ANNOUNCEMENT

Hey lovelies! 😘

How are you? I hope this meets you well.

I got good responses concerning the last post. The topic was WHY YOU FEEL BAD ALL THE TIME.  A lot of people confirmed the reasons stated and added some.
I'll have to make another post about the other reasons people  stated.

I just want to use this opportunity to thank you all for your support so far and to say that Odd lenses wouldn't be what it is without its odd readers. Muahhh! 😘😘😙

One more thing. 😀 We're going to be having discussions about pressing issues of life in a forum called THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MATTER. Exciting,  right? The next post would be an extension of the previous.  We're going to tackle the issue of being broke. So,  get ready. It's time for financial talk. Ding ding ding!


Thanks,  thanks,  thanks,  thankssssssss.
Thanks guys.  ✌

To your success,
Thelma.

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WHY YOU FEEL BAD ALL THE TIME

Wow! Do you really feel bad or you are just a curious cat? 

Well, you're here now,  right?  Let's get to it.

People get sad everyday and feel bad and frustrated.  Many of these people just wallow in their sadness without even bothering to know why.  Next thing you know,  they're depressed.  That's another game altogether.  So these could be some of the reasons why you feel bad all the time. 

1. You're broke.  Smile or laugh.  Say "duuhh" if you want but it's true.  When you don't have money to get the things you need and want,  you'll feel very bad.  Happiness is tied to material things (joy isn't though). Material things are necessary for comfort and these things are gotten with money.  So check your pocket.  Your sadness and could be because the bills are missing from your wallet. 

2. You have dysfunctional relationships: This is the big apple.  You may want to live in denial and act like nothing ruffles your clothes.  But you know the truth.  Humans are social animals.  When the relationships you have suck or let's say,  things aren't going between you and your family or your bestie or even a colleague at work,  it would make you feel bad. Many times,  it may start as a small disagreement with grudges that are swept under the carpet.  If it goes on without being resolved,  you'll have a big bulge of restlessness. Should we talk about a couple going through rough times?  It's so not happy-ish.  So,  ask yourself if you've had a fall-out with anyone at all, even if it's the lady that cleans your office. 

3. You are at a crossroad of sorts concerning something important: Okay.  Let me explain. Sometime back, I had to make a big decision. It involved my course of study in the University. Being very analytic,  I was confused and torn on what to do because the course I was offered admission to study was not in any way appealing.  Anyway,  long story short,  I didn't know what to do and it made me sad almost all the time. So,  again, think and know if there's any decision you need to make that you're confused about.  At least,  counsel and advice could help in this case. 

4. LOW SELF ESTEEM: Yes.  This is a major cause of sadness.  Seeing as I don't have a degree in Behavioural/Clinical psychology, I can't really explain the dynamics. I just know that when you feel and think less of yourself,  it makes you very sad.  You feel like you're not important and not needed or wanted by people around.  Everything and everyone makes you feel like toilet paper. Trust me guys,  it's a bad place to be in. People who have this problem often need professional help.  And it doesn't mean that any other thing is surely wrong with this person.  It just means they've been exposed to a lot of unhealthy situations and people and information. Do you have low self esteem?  You're prone to severe depression if you do. 

Well,  I hope this has helped you put a finger on why you feel bad all the time or what may be dragging you by the feet into depression. If there's anything I've left out, I'll talk about it in the next post. 

Have anything to contribute?  Let's talk in the comment section. 

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NO SIZE FITS ALL

PC: ourlifeisbeautiful.com

A one-size-fits-all never fits all.
You were created to be somebody's perfect size
And many people's good fit,
So don't fret,  don't cry
When many hands push you aside on the rack,
Think of the perfect body
That you were made for,
Because you'll hug it tight,
You'll hide its nakedness,
You'll give it warmth.
Dear person,
Be your own size.

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LETTERS TO ME

How many ideas lay asleep on the pages of my book? 
When will they be given bodies and made alive? 
Where is their breath of life? 
Is their maker struggling for life too? 
If so,  would they ever be put to bed?

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ON PEDOPHILIA AND SOCIAL ACCEPTANCE by Ikenna Echewodo Chinyeaka

The issue of Pedophilia  has been on the desk for quite some time now and it is astonishing to hear and see that society wants to consider it acceptable. There are certain things that remain wrong no matter how many consider it normal.  We can't go along with the mainstream on everything especially on pedophilia.  Well,  that's if they are trying to say it is not wrong in every sense of the word.  Let's see what what an embittered  graduate of Law has to say about it.

"Because I know some of the people who can view my social media posts probably have secret pedophilic affinities and urges, let me make it clear that if I hear any of you abused a child, I'll put my feet to the ground and make sure you get the punishment you totally deserve.

It's totally embarrassing to know that even now, some persons are pushing advocacy for the integration of pedophiles into the LGBTQ+ community and it is worse, living with the fear that the international community feels there's a discussion to be had on the issue.

It is true that there's been a heated debate across the world over the extent of liberalism and liberation that can be afforded individuals with respect to sexual orientations and while I think it is well within individual rights for persons to exercise sexual franchise in a wide array of inclinations, it is implausible and absolutely unjustifiable to say that sexual exploitation of any sort should be allowed.

