent walked in and they immediately pointed out what they meant by “put your swag on”. As I looked at the young man in question, I could only see arrogance. Did they mean swag and arrogance are undefined synonyms? I feel so bad. Why did it take so long for me to have deciphered this? Yet I wonder, are they supposed to praise the level of confidence that swings deep into pride? Are they supposed to applaud he who says loud and clear: I’ve gat it, you need it, so listen ‘cos I’m talking”?
Well, that's what I saw.
And yes, I was eventually screened out for lacking the necessary swag. I wasn’t swaggerly enough!
A debate needs confidence, how much of it makes up arrogance? How much of hands tucked into my trouser beams my swag? I understand that I might have done better, smiled wider but swagged further? I don’t know.
They did their best- the judges - and I have taken home the assignment to be more gestural. I hope when I am again offered such a great chance by life, this take-home assignment would make me shimmer in high flying colors. If I ever have to stand before any judge or a group of them, then I sure hope I’m well clad with a swag that would be so ‘in-their-face’, they would call me the best ‘Swaggard’ so far. For crying out loud, ‘no swag’ just cost me three million naira!
Aug 9, 2009
IN PURSUIT OF HAPPYNESS
It’s a concrete hard assumption that all men are egoistical. At least most of us have an ego that would not easily be cowed into mushy sentiments. Not even in the face of true life fictions. Well, shamelessly I must confess that mine melted as I watched the movie titled “In Pursuit of Happyness” come to an end.
I barely watch movies; it’s nearly an annual event for me. I thought lately however, to go fickle on that tradition. This movie is daring me into greater fickleness-and I mean that in a very positive sense.
How on earth do people write such cute scripts! I know it was first lived out as there’s a claim on it’s being a true life story but how do minds fuse fiction and reality and make it look so good as to cost me a stream of tears? A very brief stream of course.
Minds are irrefutably the most powerful things there are on earth. Did I hear you ponder along nuclear bomb lines? What conceived it? Coupled it and canvassed as the delight that countries now gratefully possess despite its potential disaster? Minds!
The offspring of some minds makes me truly wonder to what extent I use mine. It’s easy to say “In Pursuit of Happyness”, is that impressive? Well how do you write scripts like the James Bond’s newest series? How do minds conceive such fictions, direct them and leave us entranced for as long as a standard football match. I’m truly humbled yet greatly challenged.
If minds can craft engines to the point where one bolt is indispensible, then, I should be able one day, to craft articles and poems that leave a punch with every word. I will keep at this task until that day when hearts would race, and hormones would ignite the body’s entropy at the sound of my words.
The minds I seek here to emulate all have great and generational impacts, yet there are minds who would rather be “In Pursuit of Craftiness”. To these minds, I must warn that whatever a man sows, he would reap; and the ratio of seeds sown to harvest is at least, 1: infinity.
I barely watch movies; it’s nearly an annual event for me. I thought lately however, to go fickle on that tradition. This movie is daring me into greater fickleness-and I mean that in a very positive sense.
How on earth do people write such cute scripts! I know it was first lived out as there’s a claim on it’s being a true life story but how do minds fuse fiction and reality and make it look so good as to cost me a stream of tears? A very brief stream of course.
Minds are irrefutably the most powerful things there are on earth. Did I hear you ponder along nuclear bomb lines? What conceived it? Coupled it and canvassed as the delight that countries now gratefully possess despite its potential disaster? Minds!
The offspring of some minds makes me truly wonder to what extent I use mine. It’s easy to say “In Pursuit of Happyness”, is that impressive? Well how do you write scripts like the James Bond’s newest series? How do minds conceive such fictions, direct them and leave us entranced for as long as a standard football match. I’m truly humbled yet greatly challenged.
If minds can craft engines to the point where one bolt is indispensible, then, I should be able one day, to craft articles and poems that leave a punch with every word. I will keep at this task until that day when hearts would race, and hormones would ignite the body’s entropy at the sound of my words.
The minds I seek here to emulate all have great and generational impacts, yet there are minds who would rather be “In Pursuit of Craftiness”. To these minds, I must warn that whatever a man sows, he would reap; and the ratio of seeds sown to harvest is at least, 1: infinity.
TRUE LIFE FICTION
She walked towards me, beaming intensely with delight- one that was usual for our every meeting. We hugged. Hmmm! That’s all I can say! I can try to explain that exclamation but I still would be unable to mold these amazing feelings into words.
The world around us always blurred to the background when we were together. “I missed you terribly” I would say. “I missed you more” she would reply. “No you can’t” I often retorted and the debate afterwards would heighten the glee of our meeting until we chose to get serious enough to open new pages of trivialities like: “so Dear, how was your day?”
Hmmm! my heart feels cheated. It feels English language hasn’t given it enough words to express the true dimensions of enchantment that escorts our meetings.
Oh, her name? Mirabel. It was easy to call her my Miracle. We were friends. Just friends! Everyone who witnessed our ‘hmmm’ moments doubted with fervor that we were just friends. Even we had a string or two of disbelief tugging at our hearts yet, they were always expressed mutely, at best.
