Single and Fabulous?

As the year winds down to its last 24 hours, I want to thank all of you, all the Anita Writes fans, avid readers, for sticking with me through my first official year in Nigeria, working through the theme of the blog, transition from being single and fabulous in America to being single and somewhat fabulous and in dire need of adventure in Nigeria. 

In trying to get my footing and preach the single life in Nigeria I've witnessed sexual discrimination, sexism at its highest in Nigeria, women not being allowed to just be single and free, society instinctively thinks we're hookers because we're not in some man's kitchen slaving away cooking for the 2.3 kids. When you deal with that much sexism it just turns you inside out, almost negative at society for disrespecting the single woman just because she's chosen to embrace the hand that she's been dealt. It takes the air out of being "single and fabulous". You're just single, the fabulous part is a work in progress in Nigeria. Do you want to tell the world that you're happy being single at your age, whatever age it may be? It's just not done. 

But I have worked through this tense discriminating environment, and tried to make the best of it, fighting through the stares, murmurs, disrespectful glances, and close family and friends advising me on the proper way to comport myself in Nigeria. I have just had it up to here. I know Africa has a lot of respect for women but I don't know in what capacity single women fall into that line of respect. Your respect only gets so much when you have something they can appreciate: husband, kids, a home that you're managing. Anything outside that is invisible to them and you need not exist respectably. 

For 2016, I hope to have a more defined focus for the blog - to get people (men and women) to embrace being single. It's not a scarlet letter so why walk with our heads held down as if it is. I want to start a movement for single women especially to garner respect so we can walk into bars and restaurants and lounges and not be disrespected and have to deal with society's misinterpretation of our intentions. This is my focus chapter for 2016 and I hope you all will join me in this fight. If you're single in some other part of the world and enjoying these liberties, consider yourself lucky. Help us extend these same liberties to our single sisters in Africa. We are single until Cupid chooses otherwise, let's not be ashamed of that. 

To all my singletons, this new year, let love be your guide, peace and sense of self be your comfort and hope be your pacifier. Overall, let your self be the best friend you have, treat it with love and respect and it will give you the same love back. Celebrate and claim your own space for that peace of mind and clarity that comes with it. And believe, that even in this crazy confusing oft-misconstrued world of ours, dreams absolutely do come true. 

Till 2016. I appreciate you. 

Namaste...Anita Writes

‪#‎HappyNewYear‬

it is a good day. still

today. 

Good day. 

Spent the day basking in the sun within a 2 mile radius
in victoria island. 

It was stressful
for about a minute
and then I got home
and just sat with my thoughts
and some alcohol to chase those thoughts away. 
it’s so hard to sit. 

So hard to just be anymore.
i’ve lost my mojo i suppose.
I thought i had
more gumption than this. 

I must be getting to the age
where (gasp!) i need someone. 

Or I think
company is essential.
but today.
i credit it.
regardless. 

it is a good day. 

still.

Anger Redefined...

I just thought that...

I just thought that

I would wake up today

and I would feel better, you know?

But I was still mad.

And I realized...

I realized that it had nothing

to do with .....

I wake up like this

every morning!

I am angry all the time,

and I don't know why.

....from the movie, Crash

I remember when I first heard this in a movie. It summarized my feelings, my demeanor and I responded to it immediately. I remember thinking, this writer certainly knows me, knows all of us who feel a tinge of pain and anguish without knowing exactly whence from. A couple of days ago, after a fit of rage that was on day 3, I sat down to explain to a dear friend what exactly was wrong with me, and it came to me. 

Sometimes I wake up and I am angry at my life. I get angry at the choices I've made and how they haven't always been the best choices even though I always promise to make better choices. I get angry at where I am in life and wish I could retrace my steps and avoid taking that step that led me to where I am that is causing me to be very angry. I get angry that I cannot seem to be able to make better choices no matter how hard I try, and I have tried really hard to make better choices, but I still end up in shitty situations. The anger just consumes me and I get irritated and bitter. It's been like this for awhile now. Since I first moved to America and felt out of place. I thought, I am a professional I should know better than to get myself in this situation. Then, with the jobs I worked, some good, some not so good. I thought, I am a lawyer why am I taking orders from lawyers who just passed the bar. And so on and so on. 

With relationships it's a different kind of pain depending on who I'm messing with at that time. One minute I am mad crazy about them and want them in my life no matter what and then, sometimes, I don't even know they exist, wonder what all that wasted anger and energy towards an undeserving human being was for.  But all these accumulate into a very angry, bitter young woman. 

My name is Anita and I am angry most of the time...and now I know why.

Facebook Anniversary

December 1st, is my one year anniversary on Facebook.

One Year of Anita Writes fan page and 'Anita Writes' the person.

One year. One controversial year. One tumultuous Anita Writes year. One year of my truth, raw, often vulnerable, controversial and whimsical posts.

One Year of Anita Writes​.

So...how would I rate my one year on Facebook?

Well...here it goes. Extra long post ahead...stay tuned.

1. Friends have come and gone. 

Yes. After several ploys to persuade my FB "friends" to support my baby, my blog - "Anita Writes" and way too many side chatter (Those FB folks sure know how to gossip) I decided to guard my friends list jealously. Surely, I could go on celebrity status and accept the 300 plus requests I have but...I personally handpicked my audience. I want them to be like my family, my FB friends. Isn’t that what FB is supposed to be about? Reconnecting Friendships. Building friendships.

