Words I Spun

Flowers

I always wanted, desperately to be an early bloomer. 
I wanted to walk into a room and have all the eyes on me. 

I wanted to be that girl, with the good this and great that. 

Even better, I wanted to be the first red rose

or the whole damn bouquet.


These days, I’m very inconspicuous. More like unnoticeable.

I don’t move anyone when I walk into a room. 

No eyes on me. 

I’m that girl with the good this and great that though many may not know. 

And it’s okay.


I’m a flower.

And one day, I’m gonna bloom.

In fact, I am blooming.

However slow or fast it might be.

This is just the beginning.

Someday,

I’m going to be the whole damn rose garden.

Photo credit – @nectarandstone on Instagram.

Uncategorized, Words I Spun

+ = ♡

Today, our Lord Jesus died. It might be symbolic but it never felt more real than right now. This year, so far has been a year of connecting with God. You can’t understand. Or maybe you can.

Even in the connect, there were times when I was totally disconnected. I strived to pray, everyday. Have a relationship with him and put him first in everything I did. I tried to be kind, watch what I said and be free from sin and all the gory or perhaps prima facie, glory of it all. 

The times I would wake up and cry, praying. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t grieving. I wasn’t mourning. I can’t explain it either.

Letting myself loose in the presence of my saviour.

Times I would really ponder on whether what I wanted was right or was it wrong?

I liked it, the idea. But it wasn’t to be. The struggle to figure out what is right and what is not.

The days I sinned and couldn’t pray.

Feeling like a hypocrite on some accounts but never once ashamed.

I am not ashamed!

The questions I asked myself.

The prayer on my lips,

That has been plaguing my thoughts for a few weeks now.

Thank you Jesus for loving me, even though I am not at all worthy.

We’ve all been there.

Its hard, it’s unsimple, it’s complicated.

Jesus says it doesn’t have to be.

He loves you.

All he wants from you is to love him back.

+ = ♡

Symbols culled from Hillsong United.

The Stories I Wrote, Words I Spun

Oh Happy Day 

A fan-fiction flash fiction by Titilope Adedokun, The Semi Writer.

Rita, propped on her bed, was using Instagram, nothing unusual. From few doors away, she could hear her mother, Funke telling her father, Glen how ‘this social media nonsense’ was ‘eating their only child alive’. She sighed. Everyone thinks being an only child is fun. As if! 

She clicked on her notifications button. Almost thirty new follow requests. The upside yet downside of having a private account. You just have to verify everything! With only a thousand, seven hundred followers, and following just six hundred and something, she was hardly an Instagram queen but low-key, she knew she slayed and slayed like Goliath, with features popping up every now and then, from slay pages, beauty appreciation accounts to the biracial appreciation pages. Being interracial had really done her well. Her grey eyes, contrasting full lips, red freckles, cheek bones and light caramel skin tone made her look very ‘exotic’ according to many comments.

A few photographers had even sent her direct messages, wanting to ‘work’ with her or ‘shoot’ her. As if! None of them looked worth her damn time.

As she scrolled down, she saw her crush and liked his picture. Oh damn, he got a tattoo! That’s so hot.

Brooklyn Beckham was always on her damn mind. Hell, she stalked him everytime, followed his father, his bestfriends; The Ramsays and even his dog’s account. But a verified account with followers running into millions, there was no way she could compete with that, no matter how ‘exotic’ she looked. She smiled sadly and scrolled away. But not before commenting, You are so adorable!

                        —————

Her phone blinked, notifying that she had another new follower. @brooklynbeckham just followed you. She checked her Following‘s notifications to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. 

@brooklynbeckham just followed @ritasayshi 

She screamed! 

Her mum and dad came into her room. Funke asked her, visibly agitated. ‘Rita, what’s going on? Why did you scream like that?’. ‘Brooklyn Beckham followed me back on Instagram’. 

                     —————–

She summoned courage and texted him, just testing the waters. 

Hey. Thanks for following back. So cool.

One second, two seconds, five seconds, thirty seconds.

Hey. No problem. 