This is very basic and I know a lot of you are aware but I'll still explain for the sake of directional clarity.

The dynamics of power-play are very crucial and often regulated in a lot of circumstances and that's why activities like insider trading that guarantees asymmetry of business information is morally and legally wrong in a lot of instances. The reason for this is that it unfairly tips the balance in favour of one party over the other.

How does this seemingly far fetched example fit into the framework of the conversation on pedophiles, you may ask? Sexual abuse and exploitation.
On the one hand, it is trite in psychology and other behavioural sciences that children cannot validly give consent to certain activities because they either do not fully grasp the implications such activities may bode for them even where it is thoroughly explained and again, because even if they do which is of course rarely the case, they are not physically and mentally psyched for indulgence as this may irreparably hurt them and skew their growth process.
Essentially, the point is that children can't give consent on certain occasions and even if they can, they can't live with the consequences.
I am yet to see anyone successfully argue against and be taken seriously with the contentions in the last slide especially as it borders on sexual capacity.
Knowing how this may harm children, the biggest thing pedophiles bring to the table is the age long justification of having a biological imperative to be sexually attracted to children and this doesn't cut it for me nor should it cut it for anyone.
Why? I'll explain.
Much in the same way we don't take rapists seriously when they claim to have been tempted or even more befittingly, kleptomaniacs when they can show a psychological dimension to being incapable of keeping their hands to themselves, we should never use the argument of biological imperatives to justify clear instances of exploitation and abuse because then it would mean that the brazenness of human nature would be free to run amok unchecked and apologists would always have a strong defence in their arsenal.
We can't justify everything like that.
If you truly can't control yourself against children, maybe it's time to plan a long holiday to a psychiatric facility because honestly, you're a danger to society and we are not obligated to tolerate you.
We've been putting mad people away for ages for being mad, I'm not sure there'll be a problem with quarantining persons who have presented a severe case of psychological imbalance if it helps us protect vulnerable groups like children.
Thank you."

While there are conflicting issues on what is right and what is not,  we should not hesitate to remember to fight for what is human/humane.

If you have questions for the writer,  direct them to his facebook page @Ikenna Echewodo Chinyeaka.
You can drop your comments too.

Ikenna Echewodo Chinyeaka is a Human Rights activist who just graduated from the University of Calabar as a Law student.  He hopes to and is actively engaged in bringing social change through debating and public speaking.

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WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A WRITER

Greetings, my fellow ink addicts!

How's it in the word pit these days?  A lot of people think its really cool to introduce yourself and be like "...and I write too". Some would see you as an artsy person,  you know,  very cool and all.  Others would say you're just lazy and boring.  Can somebody be a witness or am I the only weirdo here? 🙄🤓
Well,  for those who don't understand what it means or feels like to be a writer,  let me tell them what we go through behind the scenes.

1. Writers get inspired by the smallest and oddest things: Well,  if you have or have had a writer friend,  you can relate.  You know that moment when you're both doing something or talking about something and the person just stops and looks at you,  maybe smiles and tells you that you're brilliant  and that they've just gotten an idea for some inking? Yeah. ✌ That's us.  I've done it to my friends too many times to count. Even food inspires me.  Rain inspires me.  A child running around in nothing but faded panties inspires me.  Okay,  let me stop else this would turn to a poem😁

2. The temptation or problem of working on many different ideas at once: Can I get another witness? Don't lie,  you guys😑
I mean all you writers out there. You might be in the middle of a beautiful story and the ending or a line begins to take you to new places😁 Kai!  And fiam! Faster than the snap of two fingers,  you open a new word document. Many times,  the look of a blank page is so appealing,  it's strange. Sometimes,  you get three different story ideas at once and you start all at once.  The worst is when you're dealing with these and you get a new prompt for a contest and none of the stories match the theme🙄🙄 This is a real struggle, I tell you.  Seest thou a writer who can finish a story/work before going to another,  he shall stand before...

3. We are our biggest critics: Before we push our work to our editors or post it on our blogs or facebook pages,  we read it again and an uneasiness settles like puddles in our stomachs.  We begin to ask if our readers would like our work and all and...sighs!  That sort of thing.  Writers are humans too and many of us have that tinge of perfectionism when it comes to our work.  We have to keep it real though.

4.Writer's block is our own illness: I've never met a writer who hasn't been blocked before.  Many of us stay 'ill' for long. For some,  it stays for years. It's something no writer prays for but life can just be sinister at times and inject this dreadful disease into our systems.  But we are more than conquerors through him who loved and loves us,  right?  And who loves the writer if not the reader? 😀😁😘 We love you too.  Just pray well that we all don't get blocked at once one day,  else... 🙄😌

Well...
I've tried now,  haven't I? These are some of the things that come with being a writer. Tell your writer friends to confirm or confirm these points.😌 If you think I left anything out,  tell me in the comment section.  You know I love to hear from you,  right?  I do!
Come on!  Say something 😀

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SHOOT YOUR SHOT

My friend,
Shoot your shot,
And I will shoot mine.
Then, we will both stand
And see whose arrow pierces which heart.
Tell your stories
And let me tell mine.
Let us live and let live.
In the end,
Time will examine history's luggage
And tell us which is wrong or right.
Let us row this boat in peace,
Let us sit quietly at the ends of the boat,
Let us not fight the foolish fight of goats.