2. The Highs??!!

Thankfully, I have had quite a few awesome moments this year peppered with the insurmountable lows. The new sensual spoken word blog on Tumblr. The trip to The Hague. Weekend in Brussels. Spontaneous trip to Lille. Dream Come True Trip to Paris. I haven't even shared some of the hilarious videos on the blog. And I took them with the intention to document the awesomeness of my trip - my life events. Got back and I happened to only want to share them with me in my lonesome moments. Some things are private, I suppose. The new friends I made, internationally, I hope to see again. They prove that we live in a great big colorful world. Now, the new job that has sapped me of any creativity, made it almost impossible to write. All add up to my year. You guys were here through Anita's drama and you spread your love and light and made those dreams possible. 

3. The AnitaWrites event. 

My aversion to FB initially was a privacy thing. My privacy was nonexistent to me as a blogger. People knew the blog and they knew me. They rarely connected the personal me, to the me that writes the blog and that gave me creative license to write whatever I wanted. But with FB you are faced with your audience and man, can they be finicky. People on FB enjoy reading a different type of material. Propaganda, gossip, politics. FB has one of the worst readerships I have ever experienced. At times I wished I could enjoy writing those topics just so I get more hits but it doesn't work that way. The originality of content of Anita Writes has kept it thriving for years and if I continue building it, soon enough they will come. 

4. My overall summary of FB. 

FB is for happy folks. People that are happy with their lives. Don't get me wrong I don't begrudge them those blessed lives. I just want to know you in the "in between" moments - the moments when you cry, the moments when you're afraid, confused, the moments when life doesn't make sense, the moments when hate consumes this world and you just wish life could get a grip, the in between moments. We don't all live in happy moments, we experience some real moments, moments when we hurt, wonder, need a friend, any body to reach out and touch (as the Diana Ross song says) the moments when we need God to pay attention and we need everybody to say with us - Dear God, Imma need you to pay attention for this one moment because I need this, the world needs this. FB is not the place for that. And if you’ve shared your hurt on FB, your raw emotion I commend you and I will always be a big fan of you for bringing us into your lives. If you haven't, who are you kidding? You know we all hurt, we all bleed. That moment you bleed out in the open, the treatment may come from the most unusual places.So I look forward to your moment of vulnerability.

I'm going to continue being REAL. I hope you continue hanging in there while I am. And if you haven't become a fan of Anita Writes on Facebook, what are you waiting for?

---Peace, Love and Light in the best possible way. #AnitaWrites #AllLove

Promises You'll Never Keep...

Feel the need to do a repeat of my own words today.

I find that I promise myself to do or not do certain things but I still fail to keep them. Promises to yourself should be the utmost promises. But not for me, I just seem to fall into them. So I'm going to try this, and hope it works.

From this day, November 30th, 2015 I promise myself the following:

1. Not to discuss my personal relationships with anyone. Friends, family, no one. 
2. Not send any profound texts, or emails, or wordy notes to anyone. 
3. Not to be wordy. Monosyllable is the name of the game. 
4. Not to respond or answer every text, call, Whatsapp or BBM. 
5. Not to show people that I'm angry or hurt. 
6. Not to text anyone first thing in the morning, or on a Sunday. PRAY FIRST. 
7. When someone infuriates me. Treat them as if they don't exist. With each word, smile and keep silent. The silence will confuse them.

I promised myself these same things October 2014. I never got around to keeping them. So here we are again, November 2015. 

The weird thing is that I know what I need to do. I am just afraid to do it. I wouldn't say the word is "afraid" it's I don't know if it's possible. I would rather have the opposite. Or maybe possible is not the right word either. It's more of it's beyond me. I cannot do it. I have tried and it doesn't work. The alternative doesn't work and the present doesn't work. So if neither of them work then what gives? Why has this subsisted for 18 months? I keep wondering so what did I do to deserve this...

Am incapable of resetting. Incapable of stopping even though it is the best thing to do. Incapable of understanding that this person does not want to be with me, not now, not ever. Incapable of understanding why even though it is so, we still find each other wrestling. Incapable of keeping my emotions in check. I'm just incapable of being an adult. Be economical with your emotional investments in an uncommitted relationship and keep your options open. A wise person once told me that...why can't I be that wise, and grown?

In addition to these 7, I promise these two:

1. To forgive and pray to forget.
2. To try to give the impossible a chance.

Live it day by day. 

A Hobby A Day...

When I returned from my quick jaunt to Europe for academic purposes, I found my Nigerians just as I left them. 

After being surrounded by an European community that embraces cycling as their preferred mode of transportation even with their inclement weather (July, August had highs in the 50's) with gas stations reasonably empty while tram stations stay packed, standing room only at rush hour, I returned to my car-less situation in Lagos. As soon as my girlfriend had to give me a quick lift to run an errand she started berating my car-less situation. The image of all the Den Haag bicycles quickly flashed through my mind's eye and I shook my head, "Some folks have just been in Lagos too long." I muttered. They think this is how you live life, enslaved to your gas guzzling vehicle.

Later that evening some friends asked me to join them for a "welcome back" drink at our local watering hole by the Lagoon. After trying and failing woefully to elicit details of my trip, I remarked simply, "It felt good to be in a place where I didn't feel like I needed to compete, or be someone else, that is, someone who has a car. A flashy gas guzzling car." They smiled and acknowledged my statement. I went on. "It also felt good to have hobbies, something to do."

Then, they all exclaimed that they have hobbies. I asked further, so what new hobbies have you acquired since we last spoke. They mentioned a new watering hole they recently discovered, this one sans Lagoon view but complete with live band. I said: "But I bet it's the same damn thing. Same group of guys getting together to talk about work, money, their sexual exploits, while drowning their sorrows with Orijin bitters and cigarettes, serenaded by highlife music coming from the live band."