She screamed again but muffled it with her teddy bear. She thought, should I reply again? I don’t want to seem desperate. She chanted to herself. ‘I am not desperate. I am cool, calm and collected. Brooklyn Beckham just followed me back and replied my text, its not a big deal’.

After a while of crazy self deliberation, she decides to text him back. ‘If he thinks I am a crazy desperado, then, so be it! I don’t care… Well I do care’ 

So umm. I’m a huge fan of your photography. It’s really great. 

He replied almost immediately.

Thanks. I went through your page. You’re gorgeous. Are you in England though? I would love to put my lens on you.

She screamed again, muffled with the teddy bear and daydreaming of their wedding day. Do you Rita Phillips take Brooklyn Beckham to be your lawfully wedded husband…? I do! 

Yes. I am. I’m part African but I live in London. That would be amazing.

Oh God. She was rambling again. Who told her to say anything about Africa?

Okay, great. Let’s work something out. What days are you free this week? And Africa? What part are you from? I did some charity work in Kenya last year. Fantastic place.

In her head, she replied. I know baby, I know. And free all the days of my life! 

I’m from Nigeria. Lagos, exactly. Really beautiful place. Friday and Saturday, both are free days for me. E-mail is ritaamokephillips@hotmail.com

He replied her.

Okay, that’s perfect. I would send you an e-mail to confirm the location but honestly, it’s nothing so serious. We could do random shots and then, we could do a few Polaroids.

As she replied him, her phone rang.

🎵🎶 It was just a dream, just a moment ago…

Uggh. Don’t do this to me!

She feels a tap on her shoulder. 

‘Wake up, Rita, it’s time to go to school!’

She rubbed her eyes and tapped the ‘Join Instagram’ button.

Uncategorized, Words I Spun

I made mistakes, so what?

Mistakes are not uncommon. They are a constant in life, accept it or not. You need to make mistakes to grow. Trust me, I know. That rhymes.

Okay. I made mistakes, so what? 

I’m someone that seldom regrets things.

Weird, right?

I like to believe that I absolutely don’t regret anything I’ve ever done or didn’t do.

There’s nothing, well, there’s only one thing I absolutely wish I didn’t do but then, I needed to fall so I would know how to fly. 

I think we need to embrace our mistakes.

You are not perfect. Get that.

You are not flawless. Get that.

Sometimes, you don’t gat this. Get that.

It’s crazy how someone could do everything right 99% of the time yet, the other 1% is just so haunting. 

I think, naturally, as Africans, we are taught to be too in control. You can be in control but it’s okay to be vulnerable.

Its okay to make mistakes.

When you make mistakes. Not if, when. Because you will make mistakes.

So when you do, don’t wallow in them.

Hold your head up high.

Learn from them.

Don’t beat yourself up.

Rise above them and,

Move on! 

The Stories I Wrote, Words I Spun

DETACHED 

A Short Story by Adedokun Titilope

Alone, cold and hungry, I see the children coming, clutching their lunch bags. There would be good food in it, no doubt. Even that one with the torn shoes would have good food. I smile, a smile of regret.
Oh, what will I give to go back!

The arguments started when I was fresh out of senior school. I was always a difficult child but it became worse without the restraints of school. Eighteen, with no university aspirations. I tried to learn a trade. Rather, trades but hairdressing, tailoring and pottery were too blue-collar for me. I was going to be a star. 

At least, that was what Baba had said. Even, Oluwo said so. They had predicted that I would own slaves and empires. I would build houses for my parents and all my siblings. They said I would be always on top, never below. And I was treated accordingly. We weren’t the richest yet I had the best things. My sisters did not go to school so that I would go. After all, I was going to be a star. 
Irawoola, they called me. The star of wealth. Their star. I let it get into my head. I didn’t want to go to school, I was going to be a star. I did not want to learn a trade, I was going to be a star. 
Something brushed against my leg and scampered. The children walk faster, almost running past me. They run with bouts of laughter. They think I am senile. They think I have gone off the deep end. I’m not, I am a star. Baba said so. I have my slaves and my empire. 
I pick up a banana peel from the dump I’m sitting on top of and throw it at their retreating backs.

Think of this short story as a gift, from me for New Year’s Eve. Maybe something bigger is coming tomorrow, just maybe.