My friend,
I see you do not agree with my words,
With the expressions of my thoughts,
With the components of my being.
Will you now slay me?
Has the earth not given the atmosphere as a playground for all?
Shoot your shots,
Voice your thoughts,
If another heart is pierced,
Pat your new win,
Teach them to shoot their own shots.
Now, stay at your end,
Watch me do as you do.
This should be the one rule we should all be bound to.

My friend,
Life is fickle,
Death is no foreigner,
This we know,
These we know.
Stereotype is bad,
Or not.
How would we know
If we are tied to its apron strings?

This is the end of my banter.
My friend,
Be.
Be all you want.
Express it and let others join if they want.
I'll be.
I'll be all I want
Even if it's everything you're not.
Just don't fight me for it.
This is the end of my banter.
Shoot your shot,
And I will shoot mine,
Then we can throw greetings across the line.
Just don't cross that line.
This is the end,  my friend.

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BROWN SPOONS

We lived at Umuchima in the dusty town of Okigwe. It was a quaint little town that had old houses with dust coated roofs and narrow winding roads - the winding roads that lead to Abia State University. The dust came in torrents during the dry season, covering everything in its path. Hence, all the roofs were brown like the spoons we were born with. There was a lot of greenery, dust-coated greenery. The leaves were only truly green during the rainy seasons, when the rains would wash the leaves thoroughly and meticulously the way mother used to bathe me - she would use the big sponge she used in scrubbing Nne and Chidi to scrub me as though she were trying to wash the brown off my skin.
My sister, Nne, and I had to leave this place we were used to. We went to live with Aunty Ijay and her husband in their beautiful flat on Bisala road, Enugu. It was difficult for us at first to adapt to the new surroundings, the new culture, even the new foods we were introduced to. You see, we were not used to foods like fried potatoes and omelettes with custard for breakfast. We grew up eating the simpler things like left-over rice and ofe akwu or okpa and soaked garri. We were not poor. At least, that’s what mother always said to us whenever we asked her why we were so poor: “It is just a transition period, inugo?  Things will get better soon,” she would explain.
Father had not always been poor. Scratch that, he had not always been in the “transition period”.  According to what Mother told us, he was an “nku” in his time, even while they were courting. In other words, father was one of the richest people around back then. Mother usually told us that our father alongside some friends had stumbled upon some gold in the north where he went to look for greener pastures. They took the gold and sold to some white men and of course, father had the largest share. When mpa ukwu, our grandfather died, father spent a huge amount of the money hosting his guests at the burial. Mother said he even killed a cow. After the burial, there was still enough money to keep father in the higher echelons of society. Father left the village with mother and settled down in Port-Harcourt. He was overly generous. Mother advised him to stash some money away but father would reply; “If I don’t give when God has given me, how would I get blessed again? Biagodi o, do you know that I am an nku ? I have the money!” Eventually, after paying mother`s bride price, the spirit of sense visited father and made camp in his brain but relatives and village people have a special way of milking people dry the same way we used to suck our 10naira ice-cream from the sachet until it became a ghost of a sachet. Father’s relatives were coming to live with them when mother gave birth to Chidi. Then, life became so tough that they had to leave PH city for Enugu. Chidi was the only one who was born with a spoon that still had traces of silver on it. However, the spoon soon got completely rusted such that my parents had to move again but this time to Okigwe because mother was heavily pregnant with Nne.
I remember in seven colours how we used to sell wood to raise money for food. We usually ate in the morning and night when sales were good. At some point, father couldn’t pay Chidi`s school fees. He had to withdraw from the private school to join Nne and I in a public school. I remember how he came back in his white and blue uniform crying to mother about how local the school was and how we were not being taught well. Eventually, he joined some young men to carry cement in building sites to raise money for his fees at the private school because according to him: “I can’t survive in that school o ”. I usually did different things to help out. However, I preferred to just mind the goods in mother`s shop. These were some factors that pushed my parents to send my sister and I away to Enugu. “Things will be better for you two there,” Father said.
Enugu was all I had read about in books and had heard from my parents. The only problem was that it was just as dry as Okigwe, even worse. Nne and I used to trek for long distances to get water whenever the tankers failed to supply water to our neighbourhood and this happened often. The other problem was that aunty Ijay made us stay indoors when we were less busy. We didn’t know if there were other children in the compound. We were starved of playtime. Often times, I would cry so much that I wanted to go back to my parents and aunty Ijay would flog me without a shred of mercy. I was so convinced that she wouldn’t have children of her own because she was so wicked. Her husband was not always around. He was a business man who travelled to Cotonou, Onitsha and other places to do business. Nne was my everything. She would hold me close and console me with stories of how we would have so much money when we grow up. We talked about our brother, Chidi, and how he would be very rich: “ Chidi will buy jet for mother and father and he will build a big house here in Enugu and all of us will live together.”
I learnt a lot about the cruelty of life and about the horrible things lack or possession of money could do to people. Apart from being a witch as I referred to her when talking to my sister, Aunty Ijay was a lonely woman who took advantage of others. Nne and I agreed that she was one of those that made father poor. The man who lived near our school used to greet aunty Ijay every time she drove us to school. She always gave him “something for the kids”. The man was quite young and energetic. He was light-skinned and stout. He had the body of an athlete probably because he was a mason. He visited aunty Ijay on Saturdays and Sundays. They spent a lot of time behind closed doors. We never understood what was going on until we heard that the man`s wife had left him because he was cheating. When he owned up, he said he did it to feed her and their children. I felt bad for the innocent children who were caught in the middle of poverty and poverty-induced infidelity. Their spoons were not only rusted, their plates had lost their luster too.  
The stimulus to our success years later must have been the shocking news of mother`s death. Father said she died at home of an illness he did not know because there was no money to take her to the hospital. Chidi, who had gone abroad on scholarship, came back to handle the burial arrangements. I remember the way he sat on the ground crying like a baby immediately he came in. He later stood up and looked at the sky.
‘I must be rich in this life. My family can never suffer because of money. Agba ego nkiti, o zuzube. I will be rich,” he cried.
I didn’t cry like the others. At 15, I was much stronger than my age-mates. My family was afraid that I would self-destruct. They were wrong. Mother`s death made me swear to make money at all cost, to ditch my rusted, brown spoon.
Months passed, seasons came and passed. Cycles were repeated and my siblings and I grew. Chidi got connected abroad and made papers for father and I to go abroad too. Nne stayed backed and started a poverty alleviation non-governmental organization. She started it in the university and got sponsors through the man she later married. Some years down the line, father became ill. Nne was pregnant. I was engaged and Chidi already had two children. We all did our best to make sure father got the best medical attention regardless of the cost. We knew he would not survive but we wanted him to know that we had become little nkus and that we were out of the transitional period.  When he eventually died, we spent more money than was expected. Nne and Chidi killed two cows in honour of our parents. We buried father beside mother. After the guests had gone, we sat down in the well-furnished sitting-room in silence. We talked about life and about how far we had come. We were born with rusty, brown spoons but we ditched them for shiny silver spoons because change is the only constant on earth.