They paused.

"Well, it's not just men. Some women come too." This was their response. This is their hobby.

This leaves me to ask: Africa - What are our hobbies? 

Be Happy, Be Sad, Be You

Being single has its perks. What's not to love? You got You all to yourself. Solo decision maker, lover, friend, confidante and soulmate to your self. You. All you. You're fabulous and you're single. Boom!

Underneath those devilishly awesome you moments, are those moments when you just want to yell: "STOP. I don't want to be single anymore." I think I have reached one of those valleys, one too many times. The valleys come and go. However, my life is filled with fulfilling highs when I am overwhelmed with myself and my goodness that I don't really need that male psycho babble drama. I am Anita, Sheba of her own forest zone, ready to break down all the little cubs. I see couples fight and squabble and I just smirk, wondering how lucky I am that I don't have to deal with all that. How can I? I am Anita...Queen Sheba of her own Amazon. So quickly in between my Sheba moments that I own, the valley creeps in and I succumb. My soft self just wants to scream, FIND ME A MAN. I want to plan my weekends with someone, make someone happy, or mad, wake up and look at someone's annoying face, let my decisions (momentarily) revolve around someone else. There are those salient moments. But then I power through it. And relish the moments when I can be fat and not have someone else be judgmental, I can be "ugly" and not feel like in those "ugly" moments I am disappointing someone. I can be sad and not have someone make me think I cannot have this moment to sulk. You can have all those self-fulfilled and self aware moments too. You can own your "Queen (or King) of Sheba Amazon" too.

Carrie said something magical in Sex and The City's momentous series finale, she said: 

One of the most important relationships one ever has in life, is their relationship with themselves. 

I believe in that so much. I believe it is the most faithful and endearing relationships one is privileged to have and one that is too easily pushed to the side by a glimpse of love or an idea of a union. Something that women (most especially) sacrifice so easily, something that should be at the core of our being. In some contexts I think it makes me the most selfish person on this earth, the fact that I cannot sacrifice my personal wants, and needs for the sake of a union, and some ways it means, that I hold that personal grip on my heart so tightly so as to lessen the number of times I get to stare at a grieving lover and think of that as the image of myself...once upon a time. That's what gets me over those lull moments. My freedom. The fullness in what I have become and the endearing relationship I have with myself.

The Mysterious Case of the Ex

It's all coming back to me now...

Are you familiar with this Celine Dion song?

Today a naughty thought came to my head. I will recount it just as it played out. In my head.

You know how you date someone and then, circumstances that you may not immediately recall case you to break up. But then you run into them eons, I mean tons of months later and they are looking good. So fine. Probably even better than you remember them looking back in the day. You get to chatting and initially, conversation is flowing fast and as freely as the wine. You find yourself tossing your hair back, doing that shoulder lean, tucking in your tummy...summoning your six-pack, trying to stay cute, you know? You start to ask: Oh why did I let this one get away?

Then, they say or do something and another thing and then another. It's like a barrage of wrong statements, judgments, insinuating remarks, criticisms, idiotic stuff from them enveloping you. They all hit you like a blow to the chest.

"...it was gone long ago, but it's all coming back to me. I can barely recall but...it's all coming back to me now."

It all makes sense now. THIS IS WHY WE BROKE UP.

You ask for the check, drain your glass, feel it burn your insides, mumble some excuse about a sick cat, and jet out of there. On the drive home, you realize, it was all a grand plan. God was saving you from something when it didn't work out, and only He knew that. You softly whisper, "Thank you God for saving me from that hot mess!" Never fear when something you so earnestly wanted to work out ends in time, for there is a reason. The reason may not be apparent to you but it will surface in time. It works both ways too. He may be searching for something that you do not have and vice versa, and inasmuch as you both seem to have the right chemistry in every which way, that search is what sustains the interest and if it is not in you, it rarely ever just shows up.

Is this the same result for your "Case of the Ex?" Is it a good riddance to your ex, or, I totally made a mistake making you an ex?

I would like to know...

The Employer's Power of Command

 

Many have questioned that the individual employment relationship is provided by contract because prior to hiring, there is rarely any parity in the relative bargaining power of employer and worker. It is an act of submission and operated in subordination. Also, the agreement between the parties plays a relatively minor role in determining the substance of their reciprocal obligations. Because of the power of command vested in the Employer. 

I put this and some others quite like it up on my cube at work during my Atlanta days. The sentiment never changed no matter what company I worked for, big, small, reputable, full benefits or limited, startup or established. It was still the same with time I got to lower my expectations. 

I don't know what it is that I need to stay motivated but whatever it is, I don't seem to be getting it or achieving it. So I have to apologize for hoping you don't discriminate against me in my own country. It doesn't make one lick of sense but the power of command inherently still exists and is even more pronounced in my country more than ever. And that power has the last say. So I hope put to one day put that up on my wall. Some people were not meant to work, and I think one of those people is me.

To the Sisterhood

Today.
Today at a work meeting, this older black lady got on my last nerve I almost scratched her eyes out, cursed her, gone totally hood. But I didn't.

She jumped into a conversation that was none of her business and made remarks that she had no business making. As I called her out, she got even more defensive, that was when the other Anita almost showed up. I had to find the simmer button.

What pains me about this is this: this is a fellow black woman. A Sista. Why do we sistas hate each other? Why don't we support each other? Why we always gotta hate on one another? What's that about? I didn't steal your weave or your man, why you gotta hate on me like that? Hating on me is the exact thing that gives us black women a bad name. Because we can never stick together. We can never hold each other up, be there for one another. And then when the altercation starts we boast about our stats to call the other Sista out.

