Tips for Nude People

Nude people, yes, you with your fingers in the wrong place posing for a picture. You, who think your boyfriend is taking a nude picture of you for fun. Yes, I am talking to you if Kim Kardashian inspires you. Listen here!
You are not the download site’s 100,000,000,000,000th visitor, or the winner of the suspicious $10,000 on that random pop-up site. And OK, maybe your parents are stuck in Northern Haiti and they are depending on you to rescue them but it sounds purely doubt-able that they would have the resources to use the internet and send you the email….in Northern Haiti.
Everyday there is a new cyber-breach caused by bots on your computer or hackers in the cloud or some hideous thing.
Fortunately, the only thing that differentiates me from you, nude people, is my cynicism for trust in mankind, totally useless. So if you are not me, I will ask you to:

1. Go against expectations and make your password, “password”. Hackers will be trying to find a more complicated password, and it will be right under their noses! Those fools.

2. Ever notice how all security breach stories involve Apple Macs, and Windows phones. One word!Payphone!

3. “Clean” your devices after every use by tossing it in soppy water! Good luck on that one!

4. Keep your nudes in a folder named “Notes” or “The History of Wanking”. Sorry I mean, “The History of Banking”.

5. If looking at nudes in public, cup your fingers around the edges of the screen to stop anyone from phishing but most importantly to stop any minute scraps of data from escaping through the side-loops of your phone screen. That is how you make sure!

@JohnMazerolle…I feel you!

I am Back Bi*#$s

I admit! I have really been quiet. No excuse, no reason! It’s just that I have really been busy. So busy, I simply forgot what makes me truly happy. Writing. Or should I say, having you read what I write.

I believe the last time I opened an article like that was in April Madness. Too original.

At the beginning of this year, I took a straw of entrepreneurship and sipped. Nothing would have prepared me for the most unstable phase of my life. Starting a business, is by far the scariest thing ever, after abortion of course. All that decision making, sigh… So it took me a while to sit back down and type my heart out. But what can I say, Lady Boss got things to do!

As I speak, a few negative reviews and even harsher feedback from needy, bitter clients have slapped me the wrong way, I am scarred. I will wipe the last tear at this comprehension of failure, but I promise to revisit my shot at diction. And you dear reader shall be there to read every word, right!

I AM BACK BI*#$S!

April Madness

I admit! I have really been quiet. No excuse, no reason! It’s just that I have really been busy. So busy, I simply forgot what makes me truly happy. Writing. Or should I say, having you read what I write.

As you were!!

2015 has been a subtle year! I failed my new year’s resolution in the second week of the year. That’s when I knew it wasn’t happening. *Chuckles* Like I needed any other sign. Failure can be a lonely place to call home. The following months didn’t spare me the eye bags. Winter was rude and I think I have a mild shade of memory loss. For example, I just forgot what I was going to say. Totally. For real.

In April, I had the amazing chance of going for an interview at my dream company.  I can’t describe the excitement and utter glory I felt. Like I had achieved everything I had ever aspired to even before I could have a look at the salary chart, let alone be hired. I turned to my wardrobe for hope. Hope that I would impress on spot without blubbering a sigh. And a sigh is what I could afford when I pressed the elevator button and there the mirror was, displaying me and my alternative for legs in the shortest skirt possible, you could see my name and address. No lie! I still went for that interview, hoping that they would realize my shamelessness and take it for resilience. So much for positivism. They better call me back.

Now, I am thinking, my new year’s resolution should have been to buy a mirror. Such a no brainier. But then again, I am sure I would fail to do that too.

Promise of a Wave

I am nothing on the river
No life rafter
Just another opaque object
Too frail to object
I will sink and surface
And drown again
Until my blood is dissolved
Into the white water plain
My breath holds less purpose than the river can propose
No deal!
But the wave, oh the wave
Keeps me rising, afloat
Of all the rumble
And quarrel
The river possesses
I am carried, so afraid to regress
But the wave carries me up
As if to remind me of the hope
The hope to live on for tomorrow
To wait patiently for tomorrow
To love endlessly for tomorrow
“Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow shall worry about itself.
Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
I am reminded.
I float to the promise
That I will be at shore soon.
And he’ll be there
Waiting for me at dawn’s loom
With the promise of a wave

Ego of Conflict

This article is long overdue. I promise you reader, that I will try my best to make it matter to your own situation. Here goes nothing…..

