FASHION: Lupita Nyong'o

Lupita, Lupita, Lupita. Her looks are fire. I know I'm late to catch on but I just love her outfits. She's so classy and her dress at the Golden Globes Awards was to die for. I'd kill for such a dress. I'll post a few of her outfits that I got from the net, with the red banger from the Golden Globes being the first.

BEAUTY & SKINCARE: Different Eyeliner Looks

Hello good people :) It's been almost a week since I blogged. Gosh, I've been held up with my finals. Once I'm done, I'll be sure to blog more often.

I'd say random YouTube video surfing brought me to the video I'm about to share with you today. It's pure genius! I hope you love it. I'll give some of these a try :) What do I love about this?

1. The looks are easy to achieve.
2. They aren't messy.
3. They can be worn with little or no makeup applied to the face.

FEATURED POST: Everything Comes At A Cost

I once tried my luck at fictional writing. Boy oh boy, didn't I rack my brain that day. I came up with a decent story, so I think. Okay, it was fairly decent. I must say, I got a few good reviews but I don't think it's something I'll do too often. Anyway, today I'll share with you a really good post I read. I thought to myself it was to good to read and not share. So brace yourselves for the writings of Chipo B.

Before we get into that, I want to say this is an awesome story. If you want to read more of her work, you can check her blog THE CHRONICLES OF EVERY WOMAN; http://chroniclesofeverywoman.wordpress.com/.

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 Everything Comes At A Cost

The shopping bags hit the floor the moment Cynthia entered the door.

She kicked off her Jimmy Choo’s and sighed with relief as she felt the blood rush back to her toes.

“Beauty knows no pain, my foot!” she grumbled as she bent over to pick up the load of shopping bags. She paid no mind to the weight of the load as she semi-limped to her bedroom. She threw the bags onto her bed and fell next to them. She felt her body cry out in delight as she hit the plush, silk covers that covered her king-size bed. She sighed as she allowed her body to rest. Shopping was no menial activity. She shook her head. It was work – hard work. She willed herself to get up before she dozed off – she couldn’t afford to fall asleep. She entered her bathroom and stopped to admire it. It had just been renovated and she loved it. The ebony and ivory theme she’d chosen looked much better in reality compared to the picture – and the picture looked amazing. She made a mental note to send Steve another “message of gratitude”. She smirked. It paid to have a close connection in the architecture industry. Especially a connection who was able to get a renowned interior designer to offer her services – free of charge. If it weren’t for Steve, she probably wouldn’t have found the amazing penthouse she was able to call her home.

Steve… she wondered. It really did pay off to have such a close connection.

She walked over to the favorite part of the bathroom – the large black and white pearl bowl in the center of the room that was her bathtub. She turned the gold taps and let the water run as she returned to the bedroom. She jumped onto the bed and reached for her handbag – Original Louis V of course. She smiled at her bag.

“Nothing less than the best!”

She pulled out several purses. She emptied each one and examined her phones. She picked up theiPhone and quickly typed a sweet message of gratitude to Steve. She added that they should meet up for drinks sometime soon. She chuckled. She doubted that his wife would approve. She rolled her eyes. These church-going, pretentious wives were all the same. She chose not to dwell on her thoughts. She paused to look at her newly-manicured nails. What a day it had been, she thought.

Her vibrating HTC reminded her that her day was far from over. She looked at the number on the screen – Tito. She slid her finger across the phone’s screen and answered the call.

“My sparkling gem,” he greeted. The sound of his gravelly voice made her smile.

“My big boss man,” she spoke like a lovesick teenager – she knew that was what he wanted to hear.

“Did you enjoy the outing today?” he asked.

“Yes I did,” she upped the pitch in her voice as she dragged her voice a little bit. Vulnerable. She needed to sound vulnerable.

“Thank you for spoiling me,” she simpered.

“Do you like what you got?” he asked. He was beyond chuffed. It was in his voice. She looked at the mountain of shopping bags.

“Yes I do,” she cooed. “I love every single thing!”

She could barely remember half the things she’d pulled off of the racks.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t drop you off myself,” he said, sounding guilty. “I had to…”

“I know,” she replied calmly. “Your wife needed you.”

“You understand right?” he asked. She rolled her eyes. Men always sound so tough until their weaknesses are exposed, she thought.

“Of course I understand, honey,” she said. She listened to him sigh with relief. “But I hope you haven’t called to cancel on me.”

“Of course not, angel!” he was very quick to assure her. He sounded so desperate; it was rather pathetic. Tito was a very successful man. But there he was begging for her approval. She wasn’t even his wife. But he sounded like he couldn’t afford to lose her. He wasn’t the first man to need her so much. She found it fascinating. The power she had over these men.

“Good,” she said. “Now I need to go and get pretty for you. I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Okay, angel,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

She ended the call and put her phone aside. She looked around the room. Nothing – from the Persian carpets on the floor to the Egyptian silk bed sheets she had – in the room was anything less than premium quality. Her life revolved around opulence – a lavish home, designer clothes, gourmet dining – the list was endless.