"I've been living in America longer than you."
"I've been working this and that before you."
"I've been doing that and that and Running companies longer than you."

That is not the issue. Undisputed.  The issue is - you need to shut the fuck up if you have nothing positive to say. How about that? Shut up specifically because there's a Sista involved, and all what you're saying is not spreading positive energy it's just serving to denigrate...and one should not do that to a fellow Sista. The issue is we are not here to measure stats. That's not what this is about. We are here to be. So let me be. And you can be also. But don't let us be hating on each other as we both be...that's just stupid...and shallow. And incredibly annoying.
We know better. Let's do better.

- Signed a (former) Angry Black Woman.

If your hiring needs require an agent, you'd be best advised not to use Solid Hire.
That's it. That's all.

Why is it Hard to Love the Black Man?

There's this Nayyirah Waheed verse that says:

Things that should be asked often in every type of relationship:
How is your heart?
Is your heart breathing happy here?
Do you feel free?

I interpret this to mean:
Are you okay?
Is your heart okay?
Is something bothering you?

Ever since I read it I thought it'd be a good way to communicate with that special someone who's important to me instead of always delving into me and my multitude of problems and seeming so selfish and unaware of what the man may be going through, so I can connect with that other being that's in my life.

So I ask the brothas in my life these questions, and these are the answers I get:

"Why are you asking me this?"
"Is this what you called to ask me? I thought you called for something important."
"How long are you going to continue to ask me this?"
"I've told you that I'm fine, why do you keep asking?"
"Why must you ask me this question every time you call me?"
"I'm good. Can we talk about something else?"

From all the black men in my life, every single one of them, from my brother to my lover.

It leaves me to wonder: Why is it so hard to love a black man? Why are black men an instrument of study, puzzle, wonder, befuddlement? Why must their love remain so enigmatic?

...Anita Writes...

This piece I understand is a little outside the norm for this blog. But being single also entails existing in connection with others, opening up your energy to accepting those that are worthy of being welcomed in it. That's how you achieve some balance with the solo world you are completely immersed in by tapping into the positive energy of your loved ones and letting that rejuvenate you.

I also wanted y'all to ask the folks in your life these questions...to help you connect better, you know, since life is precious and all...

To PH and beyond...

I have come to realize that inevitably, everything is for the best. 

Some decisions you make all you can do is pray that God's hand is in there somewhere and that even if there's a mistake somewhere in there, that our Heavenly Father will help you recover from it. I hope what's waiting for me over there is so much more, so much better, happier, nicer, so much more love, hope and peace, wonderful, warm people. 

I hope that it is so much more times 2 of my 12 months in this place. As I say goodbye to all that I've known and encountered in the last 12 months that I learn to not look back and look forward with Gods grace to lead me through the next 12 months. 

With hope and trust I ask this of thy Father, in Jesus name I pray. Amen.

God is Love

Today I found myself advising a friend of mine to remember God's teaching about Love. I hardly do that. I hardly advise people on God's word. I hardly do that because I am not perfect not by a mile. I am a Christian but I have so many flaws. It's because of these flaws that I never see it in me to want to pull the log out of my neighbors eye because mine is so large. I fornicate like no man's business. I gossip. I occasionally stereotype as well. But I found myself telling my friend, I do believe this is not what God wants us to do, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that.

What did this friend do, you may ask to cause me to pull out God's good book?

When you ask for a favor, that's the exact time there's a recall of all your ills, certain ills you may have even forgotten.

"Oh, you're asking me for money? That's how the other day you did this or that..."

"Oh, you need me for this? That's how the other day you did this or that..."

Knowing how truly desperate you are and in need of help, they just gotta throw your sin right back in your face as their reason for rejecting your call for help...something about that just screams so many things but mostly, it just says...I don't believe this is what God's love means.

God's love asks us to love and help our neighbor regardless. It asks us to look beyond those ills and help if we can. It asks us to be loving kind neighbors, it asks to be forgiving. I am not even just some random neighbor...I'm your friend and the situation must have been dire for me to call out to you for help. Knowing that you still want to throw in my face that, Oh, due to my sins of the past, you are unable to look past them this one time to show me God's face in love.

Every time I think of it...I am just so overwhelmed and...I have nothing to say to this person(s).

So God is Love. Amen to the glory of God. A true friend exists and I thank God.

My Look Does Not Define Me...Part 2

Today as we delve deeper into my unconventional "lawyer" look, I want to discuss Aileen McColgan one of my Professional Role Models.

I read her Discrimination Law textbook for my masters degree - very easy to read, utterly engaging, extensively in-depth, hefty text. As I read it, I wondered, "What type of woman had this much time on her hands to do this much research, sit down and channel that into a very comprehensive, analytically balanced but gender persuasive textbook on Discrimination Law?" No doubt it was one course I latched onto because, it's Discrimination Law and you're a woman, a black woman, a black single woman. That title just elicits discrimination from every corner. I responded to the words of her text as if she was fighting the good fight for us discriminated subjects everywhere. 

At the end of the course, I looked her up and Google revealed how pretty she is. To me, she's actually quite stunning. You think textbook writer, you just don't see a stunningly beautiful woman like this, you imagine something else, something that fits into the stereotype of bookworms. She is not that stereotype. She's pretty and smart, further elucidating the fact that you can be pretty and smart. You can also be smart and not look the part. People expect smart people to look a certain way, reserved, conservative, sheltered, with absolutely no knowledge of fashion, because they've spent all of their time reading and writing books. That's creating a stereotype, a false image, a perception of what smart people are supposed to look like and once they don't, they get confused. Who says you can't be pretty and smart? Who says you can't be smart, pretty and edgy? As you read the law textbooks, you also flip through the fashion magazines to get a breather, a flair for what real life looks like beyond the textbooks just in case you might be expected to live in it.