And then we sought for a good reason to land this flight of deception- the impression that we could love each other this much without dating- and chose to give this ‘thing’ a good shot. With all coast clear, we did. And our gift of heartwarming friendship was the best foundation we could ever have. With such strength of a foundation, this ‘thing’ we shared will never end we thought. We thought so wrong.
For as long as this memorable jolly ride of romance lasted, we awakened glossy admiration in the eyes of friends and fiends alike. They overtly salivated for an experience like ours. The not-so-wise itched to break us up, with the amusing hope that by dating one of us, they would taste of our scarce brand of romance; regardless of how brief. So we heard! I’m not sprinkling yeast on facts here. These are nude truths.
Ok, so why would we alight from a ride that was jollier than any Shakespeare tale of love? Why would anyone (in their right senses) sever this lovely melody from the cadence of two young hearts? How could we ‘grow apart’ as they often say?
It was largely my fault. Not entirely but largely. I partly absorb the blames, as burdensome as they are. I didn’t cheat on her; at least not sexually. I failed her. I failed to plan.
The present was indeed a present- a gift. We relished it so much we become somewhat oblivious of truth. We are age mates. That meant that she would always feel the discomfort of the ticking clock if we didn’t get married early. Your guess is as good as mine. She started feeling it….. 20months down the line. Alien strain visited our bliss. We wrestled with our long denied truth. I wasn’t ready; I didn’t plan to be ready then. I only hoped and now I know regretfully, that hope was not enough.
Words indicating a switch of lanes trickled from her lips. “Dear, it’s not like I don’t love you, but please can you lift eyes a bit more to behold reality?” she said. I felt multiple stabs with a jagged edged knife.
The debates were no longer trivial. They bled life out of our larger-than- life affair. Life lacks a pause button. I would have held hard to it, visited the past, planned, executed and returned ready.
Time doesn’t wait for anyone, not even for a wristwatch repairer. I’ve ever since remained sober. Sober enough to love the present and levy the future.
Now, even our beautiful friendship has been reduced to a memory. I couldn’t settle anymore for just friends. Comfort and demotion are fierce enemies, Ribadu will understand more. I have learnt my lessons but after the school was shut down.
The world around us always blurred to the background when we were together. “I missed you terribly” I would say. “I missed you more” she would reply. “No you can’t” I often retorted and the debate afterwards would heighten the glee of our meeting until we chose to get serious enough to open new pages of trivialities like: “so Dear, how was your day?”
Hmmm! my heart feels cheated. It feels English language hasn’t given it enough words to express the true dimensions of enchantment that escorts our meetings.
Oh, her name? Mirabel. It was easy to call her my Miracle. We were friends. Just friends! Everyone who witnessed our ‘hmmm’ moments doubted with fervor that we were just friends. Even we had a string or two of disbelief tugging at our hearts yet, they were always expressed mutely, at best.
And then we sought for a good reason to land this flight of deception- the impression that we could love each other this much without dating- and chose to give this ‘thing’ a good shot. With all coast clear, we did. And our gift of heartwarming friendship was the best foundation we could ever have. With such strength of a foundation, this ‘thing’ we shared will never end we thought. We thought so wrong.
For as long as this memorable jolly ride of romance lasted, we awakened glossy admiration in the eyes of friends and fiends alike. They overtly salivated for an experience like ours. The not-so-wise itched to break us up, with the amusing hope that by dating one of us, they would taste of our scarce brand of romance; regardless of how brief. So we heard! I’m not sprinkling yeast on facts here. These are nude truths.
Ok, so why would we alight from a ride that was jollier than any Shakespeare tale of love? Why would anyone (in their right senses) sever this lovely melody from the cadence of two young hearts? How could we ‘grow apart’ as they often say?
It was largely my fault. Not entirely but largely. I partly absorb the blames, as burdensome as they are. I didn’t cheat on her; at least not sexually. I failed her. I failed to plan.
The present was indeed a present- a gift. We relished it so much we become somewhat oblivious of truth. We are age mates. That meant that she would always feel the discomfort of the ticking clock if we didn’t get married early. Your guess is as good as mine. She started feeling it….. 20months down the line. Alien strain visited our bliss. We wrestled with our long denied truth. I wasn’t ready; I didn’t plan to be ready then. I only hoped and now I know regretfully, that hope was not enough.
Words indicating a switch of lanes trickled from her lips. “Dear, it’s not like I don’t love you, but please can you lift eyes a bit more to behold reality?” she said. I felt multiple stabs with a jagged edged knife.
The debates were no longer trivial. They bled life out of our larger-than- life affair. Life lacks a pause button. I would have held hard to it, visited the past, planned, executed and returned ready.
Time doesn’t wait for anyone, not even for a wristwatch repairer. I’ve ever since remained sober. Sober enough to love the present and levy the future.
Now, even our beautiful friendship has been reduced to a memory. I couldn’t settle anymore for just friends. Comfort and demotion are fierce enemies, Ribadu will understand more. I have learnt my lessons but after the school was shut down.
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