Conflict comes to everyone, whether you are kind-hearted or aggressive in nature. The difference between a soft persona and one settling into patterns of warfare is not the amount of conflict or the intensity of conflict, but the way they respond to and resolve conflict. You will figure out how differently the characters in this article respond to conflict and how that affected the conflict itself; for better or for worse.

So my current roomate and I have been having a conflict for the longest time possible. Let’s call him Thothilla! Like Godzilla! I am funny.

I found a very cheap and convenient basement-apartment to live in, it was like I had found a jewel in the sand. From the time I moved in, having found him already residing in the basement-apartment, he seemed to be accepting and receptive of the new arrangements I had brought to the apartment. I need to mention that in his reign, the apartment was crudely empty but his prison bed, a reading table, a plate, a metallic cup and a spoon (prison-like, not so?). As much as these factors spiked my suspiscions, they never put me out of ease. I had hopes of making him my friend. Boy was I in for a ride!

I placed a couch in the lounge and settled in, a flat screen for entertainment and portable speakers for when we’d have parties, because you know, we are lively people. At first he seemed fine with it but in time, the way I filled up the space didn’t settle well with him and at least two complaints started popping up here and there. At one point in time, during a much-needed sit-down with him, he raised his voice at me, as if to remind me that he was there first and had the utmost right of attorney to how things went down. Well, it is safe to say that that was when my reception went out the door. As much as I have tried to reason with him, I’d rather be caught dead than giving him a second of my attention.

His ego had a big play for sure, so did mine. From the little I know of him, his fringy self had lived through 2 sets of roomates, all who had left the apartment and him living alone until I came around. No wonder the apartment was empty. And by then, the sentiment that he was lord and ruler of the rented abode had lodged in his rudimentary brain. I don’t entertain such immaturity. Not this time either.

I transformed from a friendly upbeat persona to the deaf mute that never cared whether he was home or not. I like loud music, it’s inspiring, don’t judge me. And I had developed a craving for it whenever I was home. Evidently, his complaints became even more rampant. And nobody ever tells you, but it is way easier, blissful infact to ignore the person with whom you are in conflict. I have heard him curse me from time to time and my response was a chuckle, which drove him crazy.

In the sumer, I fostered a couple of kittens from the animal shelter for weight-gain, after requesting permission from the landlord of course. When he saw them, his reaction was, “Why wasn’t I informed there would be kittens in the apartment?” I wanted to tell him that he doesn’t own the place and if I didn’t want to tell him, I didn’t have to. But I smiled and walked away.

He uttered and muttered at everything I did, whether it had to do with how long I used the bathroom or how much I used the flat screen. I grew wiery. Out of wit, I asked him not to talk to me ever again since that had failed to yield any substantial results. I told him he was was left with the option of sending his complaints to the landlord as he had always done, instead of shouting at me when I was still receptive. I knew this was the only way to distance myself from his irrationality while, the whole time, sharing the space with him. I could tolerate that.

A few tense days later, he approached my flat screen in an attempt to damage it since it was making noise for him. Where a kind request could have sufficed, he opted for vandalism and voilence. I stood upto him and dared him to touch me before he could touch my screen, we both knew where that would end. He walked away in silent mutter of gujarati curses, it was the funniest scene ever.

Later, he came home with new Sony speakers, the kind they use when a new store opens on the boulevard. I am sure they took out his savings. *chuckle* He opened his door wide and blasted the boom out of boombastic, Shaggy never sounded so good. I like the tune so I was twerking the whole time. I knew deep down that he didn’t buy them because he likes loud music, it was definitely out of spite. And indeed when my landlord asked him to turn it down, he gave me as an excuse claiming he had bought them to teach me a lesson. The grand question was, “If I liked loud music, what are the cahnces that I will be disturbed by louder music?”

I do not have an idea what Thothilla’s plans are and I don’t plan on finding out but in my opinion, to which I am entitled, he needed to stop caring for every single thing I did in the apartment, he needed to stop giving me so much purpose in his daily life. The same way I wouldn’t lift a finger if he decided to crack his skull in the bathtub. It is the least pretentious way of living, the free-est way of enduring a conflict. Needless to say, when necessary, confrontation is key: mild and agrressive alternatively. The only key being respectful approach, which I failed to get from the beginning; so why give it or expect it! Another grand question!

At the base of it all, it takes as much strength to hold back a response whenever one feels disrespected, I can testify to that. I believe that I have found the best response to endless ruffles and conflicts in common shared living households. If communication alongside respectful approach doesn’t work, phase out and stop paying attention. It is working so far for me.

2wentyFift33n…..

At one point in time, I was just a baby, my parents’ only child. How time flies!