For me, I always like the element of surprise. I may look this way, platinum braids and all, so if you underestimate what I'm about, then you're never gonna see me coming, and that way you're not prepared, thus opening me up to capitalize on your weakness.

The most disarming tool in a professional setting is to meet a woman who's not only pretty, gorgeous, stunningly beautiful but has got an intelligence factor that she can work as a manipulative tool. It works. It works every time. 

Marriage Material?

As a single person we have all these ideologies about marriage.

We think, it's mainly about love, true love, finding "the one", that one true soul mate and spending your life together. Laughing, making babies, traveling, fighting and making up, crying on each others' shoulders, talking about your day, having long dinners together. And we wait for that day, for that one person that will fit into this dreamy ideology. Some of us wait longer than others but we still wait, hope, pray and wish upon a star (or about a dozen of them), then pray some more, etc. Then one day you realize...

For the past few months I've been told stories that people don't necessarily marry their one true love. They meet them but then they don't marry them. They let them...get away. Then they spend a significant part of their lives wondering: What If. They don't marry this love of their life because inasmuch as they love this person so dearly, that person is just not "marriage material" and they can't see married life with that person. They can see being in love with that person just not marrying that person. I asked repeatedly, "What say ye is this 'marriage material' and why is it determining your love life?" Opinions differ from family background to job to temperament to not-being-a-good-wife-or-husband. I'm sure there are many more other reasons but...
 
Since I heard this revelation I've just been in a haze, toppled by the news. Walking around, I  look at married couples and think, "Wonder if he or she married this person out of love or just to fulfill the so called marriage material criteria?" 

 

Tell me (all 10 of you that read this!) What is marriage material? And why has it taken the place of true love?
 
Or you can choose not to tell me, if it'd make you more comfortable, I just wanted to share the haze I've been in ever since I heard this from quite a few people. I suppose my holding out for true love is a waste of my time...

I really should learn to be a realist and not an idealist.

One Ticket to Lille, Please

When I worked a desk job (cubicle hell!), I used to get these travel weekly deal emails from Airtran on Tuesday morning. Never Monday, but Tuesday just when the week has started to kick your a$$, you would get these emails telling you, there's hope yet, you can escape all this, do you want to?  The emails would present cheap airfares to places nobody really wants to go. You know those places, in Middle America somewhere that are not known for their vacation qualities. No Disney, no beaches, no notable nightlife, no tourist activities, it's just plain ole America with a main street that runs for about half a block. However, tickets to these places would be dirt cheap. Sometimes even costing about a third of tickets to places everyone wants to go, like Chicago, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco (that used to be about 4 times everyone's price), Seattle, and of course, New York City. My co-worker and I would remark that one day, just one day we would like to go to an airport and ask for the cheapest ticket out of Atlanta. It could be to one of these mildly interesting places, just as long as it's a ticket out of Atlanta. And buying that ticket, sight unseen, no plans made, just on a whim we would make the best out of the place. Be it Boise Idaho, or Kentucky somewhere, we would embrace every little bit of this place and make it an adventure. She used to say with a sparkle in her eye: At least it's not here so that's half of the fun. I still remember that.

I never got to do that in America.

Once my course was done in Amsterdam, I had about 5 days worth of vacation time to fill before I returned home to Nigeria. My stay at the host family home was done and they drove me to Den Haag Centraal train station for me to continue my stay elsewhere, as long as it was not in their home.

I got to the train station and felt overwhelmed. There were tickets available to everywhere within Europe. I'm sure there was a certain radius limit but still, they had choices to places I had never been to. You either had your ticket in hand or you purchased them on the spot. That's a lot of travel in one stations hands. I just saw a tremendous opportunity to go, anywhere in Europe and make it back in time to catch my flight back home. So why not?

After checking all the available ticket options to Paris, which seemed like the most attractive destination choice, I asked the sweet elderly, ever so patient female train station ticket clerk, "Since Paris is out, what's the first, cheapest ticket outta Den Haag?" She asked me, after assessing my age: "You just want to go...anywhere?" I nodded intently. Without a hint of judgment in her tone, she smiled and said, "Have you been to Lille? Lille is pretty nice." I respond, "No, I haven't been to Lille. Ok, I will go to Lille. 1 Adult ticket to Lille, please." I paused for a second and asked her how long the train ride was, she explained, estimated about 4 hours give or take. I asked her where exactly it is. She proceeded to pull out a map and plot point Lille on the map. North of France. I see. 4 hours to a part of France that I've never been to. On the bright side, I can spend 2 days in Lille and head to Paris and hopefully, train tickets to Paris from Lille won't be that damn expensive. I make a calculated quick judgment and she looked at me for confirmation.

This is the point where the single spontaneous spirit kicks in, and I wouldn't advise anyone who is not spontaneous or carefree (or of age) to ever do this. I had no hotel reservations in Lille. No relatives in Lille. No Francais vocabulary asides from junior secondary school which comprised of asking your name or saying my name. I had never even heard of Lille until about 5 minutes ago. But I wanted to get out of Den Haag because my time there, I felt, was done. When a sweet old lady says, "It's like Paris, not just quite expensive." You think, "Now, look at her...will she lie to you?" Then, I remembered that travel wish, buy a plane ticket out of Atlanta to anywhere and make the best of it. The travel deal emails would contain the Airtran slogan: Go. There's nothing stopping you. 