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Bound and rebounds!

We're back!

Hello mi darlings. 😊😁😁
Wait just a minute and hear me out.  😞😢
You lot must be so pissed.  I can't blame you though.  Odd Lenses was shut down for a month!  I was in the custody of the Writer's block Company.  I was starved of inspiration and ink. Boy!  It was devastating. 😩😧
Well,  good news is that I'm back now. We'll show those blockers that we're unstoppable. 😠😔
I missed you guys a whole lot.😥😥

Let's pick up the pieces,  shall we?😀😀

Meanwhile,  you could just whisper a welcome back.😄  Wouldn't hurt now,  would it?
Phew! 😅

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Diary of a lazy writer 3

Dear diary,
I looked and I saw that truth hurts.

I have so much to say all at once.  I'm so overwhelmed even as I write this.
Diary,  there are so many things that are important in life.  Someone might opine that everything is important to different persons.  Let me just rant.

So I didn't go to school today because I went to pay my tuition fee.  I ended up talking to a certain wise man.  He shot arrows of truth at me.  I was furious at first because I felt like he was condemning me, judging me.  At intervals,  the mini-me inside would concur with what he said. At some points,  mini me ran around the labyrinth of my heart,  my brain,  searching for excuses and people to blame for the misfortune I'm in.  You see,  some times,  many times,  people do not condemn or judge us,  it's the knowledge, awareness that they speak the truth that makes us condemn ourselves.  We then turn around again and want to blame the person for judging us.
Man is easily steered to irresponsibility.

I feel bad right now.  I feel bad lots of times.  I'm not a sad person.  I just...  Have a lot of shortcomings and it's not easy facing them and taking responsibility.
Brian Tracy in his book,  No Excuses,  said that the first step to becoming disciplined is to take responsibility for everything we do.
Well,  that's what I'm doing.
Usually,  I wouldn't write these things here but who knows,  maybe redemption has other people to visit and perhaps,  these words will lead the way.

I feel really bad.

I can't even begin to trace the origin of my carelessness.  But here are some things,  areas I messed up in.
¤ Association.  You are who you hang out with.  I got careless here.  Not like I started hanging out with the ones we would call riff-raffs,  no.  But I guess I started hanging out with people who had gotten too careless too.
¤ Information : because I write,  I exposed my mind to really dangerous stuff.  Not porn,  no.  But there are worse things than porn.  For me,  anything  that can destabilize the mind,  that can shake our convictions is dangerous.  I let in too much.
Here's a lesson.  Knowledge is good but you should only know so much.  Take in what you can process at your level.  Again,  censor the kind of knowledge you take in.  All things are lawful but not all things are expedient.  Say word!
¤Discipline: I probably shouldn't list this separately but the reason I started this diary in the first place-with its captionis because I became undisciplined.  I actually became lazy.

As an aside,  a part of me is thinking of how this post might draw traffic but truth is that I don't care!  I'm hurt.

I'll talk more about this later.  Let me start salvaging what I can.  I've got to gather with brethren.

Yours in pain,
Me.

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SOUNDS OF YON: My companion by Ada Thelma

Photocredit: colourbox.com

MY COMPANION
I need a companion, 
Someone with whom to share my opinion, 
If the enemies send their minions, 
I'll chop their heads in bits like onions.
If they try to break my union with my companion, 
I'll send them to oblivion, 
See,  I'll set their minds in pandemonium. 

