At times, we “fall in love” with a person, and in our eyes they can do no wrong. Soon, we have sex with them, and in the aftermath of the fuckery, the rose-tinted lenses through which we saw them fall off our eyes. We start seeing their true colours, they become unbearable to us, and two seconds later, we break up with them. It would seem as though the tea got spilled after we fucked it (whatever “it” is) out of our systems.
Have you noticed how people get more love when they are dead? It is like death makes us see them in a new light. Why do we wait until people pass before we show them we appreciate them? Is it that we only love them dead? Continue reading “Why Humans Are Necrophiles”→
If a woman made a period joke, I know I would laugh. It might not be so funny coming from a man. But from a woman? I’d go like:
Because I feel a certain “camaraderie” based on us enduring painful things associated with periods, it makes it easier to laugh. It is almost a bonding experience for us. The same way we do not expect a white person to call a black person the N-word or a German making Holocaust jokes, is the same way I (personally) do not expect a man to make period jokes. Continue reading “Period Jokes (Are They Even Funny?)”→
In my third year at the university, my Research Methodology assignment was on homosexuality. My classmates and I had to come up with two topics each and the lecturer would approved one. My first proposed topic was on Sex Work. Homosexuality was the second. No one was writing anything similar and I was feeling like a bad beesh… hehehe! Eventually, my lecturer approved that I write on the latter. At the time, no lecturer was going to teach homosexuality in class. No one was going to talk about it. And I just want to talk about those thing people are scared to talk about.
For me, loving a person means I will not hurt them deliberately. It also means I get to be kind to them, not speak ill of them in their absence, and wish them good things. That I can love them means I have enough love inside me. From this deep well of love within me, I am able to share with every sentient being.
Based on this, I probably love venomous snakes. Uh-oh…
In spite of the galling sounds of different generators renting the air, it was hard to miss the sound of wooden soles walking behind him with purpose and certainty. In the manner of visceral reactions, Okon’s skin crawled, as if trying to escape his body. He quickened his footsteps, and the ones coming after him followed suit. This confirmed that the person walking behind him was bent on hurting him. Screaming for help would be futile – the sounds of the generators would subdue his voice. Continue reading “(Short Story) Murder on Bishop Close”→
When identifying with labels, it is important we create room in those boxes so that we can easily move around. One way or another, a particular label has a way of clashing with other labels we identify with. Your label as a daughter could conflict with your label as a sister.