She remembered the days when she was a little girl. Her answer to every “What do you want to be when you grow up?” was “A Princess.” And she was a princess – to some extent. She was beautiful. She had her own castle. She had beautiful clothes. She had everything she wanted – two luxury cars, technology galore, enough accessories to supply a chain of stores…

She had everything.

She jumped off of the bed. The tub! She rushed to the bathroom but sighed with relief as she saw that the tub hadn’t overflowed. She removed her clothes and slid into the welcoming hot water. Her body shuddered as the heat worked on her muscles.

She thought of Tito. He was new to her. Well a new “client”. A new source of provision. She sighed. Everything came at a cost.

Women in her area – mainly uppity housewives – looked at her from afar and gave her the widest berth they could possibly give. She knew the names they called her.

“Prostitute.”

“Upperclass whore.”

“First Class Hussie.”

“Prime-time gold-digger.”

She smiled bitterly. Everything came at a cost. Yes, her lifestyle had been funded by wealthy – usually married – men. Yes, she gave them sex in exchange – but only when they required it. She knew what she was. Her “ways” were her own.

It all started when she was working as a PA for an esteemed CEO of a large insurance firm. They had an affair. He showered her with gifts and money in exchange for a listening ear. That’s all. Yes, they were intimate but all he ever wanted was what he never received from his wife – care. His wife was so into her life as a wealthy man’s wife, she neglected her husbands needs. Ironic. That’s how Cynthia got the job. His wife didn’t have time to keep his life in order, so she hired Cynthia to do that for her.

Cynthia’s natural ability to empathize and listen well made her hit it off with her boss. They became firm friends fast. His wife paid no mind. As long as her husband was happy, she was happy.

It was no surprise to both Cynthia and her boss when they ended up in a lover’s clinch one warm, summery night. That was their first moment. During their two year-long relationship, Cynthia knew that her boss would not leave his wife. She didn’t want him to leave his wife. She didn’t love him and she knew that he didn’t love her. He loved the attention and affection she gave him. The same affection and attention he craved to receive from his wife. The gifts and all of the money weren’t bribes. He never had to beg her to keep quiet. Confidentiality was an unspoken agreement. When they parted ways, he gave her a kiss on the forehead and said,

“Thank you for letting me see you as my wife. Thank you for filling the void she’s been failing to fill.”

That’s how it was with all of her “clients”. She was their temporary wife. Whatever they lacked in their marriage – they came to her. In return, they gave her gifts. They gave her money. They contributed to her life as a princess. Her family never asked questions – there were barely any family members to ask questions. Her father passed away when she was twelve – alcohol poisoning. Her mother lived with her younger sister in a quiet suburb in another city. Cynthia had demanded the house as payment from one of her “clients”. She sent them money every month. They asked no questions. She told no lies.

The men she’d helped saw her beauty first and they’d come to her to distract themselves from their failing marriages. But once they’d talked to her, their needs for her developed into something more emotional. Something more sincere. She smiled as she thought of how each man’s  ”tough guy” act would drop once she got to their core. Once she figured out what it was that was making them come to her. Everything she owned was a result of her hard work. She gave men compensation for the damage they received at the hands of their wives.

Their wives thought that as long as their husbands physical needs were met and they, the wives, still looked young and fabulous – then everything was fine. How wrong they were.

She thought of the anguished confessions she’d heard from “her” men. Their cries for attention. She’d seen their tears. She’d held them and rubbed their backs as they hurt and healed. She saw herself as an unorthodox therapist for men. She laughed when she thought of the judgmental housewives. They were busy mocking her but it’d only be a matter of time before their husbands were at her door, begging for her services.

She drained the water in the tub as she got out. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. Everything she’d sheen and heard pained her. It made her want to love her future husband so much in any and every way possible.

She winced at that forbidden thought. Everything came at a cost. What sensible man would accept her past? He wouldn’t see her as a ‘therapist’. He’d see her the same way the housewives did – as a money loving whore.

He wouldn’t laud her. He wouldn’t pat her on the back for “helping” all of those men. She sighed. Not every princess got her heart’s desire.

There were some clients that had fallen in love with her. They tried to propose to her but she’d turned them down firmly. She would not break a marriage. She sometimes regretted saying no, though. She sighed.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her heart did long for love too. For someone to call her own. She shook her head vigorously. She erased all ridiculous thoughts and looked at the bags on the bed. She’d bought a number of dresses. She’d wear one of them on her date with Tito.

Everything came at a cost.

This princess had to keep the ball rolling in her life – regardless of the cost.

WRITING: Soar

I've always wished I could fly. I remember this dream I had some years ago and I could fly. It felt so real. I remember I'd start off by sprinting, then jump into the air and soar. One word to describe it, awesome. There's just something about flying. If I were to have a superpower, it would definitely be flight. 