You only get one shot to be adventurous, and if there was ever one for me, this was it. I could do it or continue to live the rest of my life hoping for an opportunity to do it.

So I did.

The train ride with about 3 stops was hellacious because I had so much luggage, which I will talk about in another update about "How To Pack for Europe - so you don't break your neck hauling your excess baggage." The worst changeover occurred in Antwerpen where I had to get to the next platform 3 floors above me all within 20 minutes. It was the worst luggage hauling experience of the trip so far. But I made it. I got to Gare de Lille Flandres and sat down to map hotels around me. I found one -— Hotel Campanile Lille - on my iPad and pointed to its address when I hailed the cab. I got to the hotel and hoped their prices were affordable. They were. The hotel wasn't even a dump. It was quite a charming piece of basic living in Lille with the friendliest most amusing staff I've ever encountered. Thus, began my 2 day stay in Lille.

Lille exceeded my expectations. Granted it was a bit cold but it reminded me of Napa. I don't know why. Like a small city with an affluent following. The only tough part occurred when I got lost, and inevitably harassed in French no less, by some tall lanky black youth. I was scared shitless. Asides from that little snafu and exercise of poor directional judgment on my part, Lille warmed up to me and made this spontaneous gal a fan. Glad I could take that one chance on a destination and just go...and it was so worth the trip.

Had dinner at this Hotel Casino's Restaurant - Wonderful Buffet

Don't know what cruising means but ok!

After I recovered from my harassment situation, I stopped at this restaurant - Le Napoleon - for a very late dinner with a lot of beer to quench my fear. It felt good to be in a safe place. I almost hugged the non-English speaking rugged bartender.

My Love, My All, My Man

And so it is...Keanu's Birthday.

Usually, as regular readers know, I come on this blog and do a glowing tribute to my love Keanu on the event of his birthday. This year I got to do it on 3 different media - Facebook, Instagram and My Blog.

This last one I let it wait because I get to be as personal as possible without filter. The others I had to filter before folks think I'm some crazy obsessed fan, which I am but you know, my fandom has levels. I think? Lol.

But I spent the day sexting Negro. We started off arguing about something and ended up arguing. The general question was: Why do you pay me back with love when all I've ever shown you is not...love? Why do I? In the end, I've asked this question a few times. Why do we love when most times the object of our affection is too bruised or torn to reciprocate? Why do we still show them love? I've had cause to answer that with the children's fairytale of Beauty and the Beast. The Beast was a loving handsome man inside and all that love that he received melted his tough exterior revealing the warmth he was concealing inside him. Now, that's a fairytale version. The realistic version is...what else do you do except love? Hate. I was not taught to hate. You essentially do not reward hate with hate. It doesn't work that way. Peace was eventually made by sexting which really was...kinda nice.

Nevertheless, back to Keanu. How does this relate to Keanu? Everything. I always think of him as a very peaceful man. I might be looking through obsessed fan glasses but he always seems so introverted and peaceful. I never hear him get upset, or do something that expresses rage. And when someone lives some part of their life in the public eye without throwing an unnecessary tantrum it's a lot to be commended. It's a lot to be admired too.

Happy birthday to My Love. For everything that you are, I hope I get to be. I will meet you some day and you will exceed all my expectations. Now...for now, we stay apart and seek our lives journeys till fate brings us together. Here's hoping it will be so kind. To the beginning to the middle to the empty moments in between, to my love as we await that precious moment when we shall meet at the end, all I can say is...Happy Birthday.
All my love...ANI 

My Look Does Not Define Me...Part 1

I had an interesting conversation with a lady yesterday.

After wearing a reasonable hole in my carpet over the weekend, I stopped by my local watering hole, that is, the guesthouse 5 houses from me. I joined a table filled with my usual crowd. This lady joined my table after about 5 minutes. As she walked up to me, she remarked, "Oh wow, platinum braids, how cool!" I responded courteously, "Thank you," and introduced myself. She went on to ask the gentleman seated next to me (who I had never met) what he does, and he said, "I am a lawyer." And then I perked up and said, "So am I." Then, I offered her and the gentleman my business card, cos that's what I do. I go out drinking with my business card. 

Anyway, it turns out the gentleman is a known lawyer with a partner who has a dad who served in The Hague as a judge. Small World. So while this lady was sitting there judging me, I turned to the gentlemen and told him where I had spent some parts of my summer. As we talked about it, this lady almost choked on her drink. She stopped us in between and asked me, "So wait, you're a lawyer? And you went to The Hague with other lawyers with your hair like that?" I nodded. In my mind I was wondering, was there supposed to be a dress code for lawyers my age. I told her: "I graduated in 1999 so...I've been doing this for a while." This made her even more stunned. "Not only are you a lawyer, you're a seasoned lawyer. And a brilliant one." 

She then confessed that when she remarked on my braids she thought I was a lady of a different profession but when she saw me with my glasses she thought, it might not be. I was too lazy to slip on my contacts so I guess the glasses helped dissuade her allusion. Then, she apologized profusely for jumping to conclusions. 

Nevertheless, are lawyers supposed to look a certain way? Are we supposed to be demure and pristine and nerdish? What constitutes the "lawyer look"? I have been so out of it, I might have forgotten. Even in America I joined the most conservative of companies but still was able to push the envelope with my hairstyles and dressing. That is, after I had changed the internal rules a bit. Hey...I'm the girl that wrote policies on work/life balance so we got to work from home, come to work a little later, flexible hours, have women groups, etc. That's the kind of lawyer I wanted to be and I am. If wearing different hairstyles makes me do my job well, who's to stop me? I also worked with American lawyers that sported full arm tattoos, long hair, grizzly beards, wore mini skirts to court. As long as the work was done, and trust me it was done, perfectly, then it didn't matter. So why do we have prejudices about how lawyers are supposed to look? Isn't your intelligence level supposed to be all that matters?