I need a companion, 
Someone I could rely on,
A caring shoulder to lean on, 
Someone I could bond with like mother and son, 
One in whose arms I feel reborn, 
One in whose presence sorrow will be gone, 
One who would make me feel no sadness,  indeed none.

Help me find a companion,
find one with the heart of a Lion.
Find one with convictions as strong as Zion
find one fairer than a dandelion.
Find me a friend. 

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Voice of gods

Photo credit : orishaimage.com.

Voice of gods

So you began to believe, 
You were foolish,  worthless, 
You never did anything right, 
Never could. 
You believed because your father said so,
Your faith gave him his voice. 

That day Nnanna smiled at you, 
Even the next day you greeted him, 
And he replied "what's up? "
That day you told Esther about a bespectacled boy,
The one who caught butterflies, 
And set them free in the pit of your stomach, 
That day She told you he liked you too, 
You believed because she said so,
Your faith made her a god. 

That day too you heard,  
That day you saw Esther's round belly-bulge,
When they said 'Nnanna' and 'father' in one sentence,
That day the workers in your head screamed 'betrayal', 
A voice spoke inside, 
"Life never gives anything good,
Goodness is mined"
You believed because you told yourself to. 

That other day too, 
8years had rolled by, 
A young man sat in your office, 
That day you told him his sight was bad, 
The same day you convinced him, 
You told him bad was the new best, 
You told him he could live in paradise even with the worst vision, 
And he nodded in faith: "yes doctor"
because you were the god before him, 
Infusing pints of belief into him. 

And so it is,
That many be the voices we hear. 
Some said you were worthless, 
Some spewed lies like lines of fine linen, 
Some said you could not rise, 
That "we are cursed"
They told tales of woe, 
"Life is a bucket of dirty water'
They coaxed you to have faith
They made you want to believe 
But you couldn't, 
Because you had lost your faith. 

Note the voice of gods. 
The earth is for gods 
Voices that persuade us to do,  to believe, 
The hands with the wands, 
Directing the course of our thoughts, 
Like the music director of an orchestra.

Voice of gods, 
Human gods, 
The ones we crown with our faith, 
The ones that brew bitterness and despair, 
The ones with the loudest voices. 
But we can dethrone these gods, 
And they would lose their voices. 
Because even we are gods. 

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Diary of a Lazy Writer 2

Sunday, 17th June,  2018.

Dear diary, 

How art thou?  Me?  Yo soy bueno. Yo soy Caliente! 😀😀😀 I hope I got it.  I just remembered that from years ago. One girl that was claiming to teach me Spanish online sha.  I just hope I haven't insulted somebody's mother.  It's been a while,  I know.  You can dub me Sir Laziness,  knight of the kingdom of lazy writers.  Oh pardon me.  I'm hungry.  #yawns. 

The past week was so unfruitful,  to say the least.  I don't know if I was in a conscious coma or something.  It felt like someone was remote-controlling my body while I watched from somewhere. I just couldn't get myself to do anything productive.  Kai.  I think... Whoa!  No thinking for now.  It's raining cats and stones here...

I'm sleepy. 

So this is what I learned this week. 

* We should appreciate the seemingly little things because they make up the big things. 

* Being in a dark place isn't so bad.  That's where we learn what to do in the light, what the light means. Only bad thing is when you overstay in the dark.  I pray you understand me.
*If you can avoid being in a dark place,  please do.  The light is a better place,  always. 

*Laziness is bad, very bad! 

I'm sleepy. 

Maybe I should stop here before I write something stupid. I promise I'd write you again,  soon. 

Good night for now.

Yours specially, 

Me. 

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Heart to Heart by Okechi Favour Chinonso

I didn't want to think. Hell, I didn't need to think. I could not think. I could only feel- The pain of a thousand stings, the unexplainable hurt of a kick in the balls- There's no one word that could have accurately described exactly what I felt at that moment. It was surreal yet realistic, an out-of-body experience in flesh and blood.
The tongues of ice on my skin burned hotter than the fires in my throat. My head spun faster than a Ferris wheel. My tongue curled in upon itself. The process that formed words and sent them from the brain to the mouth seemed to have been severely impaired.
My brain screamed in agony. I saw stars. Not the brilliant blue-white hard diamond glittering from the skies, but devilish green little monstrosities bearing evil grins in the oppressive darkness. The moon hung lank among them, but still managed to be haughty and cold.
My pulse quickened and threatened to tip the scales.
My oesophagus forgot it was supposed to send food down, and suddenly carved out a new niche for itself in sending bolus running up and out through my mouth.
Bile gushed from my mouth like the new fountains created after a refreshing rainfall. I finally was able to somehow muster the strength and look up. My eyes burned. I forced them against their newfound will to look at the person who'd began the process and set the ball rolling, the person who I'd handed the keys of my heart to, the person who'd seen fit to smash the padlocks guarding the heart and commit arson inside it. The person who'd just made certain I'd never have a living, loving heart ever again.
 I looked down. I looked down at the reddish organ in my hand, at the chest of my lover that had been sliced open, at the rivulets of blood that flowed from the deep gash, at his lifeless eyes, at his lolling head, at the look of extreme surprise etched on his battered features.
We were gonna talk, you see, he and I. I just needed to place his heart against mine. For the intended heart-to-heart.