In my high school Literature class, we briefly studied I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou.  I wouldn't say I'm interested in poetry per se but this poem spoke to me. Call me crazy but I want to be like the free bird-I want to fly. Birds are so lucky. If you read the poem, you'll understand that two birds are being talked about, although it's hypothetically speaking. I'll take the poem as it is on the surface. 

Unlike the free bird, the caged bird does not chirp happily. No, it is caged and longs for something it never had. It has been hindered from flying. I'm that bird. I long for something I've never experienced. I want to fly. I want to soar. 

Here I am, a human, wishing to fly. If I could, even for a day, I'd jump at the opportunity. For a few years now, I'd say three, I've been wishing to go skydiving. Call me the extremist, lol. The first really extreme sport I did was slide across a gorge back in my home country. Looking down, I had a quick thought of what would happen if the cord snapped. I pushed it away though...it's all about the thrill. Okay, I think I'm getting carried away here.

Back to skydiving. I want to feel the wind. I want to have an undistorted view. I want to see what the birds see. Unlike flying, which normally involves soaring I'd be plunging downwards. It's the closest I could get to flying so I'll take what I can get. Hopefully, I'll get to do it.......soon.


I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill 
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. 


Maya Angelou

WRITING: Internet Warriors

So I'm following this account on Instagram and it's absolutely hilarious. Basically, it's about funny African pictures and videos. Being African myself, I find many of the posts relatable. That's not what we're talking about today though. I remember seeing one post that had something to do with "Internet Warriors". I'll try and explain this to you like the way I did in one of my earlier posts, Instahater http://osinop95.blogspot.com/2014/01/writing-instahater.html.

So an Internet Warrior is someone that instigates, engages or fuels internet feuds. Many times these so called warriors conduct their battles in comment boxes on social media.

I wish there was a rolling eyes emoticon here.Maybe there is and I just don't know where to find it. Nevertheless, I never have understood beefing on the internet. I guess it's because that's not my cup of tea. After all, to each his own. In as much as each person is entitled to his her opinion, some things are just disrespectful. Besides, I don't see the fun in talking smack while you sit and hide behind your computer. 

If you know the person and you can't say what you so "graciously" wish to leave in their comment box in person, there's no need to drop it in their comment box. I think that's cowardice. To be honest, that doesn't make you much of a warrior. 

So, that's my two cents. I'd like to hear what you think about this. You can leave your thoughts in the comment box below.

WRITING: Surge

Today I wrote my Statistics exam and it was horrible. I have a little countdown going on. I've written two papers so far and I now have four more to go. After that, holiday! God, I'm in need of a break. As I was saying, Statistics. In a bad as my exam was, I surprisingly felt unusually happy. It's odd, no one comes out of a tough exam with uplifted spirits. That was the case with me today.

Boy, you should have seen me. It's like I had this sudden surge of energy. On top of that, I was super friendly. I was greeting strangers and smiling quite a lot. Honestly, I really don't know what prompted that. I even went on a walk with a friend of mine. We talked and it was good. Surprisingly, we talked on a level different from the one we're normally on. I remember asking him a few questions and the conversation went on well. Very smooth to be exact. Normally I tend to mind my own business and chat only on surface level.

I'm still a little confused. I thought I'd share this experience with you. Did I like it? Yes, yes I did. I felt good. I felt light. I felt happy. I got to take a breather. The weather was pretty mild with a slight chilly winter breze. Maybe this is the universe's way of cheering me up. It knows that if I'd have given myself a hard time because of Stats. Oh well. Whatever the reason, I liked it.

MUSIC: Am I Wrong- Envy

I like to think good music should be shared. It does not matter how old the song is. When a song is good, it's good. I heard Am I Wrong  for the first time this week and I'm hooked. Some info on the group:

"Envy is a Norwegian hip hop duo made up of Nico Sereba and Vinzy V, both from Oslo, Norway. They have been launched by Emergenza Festival in 2010 and won 2 platinum album following the first place at the Taubertal Open air festival World's Emergenza Final."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Envy_(duo)

Verse 1: Vincent

Am I wrong for thinking out the box from where I stay? 

Am I wrong for saying that I'll choose another way? 

I ain't trying to do what everybody else doing 

Just cause everybody doing what they all do 

If one thing I know, I'll fall but I'll grow 

I'm walking down this road of mine, this road that I call home 

Hook: Vincent

So am I wrong for thinking that we could be something for real? 

Now am I wrong for trying to reach the things that I can't see? 

But that's just how I feel, that's just how I feel 

That's just how I feel trying to reach the things that I can't see 

Verse 2: Nico

Am I tripping for having a vision? 

My prediction; I'mma be on the top of the world 

Hope you, hope you don't look back, always do what you decide 

Don't let them control your life, that's just how I feel 

Fight for yours and don't let go, don't let them compare you, no 

Don't worry, you're not alone, that's just how we feel 

Hook

Bridge: Nico

If you tell me I'm wrong, wrong 

I don't wanna be right, right 

If you tell me I'm wrong, wrong 

I don't wanna be right 

Hook