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Internet Roundups June 10, 2016

Gleaning from the Internet 2

Hiiii. So it’s time again to lead you all over the Internet. If you haven’t, you should read my previous post on gleaning from the Internet .
Articles
I read this article a long time ago. Reading it again, I find it really does hand out a lot of tips. Some writers could need it.
Here is this touching must-read real life story. It hurts.
I also wrote friends have no need to tread softly
Quotes

Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining. –

author Anne Lamott
Tosin Alabi a vlogger and blogger said this and I couldn’t agree better.

I consider myself a creative, and most creative people have selective OCD when it comes to space organisation

Sincerely when it comes to space organisation sometimes, I just get feverish. My sister calls it spasms. Side-eye.

The wood of the pine, the juniper, and the cypress, the finest wood from the forests of Lebanon, will be brought to rebuild you, Jerusalem, to make my temple beautiful, to make my city glorious is Isaiah 60:13

I think it’s simply beautiful how much God always desires to rebuild us. And beautify us.
Okay okay, I think I’m so into quotes right now.

”

pay now play later’ or ‘play now pay later”
“remove the kinks from your mind not your hair” – late Marcus Garvey
“You will learn that confidence is owning your truth and your struggles no matter how uncomfortable”- lordjosh
There are two ways of achieving posterity: either you write something worth reading or do something worth writing about”

– Benjamin Franklin
” Satan trembles when he sees the weakest Christian on his knee” – William Cowper
” I want to write what I can stand up and defend when I’m seventy-five if I live to be seventy-five.”
-Chimamanda Ngozi adichie

Songs
Sometimes I was really going over this song voice of truth . It became most played on my playlist

Interviews
~~interviews~~ interesting interviews take you to utopia. here is this one I re-read recently. The interviewer’s touch takes it to places.
Spoken word poetry
this heart-rending piece by Alyesha wise ought to be heard by everyone. Check it here. So much emotion and truth.
Lastly Emi Mahmood. I love love her work. I discovered her earlier this week. The following day after I discovered her work I made my mum watch her perform the bride. Even my mum was moved. Watch it. Can I say that enough?? this tells a bit more about her person.
There’s already so much.
I hope you have a dancing Friday. Till next time.
Love and the Internet,
Debby.

Fiction June 3, 2016 7 Comments

If wishes were horses

“Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.” Sylvia Plath

Helloooo there beautiful people. Hope you’ve been well. I should get to a non-fiction post soon enough. Let you know what has been up with me.
In other pressing matters, I saw the above quote yesterday. Sylvia Plath couldn’t have said it better. It’s so true about written words both fiction and non-fiction. In any case I decided to share this flash fiction I wrote a few weeks back. That quote prompted me to.
See this story you’re about to read, has some elements of reality in it. Fiction, I have always accepted is therapeutic. It takes a little of us.
What had she gained? Instead her seams were ruffled inside her. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly get it. And the question Uju had asked ” a boy or a girl?”
Aanu knew in that moment that she shouldn’t have told her. There ought to have been a tearing inside of Uju if she got it, the type of tearing that happened inside Aanu the night she found out.
Aanu wished she had kept quiet and nursed the grief in her. It was always best after all not to expose yourself to outsiders. What had compelled her mouth to tell Uju she still didn’t know. What she had hoped to achieve evaded her. She felt like paper; flat and raw.
After Uju heard Toni had a baby, and put the picture on Instagram, Uju’s question was “why did she put it on IG?”
For Aanu that wasn’t meant to be the question. She felt exposed and mocked. Toni was a part of her. Opening up to someone who didn’t get it hurt.
She rubbed her palms together in hopes to get rid of the dark gap inside her.
They had dreamt together, herself and Toni. They had hushed conversations till early mornings. They washed socks for each other when that was all they had to wash and the other had much laundry to do. She had exchanged the Friday fish she didn’t like for Toni’ Sunday plantain which Toni considered too soft.
They had snuck to read each other’s diary. And knowing they couldn’t always keep their diary far away from human reach, they sometimes interwove untrue stories along with the truth. They created a life they wanted by sprinkling their current lives with condiments. Lives more luscious with the boys who stayed around them. So when they snuck and read each others diary they read rich and enviable entries.
Life had happened to them all after graduation. Dispersed them, changed them .
The first time Aanu saw Toni after graduation, Toni had come to unilag to see her aunt who worked there. When they met and their bodies pressed together, Toni had not opened her heart, only her arms. Anu felt a sort of bereavement, and inadequacy. She had opened her heart and her arms without receiving same.
Consequently, they distanced themselves. Whenever she went down her Facebook feed, she would see Toni’s recent photo upload, stare at it then continue scrolling like she had never seen it. Now she wished she had liked it. Wished she had commented. When she had kept in touch. Wished. Wished. Wished.

