Yard Girl

February 14th 2019. Dear Diary, not to be a bother but I really am depressed today. Soji broke up with me last month and as much as I try to bury myself in work and read "moving on" quotes, it hurts, it hurts as hell. Two days later after I unblocked him, I check his profile and see a picture of an annoyingly beautiful lady. I made a  5 minute long voice note but deleted it, next day I see a post from him, a picture of him and 'miss beautiful' with the caption, "One month till forever💜" what was happening? Trying to figure out what was happening made my heart hurt more blocking him on the blue app would be shooting myself in the leg, I still wanted to be in the loop about what was going on with him, a stupid feeling but I still cared about him. Karina described my love for Soji as an unending damnation, I concluded that she could never understand why I loved him, how I loved him because she was the vice president of "God when foundation", l

Happy New Month. Yes, Yard Girl is still alive, to Jesus be my glory😂 I've got a lot of gist for you. My weekend was awesome, so awesome I did not want it to end, well I began this month with goals in place, great expectations and I was so super hyped about them and set the ball rolling almost immediately, the ball is still rolling and I'm looking forward to positive results. Bing! My muse is back and has given me the inspiration to begin a series for all you lovers #theredmonthseries, where I will be sharing short stories about romantic happily never and ever afters (winks) I am as excited as my avid readers because I don't even know what the first story will be about. Valentine is coming, read my stories, you might catch a glimpse of yourself in between the lines😊.  14th February 2020, our red month begins, the comment section is open for you, tell me what you think one of my characters should be. #Theredmonth🌷 With Love, YardGirl. P.S; School has been

CALL YOURSELF A WRITER In a long run, your mindset is going to determine how successful a writer you'd become. Call yourself a writer, put it on your social media bio, when you meet people introduce yourself as a writer, and don't try to be humble about it, because what you do is not easy. Wear the title "Writer" like a crown. It is not showing off, it is staking your claim on a talent bestowed on you. SELL YOUR CREATIVITY TO YOURSELF Before you write, create an idea in your mind, tell yourself the idea, if your mind isn't buying it. Grow your idea, your mind is your creative hub. Resell the idea. Write like your story is Nobel literature standards. When I write, I intend to make myself feel jealous of what I just wrote, I want to sit back and hype myself "girrrl, you wrote this?? Say what!!" KEEP SHOWING UP Writers draw their motivation from different places, at different times my motivation comes from "a muse", a tiny male voice i

Happy New Year!!! Which is coming  three days late, sorry blog posts aren't made on Wednesdays 😵 It's a new decade, a New Year, and a new month! There's so much I'm thankful for. What are you thankful for? 💜 So it's a New Year, resolutions have been made, we are going to waylay some of these resolutions and some, procrastination might get the better part of. I'm not going to bore you, telling you what and not what to do this year. Here's the vibe; In the New Year's Spirit, here are 10 really amazing quotes that helped me get through last year, and have become my vibe, all day, everyday! And I think you'll love them (My gift to you, thank you very much.😂) 1. On Giving. 2. Normal is overrated! Be different 3. Spread Joy!  4. About Today...  5. YOU  6. First step, baby steps  7. Kill 'em with kindness!  8. Climb mountains! 9. You have grown, you are growing! .

When Papa was alive he kept all four of his daughters under his watchful eagle eyes. Of all his daughters, he referred to me as the bomb which was bound to go off at any moment. I was a bit fiesty I wanted to do the things my brothers did for him and even more, wash the car, fix the generator. Chiebuka my older brother would run off to Papa and announce to him that I had once again climbed up the udara tree in front of our compound, papa would run outside scream my name and call mama , immediately I got down from the tree, abuses, blows and slaps were showered on me. My name is Obiageli. I really hated my name even though my friends said my name would attract the right man for me -She who has come to enjoy- I'm sure papa had that in mind when he arranged for Nduka, the secondary school teacher to marry me. Papa was aghast when I said I wouldn't marry Nduka, "Why? he asked, Nduka is successful, he earns good money as a teacher and he is a noble man, what else coul

I sat on my bathroom floor, crying. I had fallen in and out of love for the fifth time this year. Maybe I was cursed o! Just look at! First it was David, he was the perfect gentleman or so I thought, we had gone on countless dates, half of the campus knew him and I was super excited to "be" with him. I never really knew what intrigued me more, being with a public figure or the fact that he was ridiculously handsome. My dear obviously I was leaving in a fool's paradise and I was the last to find out. I was at the salon, seated on a torn sofa waiting to have my hair braided. Seated next to me was a pretty girl, she had the perfect figure, hour-glass, tapered coca cola shape, I almost felt insignificant at a point tho with my skinny legs and Lekpa self but I snapped out of it and continued reading a book on Wattpad. Aunty Coca cola shape was so nosy she literally was reading the book with me and focused more when I would swipe down my notifications bar and replied

My joy!. Was what mum called me. I never really knew the meaning of those words, but with the way mum would smile when she called me that, those words became my happy words. Mom detected the symptoms when I was 6. I had already been rejected by several schools. I was unable to communicate with my teachers, I preferred playing alone, I couldn't concentrate in class, couldn't maintain steady eye contact, couldn't hold a pencil. At first she taught I was really slow growing up but that was not it. I was born Autistic. When Mom found out about it, she told Dad, who was away as usual, on one business trip or the other, I couldn't tell what they had told each other, -she spoke in a hushed tone- but I saw mum cry, I never wanted to see mum cry, it made me over-hyper watching her cry. The following weeks saw us attending meetings with different doctors, mum wanted to learn more about "how special I was" (so she said), we visited schools, mum explained to m