Okechi Favour Chinonso is a final year student of Optometry in Abia State University. He writes sparingly and loves good food.  He's also training to be a computer programmer.

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UNITY POT by Iruke Ebuka

UNITY POT

Nuclear is Alien... 

Nuclear power from outside space? 

Not my point!!! 

I mean that Nuclear Family is Alien.

It is alien to the basic African ideology. 

Our "Nuclear" is "Extended."

The very facet of our individual existences

has root in the spirit of NWANNE.

We are by nature community beings. 

Our real heroes are those who really lived and live for the rest. 

E'er heard of the Unity Pot? 

I'll tell you about it. 

Our Unity Pot is large... That's because our Nuclear is Extended.

The food steaming in Daa Nkechi's small kitchen is for her kids, the neighbours two children, grandma, and the youths in the village square. 

Down to our cooking tradition, AFRICA VALUES sharing together.

The next time you use your alien gas cooker to ready the meal, improvise our Unity Pot and put a smile on the faces of those hungry lads who can barely afford the most basic of needs!!!

Iruke Ebuka is a young African who believes in the spirit of UBUNTU. He is an advocate for the restoration of Africa and the African to her glory days.  He's a student of Optometry in Abia State University.  

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GUEST WALK-INS!

Hello my odd followers!
Been a while.  I know,  I know.  So many rooms have been locked in this building.  Well,  rejoice!  The guest room officially opens today.  Yipeeee!
Sorry.  That was very unprofessional.
#clears throat.
Okay mi darlings. I bring you Guest walk-ins.
Every Wednesday,  we'll have a guest in the building.  So you can come on in and see what they bring in.  Don't forget to keep your lenses on my loves.
Also,  if you want to be a guest or you know someone who would want to walk-in (with good stuff for the house please), please write an odd letter to our manager via her facebook inbox @ Ada Thelma Iyke or leave a comment here.

Expect our Hall of Fame to open soon too.  Yesssss.
Alright. Enjoy lovelies!

Signed: Director,  Oddlenses.com

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HUMANS

Humans!
A race of weak people,
With a tendency to be possessed,
By demons as little as stupidity,
With a tendency to be controlled
By spirits of thievery.
Theft masters of the peace.

Humans!
Are animals now more noble?
They fight fairly for what they want.
They do not tiptoe like shadows
In search of the unknown
With the thickest blanket of carefulness.
How can a person be careful about doing wrong,
But be careless about the smallest things
Like listening to reason.
Are there variants of what is right and what is not?

Humans!
How can we kneel and bow to gods of oppression?
How can we wield weapons like rape, thievery, murder and slavery?
Have we no shame?
I thought we were gods?
Apparently,  gods of foolishness,
the ones who wield the mighty weapon of madness.
Different types of madness.

Humans!
Listen to my song of pity,
Come attend the pity-party I'm throwing.
Let's see if the booze of depression will make you drunk,  knackered
So much that a steaming  cup of sensible reason will sober you up.
Maybe you can be saved.
Maybe.
Only Hope knows.
Let's feed Hope.
The same one,
the fugitive that lives with you,
The same that keeps us standing agains
gravity's disapproval.
Let's feed her.

Humans!
Live,  love, give,  love,  move.

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CALL ME OLIVER TWIST by Ada Thelma

Folks enjoy stories,
Be it sweet or gory.
They love to watch a person mad enough to wriggle out of mediocrity's embrace.
They watched,  read
as Oliver Twist dared,
As he did what others feared.
They hummed songs of pity in their hearts,
As he stood up from where he sat,
As he made for the door,
To ask for more.
The attention they paid this time,
Was greater than the first time.
So he changed the narrative.
Okay,  he challenged the narrative.
Familiarity clothes us as regards the story.
He didn't get what he asked for.
But he is known as the boy who asked for more.

So call me Oliver Twist.
Because we learn from the experiences of others
Because I'm not letting go till I get more.
Many get comfortable in mediocrity's hands.
Many live with an insatiable hunger.
A hunger they suppress.
Well I want more.
I want more money.
I want more happiness.
I certainly want more friends.
I want deeper friendships.
I want more knowledge.
Greater insight.
I want a man that refuses to live on the meagre crumbs life gives us.
I want a woman that would make me see the good things hidden in life's stores.
Yes,  those things life reserves for those who would be foolish enough to ask for more.
Those who would be brave enough to fight for more.
Because life doesn't give you what you ask for.
Only the violent taketh it by force.

I want more.
Call me Oliver's improvement.
Because even when I get slapped,
I'll keep my palms outstretched and supinated.
Even when I'm flung to the wall,
I'll rise up and give it my all.
My resistance

Call me Oliver Twist.
Because I always want more.
Because it's not always bad to want more.

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BLACK ALBINO by Ada Thelma

Skin of colour,
Eyes that shame the pendulum's dance.
So they call you that paradox that was never destined to be understood.

Black albino;
Skin the colour of rich brown earth,
Eyes that move to and fro
Like demons on patrol.
They see your colour and wonder if it's paint.
They call you albino;colourless
And they put a black robe on it.