The Christian Faith May 26, 2016

FORGIVENESS

Currently: sitting by the window facing the front porch of my house. Watching a flower dance in its pot. I’m occasionally gazing at the tree in my neighbour’s house. I choose to blog

As we grow older, our capacity ought to expand. I refuse to be a 12 year old girl in a 3year old body. At 3 years, the toddler could and would drink water. At 12, she can and would drink but with much more capacity than she did at 3. capacity.
Normally, I’m all shades of good. So I hated it as in turns my good natured attributes got ruffled. The calm superfluity I had, began to dissolve and I saw anger, I saw unforgiveness and I just wouldn’t believe it.
The truth is, it was the new me. I had grown.

When a flower grows, it loses it’s form, grows in every direction, still the same bright leaves, it blooms and glows. It’s still gracious but it has thorns sticking out, it is formless unless the gardener takes the shears and prunes.

John15:2: “…and he prunes every branch that does bear fruit, so that it will be clean and bear more fruit”

A few months ago, I saw unforgiveness was very very ugly, I tell you. Every time I pictured the devil as a young girl, he was ugly but the unforgiveness I saw, was uglier than I had ever imagined. It baffled me. It was sticking out of me. I was able to forgive eventually as God helped me.

2cor3:5 “not that we think we are of ourselves sufficient to do anything but our sufficiency is of God”

The case this time around wasn’t forgiving someone else. It was forgiving myself. I did something I regretted, to put it simply. I didn’t want to pray, I felt I had failed God. Then I remembered some Christian literature I had read saying after you’ve sinned, God is most ready to hear you pray. Ask for forgiveness. It is cheating to think you’re ‘protecting God’ and hence refuse to speak to him with your defiled self. He wants you to come so he can wash you and restore you.

So it’s two themes in my head: Forgiveness and Writing. I have obtained forgiveness from God but how about that other theme? See, I got encouragement to ask for forgiveness without wasting time because I had read.

I know people who still read. This blog inclusive. Thus, I’m writing.

I don’t believe one who was “despised, and rejected, who endured suffering and pain. No one would even look at him, we ignored him as if he were nothing “Isaiah53:3 yet was enduring the suffering that was meant to be ours, would now choose not to forgive us when we return to him. No.

It turns out that my last blog post had a major theme of forgiveness. I gave some excerpts, some of which I’ll quote again. We need to forgive people. We need to forgive ourselves and accept God’s forgiveness. As we grow, we need our spirit man to grow so we can forgive better than we did yesterday because today’s offence is stronger than that of yesterday. we need to love more fiercely. We need more.
The quotes:

“I did it to myself . I did it to myself. mea culpa, mea culpa”

Is not the strategy to take, nope, and that’s because

“God doesn’t condemn he forgives”

Yes

“She looked at him bleakly: ‘your kind of love can’t feel good’
‘Does your kind feel any better?’ she looked away.
He unlooped the reins. ‘right now love doesn’t have an awful lot to do with feelings‘ he said grimly
‘don’t misunderstand I’m as human as the next man. I feel alright. I feel plenty right now, a lot I wished I didn’t’ “

he says love doesn’t have a awful lot to do with feelings. God loves us inspite. Just come

” he[Jesus] was a man of sorrows, acquainted with bitterest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way when he went by. He was despised and we did not care. Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God, a punishment for his own sins!” Isaiah 53;3,4

Still in doubt?