Now I have 3 siblings, turning into a pretty young woman with zealous ambition and inspiration, aiming for higher heights – literally. As this year comes to a close, I realise now the power of time, when delicious food goes bad, when natural, pitch-black hair turns grey and most especially when wounds are healed.

And like each fresh wound, there shall be a reminder, like a time stamp, a scar to remind you of the hurt but also of the strength one administered to endure. Time flies, true, and who you are at the end of time truly depends on who you are now, because as we know it, time is a constant. I never thought I would be of this age, I never imagined I would live the way I live, where I live, and who I love. And love, yes true love, happens to be the only indignant factor to time. Its the only other constant that time can never wane, heal or erase. You can learn to love this new year, bless someone with the most divine gift you have ever recieved. Heal someone of the hate and show affection. It doesn’t hurt.

I lied, it hurts sometimes, and I believe to serve the purpose of time. To heal us of these wounds, to teach us of these hounds of struggle.

I bless my 2016 and yours too. I hope you will achieve ALL your dreams and you will step into another year a better person in all aspects of life. Learning how to love and learning from your hurt. With the Most High watching over us, may 2016 be yours for the taking.

I personally want to thank 2015, for opening my eyes to the power of time. I have mastered the art of patience, manifested my faith and learnt how to think over problematic issues. And now with 2015 coming to a close, 2016 won’t take longer than 356 days and neither will 2017. It may seem vain, but once you make the most of it, you shall ACHIEVE!

Happy 2016 from Legendary Automation of Diction.

Niagara

That Friday afternoon when my last ray of hope for Roy’s call was dimmed, the entourage had just arrived. Roy was supposed to drive us to our get-away destination. One of the girl’s I hang with was turning (I swear I don’t know) _ and we were to celebrate it in style – Niagara. It’s that awkward moment when things might not work out yet folks have traveled miles for it. I didn’t fret, I had plan B. But with a cost. A heavy cost.

Michael (name withheld, syc!), born in Luweero, raised and groomed in Masaka was the kind of man you would never want to meet if you were trying to have a good day. His facial expressions relayed that he couldn’t maintain a conversation, not because he didn’t know how but he didn’t want to expose his indecently raw kiganda accent. For all of you who may not know what I am talking about, GOOGLE is your friend. You’d would think that when one spends more than 10 years in a country, they would assimilate  on their own accord, or at least adapt to the way of dressing, walking, and speaking. Michael was not going to have any of this. His ignorant smile and shallow chuckle only let him off as a mere contributor to the small talk but as much as he had to say, he just couldn’t. I have tried to, times a many, empathize but I can never fathom what it feels like to have a voice and an opinion but no decent way to lay it down. Michael was my plan B, my only other plan.

He was going to Niagara too but had no company. His 6-seater X5 BMW appealed to many, even passers-by who couldn’t help but ogle four authentically-African girls get seated. That moment would have been so much as a brag to my confidence if the driver’s seat had someone else in it. Because as much he insisted that he knew where we were going, I gravely doubted his syllables. I resorted to drinking fast in the co-driver’s seat (Sorry Mama) just so I could shake off my nerves. The weight of the responsibility for the girls in the back dragged me to the concrete, I had to cope.

It was at the Canada-US border when my fears were confirmed. Mr. I-gat-this had driven us all the way past our exit to the border and the only was back – through the border of course. At that moment, I discovered how much or rather how little, I knew my “friends.” All the questions asked had to be answered, a few things were confiscated and a few confessions were told. The epiphany moment was when they asked them how they know the driver, and someone bluntly replied, “We don’t!” One of the girls didn’t even have her papers in check and my main worry was that we’d leave her at the border in a cold, black-people-only box of a cell. Thankfully that didn’t happen. I still can’t explain where my much-needed height went, but I sure sobered up real quick. And when they cleared us, I was much more saddened that I was going to sit in the same car with the same driver. Words couldn’t explain my dismay, I just wanted to go back home. Sometimes, the only person you can truly blame is yourself.

Sure, I enjoyed Niagara. The falls are a vision from another planet and the buzz is breathtaking. I have been to a number of places in Ontario but Niagara beats each one of them. The Niagara Falls History Museum and the aquarium were ecstatically amazing. They climaxed my trip but that is another story for another day. I plan to get engaged there so for all ye hopefuls, take note.

My bus ride back to Toronto was peaceful and fulfilling, as there were no borders to cross and no conversations to worry about. So girlfriend, before you sit in that car for a “free ride”, think about the price you may have to pay.