Pay It Forward

When people say: I don't owe you anything. No one owes anyone anything.

I beg to differ. We all do. We all owe the universe an obligation, a sacrifice, a selfless act of kindness. We owe humanity that promise to pay it forward. Someone paid it forward enough to afford you the opportunity to live this privileged life, so your duty is to keep that positive energy going by paying it forward. Let's stop living selfishly but selflessly in order to pay back humanity for the freedoms that we now enjoy.

To conclude, no one owes anyone anything but we just do. We do because we are humanity and we cannot exist in a vacuum. We cannot exist without respecting each other's rights and satisfying our obligations. Obligations that were rendered that even you, oh selfish one is accountable for. It is in that doing that we repay our debt to society. 

It's funny that people often make this statement when you ask of them the simplest of things. How petty our society has become? 

P.S. I wish I could hashtag all the people in my life who felt the need to tell me this. SMDH.

A New Yorker Goes to Paris

Interior of the Louvre

One of many Cafes in this building

Musee du Louvre - Louvre Museum

If you've never been to Paris and have been to New York quite a few times, and have often wondered, "Hey, I'd sure like to go to Paris but..." faced with so many limitations. Afraid to fly. No passport. No money for an international getaway. No adequate vacation time. You name it. Limitations stopping you from achieving your dream of visiting Paris. 

Do not despair. Just go back to New York one more time, and pretend that all the people you see are speaking in a language that you may not understand. Greet everyone with a Bonsoir or a Bonjour and a smile. The mere fact that you are greeting in French or otherwise, also is characteristic of life in Paris. Take a deep breath and let go of all the hustle and bustle, stress and angst, pretend you can't hear the car horns blaring, the yellow taxis cursing or the construction men catcalling. Just tune them out and walk around with an ease that is indistinguishably "Parisien." As you walk along any block of your choice, replace the numbered streets with an Arrondisement (for e.g., 7th street is 7th Arrondisement), every other avenue is a Rue Du something. Make believe some of the Italian restaurants, bagel shops and Starbucks you encounter every half a block in New York represent the Cafes, Boulangerie, and sweet smelling Patisseries. Imagine that people are actually sitting in them on the sidewalk leading to the block sipping espresso or Champagne or an awesome import beer at 11 in the morning. 

Then, simulate street hustlers/beggars (who to me, really have no business being in a sexy city like Paris) instead of the street hawkers, naked cowboys and cartoon characters, and the abundance of Starbucks coffee with an equal slew of Belgian beer and Champagne (not sparkling wine!). Most importantly, imagine that Times Square is filled with haunting gargoyles and medieval architecture instead of flashing lights, advertising campaigns and billboards, this image will represent the sheer magnificence of the Louvre Museum. Replace the skyscrapers and high-tech looking high rises with a commensurate amount of European, medieval architecture lined with Gothic gargoyles, must not forget the gargoyles, Paris is filled with them.

Madonna said it best in her song: I don't like cities. But I love New York. 

Now I know why.

This is my feel of Paris within the first 24 hours. For a place, I heard so much about, I gotta say, it feels a lot like New York. Like a prodigal son to New York. Like the Prodigal (much older) Son that took all of his daddy's money and used it to build the Louvre and a Grand Palais everywhere. There's a Grand Palais structure for every wife, girlfriend, concubine, once they get upset with him, he builds them an intimidating medieval structure complete with gargoyles, gold trimmings, imposing gates led by a cobbled stone parkway, all to appease them for another hundred years.


The one thing I'd say about Paris apart from the abundance of medieval Gothic architecture effaced with gargoyles that start to get a bit much is this: There's a certain latitude with their demeanor. America can be a little heavy handed with their rules, their morals that seeps into the demeanor of the inhabitants. A cop on every corner, checking forms, filling forms, frantic checking of IDs, no alcohol sale on certain Sundays in certain parts of America, certain parts consider everything indecent and against "family values." When you order a drink at Noon they look at you as if you're some type of alcoholic. In my part of Atlanta, we only got alcohol sale approved in 2013, and even with that, not all counties. You would rush to the grocery stores on Saturday to stock up for Gameday Sunday. I would go to wine country up in Dahlonega and have to wait to Noon to be served alcohol!

None of this orchestrated manipulation of human behavior existed or is apparent in Paris, it's like a breath of fresh air, easy, casual, sensual living. Drink Champagne, espresso, beer and lounge at a cafe and just be. You are not even rushed out of your seat once you're done eating. They just let you sit there and soak it all in. That felt so refreshing.

There are so many comparisons between these two great cities that I had to keep reminding myself, "You're not in New York, you are in Paris. The Paris." But it just felt and breathed a life somewhat similar to New York.  Everything about it just spelled New York at first glance. There are a only but a few distinguishing shades to both cities, but they have that imposing big city set on water with a lot going on artistically sense to them. They both have a life and it's that life that inspires you, that caresses you, good or bad, that seduces you to fall in love with them in different ways.

I could go on with the comparisons between Paris and New York, if you can remember some more, I'd like to hear them.

Can I Only Meet God in Church?

I feel a strange of sense of disconnect with my church, my hour of worship, my time with the Lord. Church time is supposed to be spiritual time but I’ve slowly realized in Nigeria it’s so much more. 