Currently: sitting by the window, my back to the flower still dancing in it’s pot. My body given to typing and eating something yellow again( I did not plan it, seriously!) loool.
What has been your experience on giving and accepting forgiveness?

Love, forgiveness and yellow meals
Debby

Book Reviews May 22, 2016 19 Comments

BOOK REVIEW-Redeeming Love

Hello there beautiful people of the internet! how have you been? If you’re in Nigeria, how are you dealing with this premium motor spirit(until now, petrol was known as petrol for me o) at 145naira? I trust you’re standing tall in spite. Hope you still eat stew? Tomatoes are the worst hit. The price of it!
I was thinking it’s great to have a journal; it reminds you of your potentials. When you see some of your write-ups in the past, you just want to ride on.Having read previous reviews of movies and books in my journal, I thought ‘what have you been waiting for, Deborah?’. Book review it is.
Two weeks ago I completed “redeeming love”, for the second time. And then I felt like a walking contented-sigh, if you get what I mean.
Now the first time I read “redeeming love” was either in 2007 or 2008, I was in secondary school. I loved-loved it. It was the secret telepathy of we skinny teenage girls. We understood it, we understood ourselves also(well, sort of). Something precious was shared. It was my eye-opener to Francine Rivers’ books which I’ve not been doing justice to. It was pure. For a while, every time I filled a slam book I would write “redeeming love” as my best novel.
Having this book again is a delight. This time, I got other books I’ve never read along side “redeeming love”. Old love always wins out. It’s a feeling you can always bank on. Something familiar. You don’t know about the others but you know the direction in which this one is headed.
The book proved me wrong. I started it and thought ‘oh yes, I remember this scene’. Then I became confused. I thought, ‘was it always like this?’. That was the begining of a roller coaster ride.
I was open to this book, I let it read me.
The title suggests just another love story. No, it’s unique.
This book is a Christian romance. It is written from the third person point of view and its written in a semi-formal style.
As I’ve already laid, Francine Rivers is the author. The publisher is Water Brook Multnomah publishing group. Here is something remarked before the story “here at Water Brook Multnomah, we measure the success of our books by whether or not they deliver real life-change to our readers”. My copy of the e-book has 399 pages.
The story is about the blows life deals to a young woman, its effect on her, it’s effect on the people she meets and how she channels it eventually.
Life is hitting Sarah hard in the face, she’s trying to get up, it’s kicking her right in the stomach again, knocking the wind out of her.
Sarah, Michael Hosea, the Altman family and Duke were the major characters. The characters are credible, each is the perfect picture of something specific.
At the beginning we were led into little Sarah’s life. The world seemed too cruel a place for tender vulnerable Sarah. When we’re let back into her life at 18 years, she’s ruthless, branding some other people’s world.
My favourite character in the book has to be Michael. I consider him very strong. So strong. The patience he has in times of anger and frustration baffles me.
Under the mask Sarah wears, she is brutally honest and accepting of herself.
I respect Michael’s resolute determination in certain things. I admire his faith which propels him to love.
The book deals with so many themes; trust or the lack of it, man’s first experience with the church, unconditional friendship, rejection etc
My favourite part of the book will give the book away so I’m reserving it. I enjoyed the way a stranger to love slowly discovered love. I don’t think I have a least favourite part of this book neither would I change any part. Every part makes up the metamorphosis in the characters’ life.
I would recommend this book to everyone. I think just about everyone would love It, it touches on something core in our lives. Just how much of our burdens are we ready to strip off? Just how much of our lives are we ready to lay down in love?
Now I wasn’t very diligent to highlighting and getting excerpts but I got some:
A glimpse into Sarah’s life at 7:

“Sarah followed, too afraid to be left behind”
“when the other children mocked Sarah and called her mother names, she looked at them and said nothing. What they said was true; you couldn’t argue with what was true”