They say the eyes are the window of the soul
And maybe they've seen a dichotomy difficult to understand
Because they've decided to drink the sweet mead of ignorance.
So you smile and let them exist with volatile  understanding.
While you exist in a nature that defies natural

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Diary of a lazy writer 1

Sunday,  27th May, 2018.

Dear diary,

How are you?  I'm not fine.  Okay,  maybe I'm fine.  I don't know.  Happy Sunday by the way. I feel bad right now.😖  I know.  I know.🙄 You think I'm always feeling bad.  But that's not true.  Remember my laughing sprees? Lol.  You don't want to meet me there.  I literally roll on the floor in laughter.  Whatever sha.
So today went by like that. I can't say I achieved anything.  I washed some clothes and cooked jollof rice with those little pieces of stockfish my mum packed for me. I can proudly say I've mastered the art of preparing proper jollof rice.  Hehehehe. 😆😊😊
Diary,  I'm scared.  We were taught about relevance today in church.  Well,  that wasn't the topic but that's what I gleaned from the message. Every time,  I feel like I'm just one of the many people oxygen is being wasted on.  What have I given?   I've checked my facebook countless times today and people are just starting up stuff everywhere. Yes,  I know I shouldn't compare o but hmm...  I cannot be 'dulling' o.
Wait sef.  I feel lost.  Honestly,  I don't even know what to write anymore.  I haven't posted anything on the blog for days now.  I have three unfinished works on my table.  God help me!!!

There's nobody to complain to.  I've read about discipline and I've seen myself wearing the cloak so well. It's been a while since I last wore it sha. I can't find it. I think something came in through the back door and stole it from me.  Now I have to wear my old garment of laziness.  That same garment that makes me feel naked.  This is not me!

I'm smart.  I'm strong.  I'm sweet.  I'm your typical superwoman...  #tongue out.
I most certainly do not feel that way.
I've been thinking a lot lately.  Well,  all the time.  I need to get out of this place.  But it feels like my legs are broken.
How did I get here?
I have a line-up of contests to enter. I think the fuse in my brain is blown.  Somebody call the electrician!

I want to write.  I've been writing but I keep abandoning them.  I need a 'writinvention'.

And just like that.  I've wasted precious ink complaining.  Let me go and read my school books abeg.  I have a test on Thursday.
Wish me luck.

Yours in love,
Me.

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A Hundred Lessons by Ada Thelma Iyke

I've learnt the hard way.
I've learnt the simple things.
I've learnt that you do not gulp down hot tea,
That careful sips prevent singed tongues.
I've learnt that you do not carry a hot pot with your bare hands,
That such foolish boldness leaves you with scorched palms.

I've learnt.
I've learnt you do not mount a Bike with a straight-cut skirt.
I've learnt that such ventures leave you with a funny person; shame.
I've learnt that you do not soak bread in tea in public.
Because such careless comfort is akin to an abased public image.
I've learnt that you do not eat ewedu soup without water close by.
Because doing that is the same as squeezing your fathers ear when the door is locked.

I've learnt random things.
That you should not drink water after eating pineapple.
That you should not attempt to fry banana the same way you fry plantains.
I've learnt that you must bend down when eating cashew fruits.

I've learnt.
I've learnt the hard things too.
I've learnt that you do not put your trust in a man.
I've learnt that you should not attach extreme importance to any thing or anyone. Because moderation is bliss.
I've learnt that disappointment is inevitable,
That human emotions are fickle.
I've learnt that you do not cause tears of pain and regret stream down the face of your mother,
Because it is a painful sight.
I've learnt that two wrongs were never destined to make a right,
That it is like waiting to see fuel and fire cause rainfall.
I've learnt that nothing matters more than family and friends,
Because no matter how distant they become,
They'll pay their respects the day you die.

I've learnt that love is supreme,
That it is the creative force of the universe.
I've learnt.
I've learnt that simple things are the most beautiful.
I've learnt that family is wonderful.

I've learnt that food is good,
That music is paramount for identity and harmony.
I've learnt too that words are important.
So mull over these ones.,
Because everything begins as a word.
Whether it be ink on the walls of your heart,
Or sounds with meaning on your lips.
I've learnt that it is good to learn.
I've learnt that we are life's students.
We graduate when we die.
Have you learnt this?

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PANACEA by Ada Thelma Iyke

 Dear broken spirit,
 I bring you soft whispers and small kisses like a mother's touch to a bruised knee.
 As you lie crushed and downcast in solitude, I bring you words of comfort.
 I bring you oil to grease the rusted parts of your heart.
 I bring you ointments and bandages, salve for your wounds.
 Let my arms wrap you, leaving your pain engulfed by the poisonous elixir of love that pours out from my being; poisonous to the very pain that so nibbles at your essence. Let my shoulders be the pillow that gets soaked with your tears,
 never getting too wet to take more.
 Let my eyes be a beacon that emblazes your soul.

 Let my words relax the throbbing muscles of your mind.
 Let them, these words I speak, like water to a fire, quench the rage in your soul
So that the smoke rises with ash, ashes that settle and become fertilizers for other hurting souls.
 Let me be your panacea.


Like this?  Drop a comment.