It’s networking. It’s artists' showcase. It’s “Let’s find our potential husband” showcase. It’s “Let’s pretend that we’re praying but you know we’re really not.” It's "Let's pretend that our marriage is still intact" time. It’s catching up with the neighbor, family and friends who traveled over the holidays and has casually ignored our calls. It’s showing off that new outfit you got at Harrods where you probably shopped over the weekend. It’s everything but church worship, God worship, time with God. Watching this spectacle unfold has just left me feeling disconnected. Estranged. Confused. Befuddled. Disillusioned. I know a substantial portion of Christians who refuse to enter a place of worship for these same reasons. They just settle in and pray, commune with God. Should I join them? Will God miss me? Will God punish me? It upsets me that it has come to this...but what else is there to do, sit there and observe the worship of everything else but God.

So to you...if you believe (I ask because I've recently encountered some folks who don't believe) in God, do you think it's necessary to worship Him in a church?

Dear English Language, I miss you.

You never realize how much you miss the English language until Google Translate becomes your dear friend and companion enabling you to cross over to the other side to ease that confused look that is often returned to even the most simplest of sentences or requests. It clarifies any brewing arguments. "I meant this not that..." And of course, reduces the excessive gesticulations and hand gestures needed to get your point across, pointing to orders on a menu, wine on a list, pictures in a diagram, etc.  

I just miss English so much. I feel like a voice that needs to be heard is stifled because the first question I have to ask before I speak further often is:

Do you speak English? 

More or less, the answer is: "A Little." With a look that says, "Don't hit me with the big words because I may not know." When it's that I always exclaim with delight, "Houston, we have liftoff."

When it's a resounding No, as if, "Of course not, why would I speak English. Why on earth would you expect me to?" When I get that response, I feel so defeated, not just for me in my quest to communicate with the other party but for the other party as well, thinking, "Your life could be so much better if you did. I wish you knew that."

After 3 and half weeks of touring the non-English speaking parts of Europe which I think is all of Europe, I just miss English so much. As I prepare to leave...I'm torn. I will miss the Western world and all it's niceties but I will be reunited with English. That reunion will feel so good. It will feel good to go to a grocery store and be able to read the labels, the directions on the box, newspaper headlines, street signs, understand the announcements at the tube station and comprehend conversations overheard on the street. It will just feel good to be heard and to hear people. I miss that connection that comes with fluid communication being seduced and having to seduce with words. As words are spoken, each one that falls from your mouth lights up the eyes of the listener causing them to connect deeper and feel stronger about the speaker.
I write. I speak. I want to be understood.

If the English Language were a man, I would greet him with such tender affection at the airport, squeeze tight, shower him with kisses and tenderly whisper all those big words I haven't had course to use in the last few weeks. Such words as: panacea, insurmountable, defenestrate. I would apologize profusely for taking him for granted, I had assumed he was easily accessible to everyone. I assumed wrongly. I would also explain how I've cheated on him recently with French Language, Dutch and recently, a delightful German. I would plead for his forgiveness (even though I plan on cheating again especially with German). For my penance, English language would ask me to spell and actively use such big words as: lodestone, disenchantment, cantankerous and many more. I would smile and accept my penance, as long as it means never having to loose sight of English language again.

A Picture Moment

This picture is important to me in a few ways. When I post pictures on FB it's to celebrate that moment, which may not amount to so much to everyone else, but to me, it represents a moment, a memory, a lot of stories encapsulated in a single photograph. 

In this picture, I was one month into my move to Seattle where I had moved to for work. Seattle, a predominantly "Caucasian" city, did not have that many beauty salons that could handle my weave. A month into my move and my weave badly needed a wash, I spent all day researching until I found one in some part of town that was 30 miles away from where I lived, aptly located off Martin Luther King Drive (yes so typical that they locate the black folks just off some MLK themed hood). 

Early Saturday, with very little makeup, I up and left, driving 30 miles with a $3 toll and the stylist charged me an exorbitant amount just to wash and curl my hair. $68 I still remember it, because the salons in Atlanta don't charge this much. $40 that's what they charge in Atlanta. I remember that so well, because if you go anywhere else, and they say $50, you flip a switch just for that extra $10. But here I was paying this much. I spent about 3 hours in her salon, answered about a million and one nosy ass questions about my hair, Nigeria, Biafran war of all things, and, Atlanta and I still got charged for it. After it was done, I sat in my car, feeling reasonably pissed, and financially violated, I called my mum for solace. 

I said, "Mum, I got the hair washed but I had to drive 30 miles and pay $68." My mum asked to see what the hair looked like so I naturally took a Selfie. Because you can never send a Selfie to your Ma without smiling, I had to force this smile. She looked at the picture and advised, "It looks lovely, but let's work on finding a cheaper place." I agreed, started my car and headed home, driving past MLK drive on my way home. It was a beautiful sunny Seattle day too...as you can see by my sunroof...so rare to have sunshine in Seattle but I was too pissed to do any sightseeing. I just wanted to go home and pretend I didn't just spend my entire savings on getting my hair curled. 

Pictures don't have to be picture perfect, they just have to represent that moment that is memorable and poetic to you, that breathes life into that moment.

I see people on FB get up in arms with me because I don't post picture perfect, razor sharp I'm-Wearing-My-New-Dress pictures. That's not what pictures represent to me. If I look good in them, great. If I don't...well, you're just gonna have to deal with it. It's the look, it's the moment, the preceding factors that led to the picture, the memory that comprises that one solitary photograph that makes it THE picture worthy of being shared and celebrated.

We all need to remember that.