Other excerpts:

“they scrambled, grappled, gambled and grabbed- and everything they had was spent without thought or consideration. They paid to become enslaved”

“someone who will get dirt beneath her nails but doesn’t already have it in her blood”

“I go up to that room in hope and come out defeated”

“she almost laughed but she knew if she did she would give in completely to hysteria”

“the night sky was so clear, stars everywhere and a moon so big it seemed to be a single silver eye staring down. Her mind and emotions still boiled. She tried to call up her defenses, but they had dispersed”

“she just sat, wordless, back straight, head up, hands clenched in her laps as though she were going into battle instead of going home”

She closed her eyes tightly ” ‘you want what I don’t have. I can’t love you. Even if I was able, I wouldn’t.’
he hunkered down, took the damp blanket from her and covered her with the dry quilt ‘why not?’
‘because I spent the first eight years of my life watching my mother do penance for loving a man’ “

“I did it to myself . I did it to myself. mea culpa, mea culpa”

“God doesn’t condemn he forgives”

“She looked at him bleakly: ‘your kind of love can’t feel good’
‘Does your kind feel any better?’ she looked away.
He unlooped the reins. ‘right now love doesn’t have an awful lot to do with feelings‘ he said grimly
‘don’t misunderstand I’m as human as the next man. I feel alright. I feel plenty right now, a lot I wished I didn’t’ “

” he[Jesus] was a man of sorrows, acquainted with bitterest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way when he went by. He was despised and we did not care is53:3″

Feel free to read my previous book reviews here and here.
What do you think? Does the book intrigue you in the slightest? Will you get it? What book are you currently reading? Your experience is not over here until you comment.
See you in a bit.
Cheap tomatoes, books, God’s love,
Debby.

Life Diary Life In Photographs May 20, 2016 4 Comments

PHOTOGRPAHY POST- frolic in yellow

I’ve found a new love for colour yellow and all the yellowity it embodies hence I play with mentos sweet 🙂

And custard 🍮

You want to know what else is yellow?

Tid-bit advice from Amy Poehler’s book “yes please”. I might or might not review it when I’m through reading. You just learn the lesson I’m passing across here. Nobody is permitted to judge you while you’re having fun so goof away…

Great sky; great landscape. God feeds our eyes with beauty.

And sunset. Something melts in satisfaction inside of me when I see the perfect sunset.
This was three days ago, I saw the sunlight stream into my house from the window and I knew something magical must be going on. The front door was locked. I was unbound. I ran upstairs three times before I got the right key. The sunset was worth it. Contrary opinion? Anybody?

Elder sister and I made “buns”. Well… Elder sister made buns, I hopped around. We both ate it though. With all the love in our middle. (get it? Look at the picture again)

Someone is honing photography skills by all means.
You know you’re becoming a blogger when you want to eat an apple but you just must play with it a little. Food is meant to be ~~snapped~~ eaten.

Just to convince you there is an upcoming food photographer in the house, I present to you plain-looking-but-by-all-means-delicious-moinmoin.
By all means ignore what it looks like, I wasn’t being a foodie all this while. Many other things went down. I’ve been at home for a while now. University of Ibadan students chose a mini break for themselves☺ then the school expanded it:) the nation chose to compound it:mrgreen:. Now we don’t know when we would go back to school. Even Asuu is on strike. Everyone is on strike. #GodBlessNigeria
Finally,

Best advice is up there🔝. Rev2:25 ” I will ask nothing further of you; only hold tightly to what you have until I come.” (TLB). This is rather important because the world passes away and the lust thereof. Even colour yellow!