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Small Victories 1 by Ada Thelma Iyke

I hadn't felt this good in ages. I felt as proud as the hunter in Mother's stories. My siblings were drunk with fury. This was the greatest gratification. Their eyes looked at me in disgust as my eyes closed in euphoria. Their hearts pounded fiercely shaming Mother's mortar and pestle. My masticating jaw silently declared me the winner. It was on days like these that I began to change my mind on how difficult life could be. "Who ate the big stockfish I put for you all?" Mother asked. Four pairs of eyes turned toward me. Their eyes hoisted my hands up as winner of the secret battle between us. There were not many conquests to my name, not many great feats. I wasn't like my elder sister who got a scholarship to study in Ghana. I wasn't like my elder brother who became a business guru even in the University. Thus, the few medals I had were important to me. This night, I ate the biggest stockfish Mother put for us. My siblings and I usually ate from one plate. Last week, I helped Aunty RoseMary get to the hospital when she was due for childbirth. Three days ago, I solely removed the weeds in Baba's farm. That night, grandma gave me two pieces of dried meat from the basket above the fireplace in the kitchen. Usually I would feel bad when Father would congratulate my siblings on how good they were in school. Well, I wasn't good in school. I refused to continue since my classmates started calling me Mr. Down. They said I was not normal but who has the right to declare one thing normal and another abnormal? Baba allowed me to be home schooled. Often, my siblings would laugh at me when I tried to speak and the words slurred out of my mouth. They never wanted to sleep on the same bed with me except our youngest sister who was my best friend. It wasn't my fault that I drooled a lot while sleeping. What about my sister who snored worse than the pigs in our neighbour's pig farm? One of my arms was a bit too rigid. It assumed an awkward position in front of my chest. There were many things I could not do. This made me content with the little I was giving back to life. These feats were small victories but I didn't mind. Because they were victories all the same. Because small victories matter the most.

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Directions

Hello there.

I reckon you've spoken to the receptionist. This is a new building and you may get lost. There are different rooms here. Some of them haven't been opened yet. These are the rooms. #Poetry #Fiction #Non-fiction #Hall of Fame #Guest #Gallery Please do well to come back to the lobby if you have any confusion. Other rooms may be made available subsequently. Keep your lenses on and your mind open. Learn. Enjoy.

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8 Days

On Monday, we said hello. That day, I wrote about the rain that drenched my new gown on my way to work and about a certain stranger that stood up in the bus for me to sit.
On Tuesday, we ran into each other again. That day,fate pushed you to the market and made me linger at that meat seller's stand where we said hello the 2nd time. That day, I wrote in my diary about how expensive meat was and how I couldn't buy enough carrots for the salad I wanted to make. That day, I gave you my number.
On Wednesday, I laughed at your dry jokes. That day, I wrote about life and the little things that make us happy. I told my diary about you and how dry your jokes were. That day, I thought about how we wore the same lenses in our outlooks on life.
 On Thursday, we went out for dinner. That day, I sat across the table from you and watched as you ate your Egusi soup and garri without spilling a drop on the table. That day, I told my diary that a man who can eat Egusi soup and garri with such carefulness must be a good shepherd. I thought you would make a good manager- Of my heart and a home.
 On Friday, my heart hypothetically fell down from my chest and got stuck in my jeans. Because you went on your knees. Because you put a silver ring on my finger. Because you promised to give me a life that diamond owners would envy.
 On Saturday, the priest announced "you may kiss the bride" That day, you released the passion you had kept prisoner for long. That day, my father knew I had found another husband, the real one. That day, I told my diary that I had found my compliment.
 On Sunday, we were late to church. That day, we held a mini Thanksgiving service in our room. That day, some angels were late to church because we hosted them in our room.
 On Monday, I woke up alone on my bed. It wasn't because you had left but because you hadn't come. That day, I told my diary about a dream that lasted for 8 days. "Must be prophecy" I said to myself. That day, a stranger said hello to me on the bus and I smiled to myself.

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Welcome! Come in.

Door opens...

The lobby is large and long. To your left are two coffee brown couches. Apart from that and the white walls and doors with polished handles, the lobby is quite... Empty. To your right is a counter with a petite lady who stands there smiling at you.

Odd

You walk slowly to the smiling lady and she bends down quickly. You can hear the sound of a cupboard or a drawer being ransacked.

"Welcome to Odd lenses sir/ma'am"

She hands you a pair of glasses.

"Put them on and keep them on while here" 

She says and begins smiling again at the entrance.

You put them on with a little difficulty. You have to drop your suitcase to adjust it on your face.
Before your hands leave the sides of your head, your eyes widen, a gasp escaps from your mouth. Your brain already knows that you will never stop coming here.

Another lady that looks just like the receptionist but obviously older walks up to you with long braids and big glasses. She smiles too.

"What do you see, dearest?"

Words! They've failed you again. You quickly push out the available ones.

I... I... I see.

* * * * *

Helloooo.
Welcome to Odd Lenses. My name is Thelma and I will be your guide to spiritual bliss on this journey. Just kidding.
Welcome to all things art and truth. Me, myself and I will keep you informed, corrected and entertained. Just keep your lenses on while here.
Oh and Uhh..  Thanks for coming in.  Enjoy.

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