Go forth, frolic, take pictures, adore yellow and hold God fast.
Love.
Debby Adebayo

Fiction May 14, 2016

I am Security-concious

Hello to you today. These days i’m mostly drawn to watching YouTube videos ranging from messages to DIY to music videos to speeches and interviews. On the issue of DIY, lest I forget, I bought bicarbonate of soda yesterday, it was really cheap, #110 to help whiten my teeth. I need the perfect smile y’know. I’ve always considered using braces and the only person I’ve told, my elder sister has repeatedly said no, I shouldn’t use it. I could pursue it further but I recently read a person’s account and she said she had it on for two and a half years. That’s quite a while guys?. I always thought it was about a year. In any case, mind me not, it is such an half-hearted attempt otherwise I would have done my research. Today is a slow Saturday for me, I’m going out this evening for a program in commemoration of our youth anniversary in my church. In the meanwhile I thought I could Just paint a picture I nursed in my head in a few words. Come imagine with me.
I believe growing up in my world made me a slightly paranoid person. I sense every form of danger miles before it could happen. Truth is, I hate it. On days I am in the kitchen, and the electric bulb is switched on, I would feel uneasy about the kitchen window which faces the small unilluminated store at the back of the house. Anybody could hide in the store and be watching me. When I catch myself with such feeling, I would berate myself and feel awashed with a sense of inadequacy. The store is made up of net, wood and iron pan. Rats die and stink in there, then mummy would call the gate man and ask him to clean up the place.
There are empty bottles of fruit wine and old newspapers and big coolers for Christmas time and old cabinets that are still too good to be thrown away. The store holds close to everything and on the day thieves attacked our neighbours about three years earlier, Adamu, our former gateman had run into the store and gotten a cutlass with which he made a gash in the back of a fleeing robber as he scaled the fence. Daddy found a reason to pay him off the following week. Even though he did well, we weren’t comfortable with having someone with such temdency of violence.
When the landlords association decided to do something about the security situation in our neighbourhood, they hired vigilantees and made rules such as if you were to drive later than 10pm on the street you will present an ID card.
Daddy had complained tirelessly less than a month later of how the vigilantees only drank beer at night and kept Fuji songs booming from the radio. It was a waste of the associations money and he said so at another meeting where the vigilantees demand for an increase was raised. That meeting had been in our own house.
When mummy had first learnt of the meeting she had said “ah no. Not here o. We are busy now. How are we even sure we will be around on that day?”
“since we moved here we’ve not hosted any of the meetings it’s either one wedding or burial every other Saturday. We have to host it” He said, his tone low, neither rising nor falling.
“so you have now told them yes?” Mummy asked
” hmnnn” Daddy grunted, face buried in a newspaper.
That Saturday morning, mummy was quiet, not shouting at my brother to bring down his blanket to air it or to clean up his room. The woman who came fortnightly to do laundry was at the backyard switching from singing from one Tope Alabi song to the other.
I stood in the stufy kitchen shifting from end to end as my mother moved in perceived dignity to pick something everywhere. My phone constantly buzzed with notification from social media but staying around my mum that day I felt the need to be solemn. Most times she would yell at me telling me to “put that phone down” in rapid Yoruba. Or she would say “I don’t see to this carrying the phone around hot oil” “ehn ehn ehn don’t put my phone beside water. Don’t treat it like your own”
Before the landlords came, daddy called me and my younger ones together to the sitting room.
“you see, when someone has visitors, you don’t become too relaxed” eyan o kii n darale . “you must be security conscious because you don’t know who is who. That’s not the time to leave both doors to the house open. The kitchen door should be shut because if everyone is in the living room, you can never tell who will turn around to pass the back door into the house and all the while no one will know” he instructed and instructed and instructed, most of them, things we already knew. Things he often told us. As he spoke, the aroma of egusi soup kept wafting from the kitchen and my phone would not stop buzzing. I really wanted to tell my dad it was okay.
With my growing impatience, I remembered I learnt Bisi my technical drawing set-square last time she asked. I had an assignment due for Monday, there was no way I would turn it in that morning. I sighed inwardly, my nerves grated.
“Tobi, are you hearing me?” dad asked cupping his right ear with his palm
” yes sir” I said.
“you are the eldest. You are the example. Don’t let me catch you with ear piece plugged in so that you don’t even know what is going on and if we need your attention we have to run around the house. Are you hearing me? ”
” yes sir”
By the time I got back to the kitchen, the jollof rice had started to burn and mummy was making the semovita.

Debby

Life Diary Non-Fiction May 13, 2016 4 Comments

Primary 4 blue

Early last year, our new secretary(as she then was) told me and my sister, that her own sister said she went to the same primary school as we did and that she knows me,we were seat mates etc. ~~hard~~ soft as I tried, I couldn’t remember her.
Two days ago, you know it, I met her. You see, this indefinite strike from school has had me un-serious all the while. In a bid to focus better on my academics, I decided to go to my parent’s office. I would read there, yes!
No. I did not read there. I did read but certainly not enough. I did read the following day, at home.
back to the story,this girl(herein after referred to as Mary) saw my sister and first said “Debby! No, this is her younger sister”
“elder sister” she was corrected. Already, I wringed my hands in cluelessness where I was.
“Debby!” my elder sister called. Okay, its time to step out. I did. No. I did not recall her face.
She exclaimed! “Oh you’ve changed. Ah, is this you?”
And I took the awkward gait. I could not remember her. I said so as normally as I could, all the while, feeling like a fish. I felt the need to be polite and especially sorry for not remembering her. It had never happened to me.I just don’t run into people from primary school, not even secondary school. To be honest, I had set my future ever before me. So when I did tell her that my mind had blocked off recognizing people from so long ago seeing as I don’t run into people frequently because I school in university of Ibadan(excuse! Excuse! Pants on fire), she replied by saying “oh but Ore goes to UI too”
“oh yes yes I see him”
That opened the phase of common factors. I still saw so so so and so recently . “We were both in primary 4 blue, mrs. Kehinde’s class.”she said. yes, yes that is correct but guys, I always thought primary 4 blue was my most vivid recollection of primary school life, oh the shame to be proved wrong. “We were seat mates” how cruel of me, not to remember my seat mate.
Of course it was alright and all. She conversed with her sister. I kept feeling like a fish.
Back at my seat, I wracked my memory and did so over and over. Over and over, till crumbs began to fall into place and pictures shift into light. I pictured a light skinned girl standing somewhere by the seat behind mine with a beret. I think she wore a cardigan often but I didn’t consider this fact, asking-worthy. I faintly remembered having had three seating partners, yes.
My friend Cynthia who was transferred to another class then this Mary then Foyinsola.
Guys, I was ecstatic.
My overly active senses still kept picking up on her discussion with her sister while I imagined myself going out again before she left,i imagined where I would stand so she doesn’t see my skirt doesn’t fit my blouse as she hadn’t seen it the first time, praise God. I pictured which sentence I would say before the other.
“I remember now! They moved Cynthia to primary 4 green then you sat beside me. You were very light. You still are light of course. Then eventually Foyinsola sat beside me. Wow. I remember”
When she was leaving, it didn’t exactly work out like that. I told her I remembered her though. She used to be quiet. We discussed about a few others in primary school before she left. The good part, she didn’t later see the skirt.
That day, my senses were really active. My strike life previously had been monotonous, seeing the same people daily. I had missed the small time shame and guilt you feel for not remembering someone even when they did a year earlier just having heard your name.
That day, as I walked with my sister, I told her the truth “I don’t think anyone that was in that my class primary 4 blue would forget me, i did lots of things” but in that moment, most of the seats I pictured in my head were filled with black moles, the faces, the names blocked out. Maybe forever. Maybe just for a while, then I would feel part-time time guilt and shame again. Then my senses will be alive in apology. Maybe try as I may I wont recall their faces.

Life Diary May 10, 2016

KNOW THE BLOGGER–100 tag questions(part1)

Heyy guys. In line with this bloggers tag questions I saw, i’ll be answering some questions.

do you sleep with your closet doors opened or closed? I could do anyone. I do have a thing for lines and symmetry though so I’d rather it closed
Do you take shampoos and conditioners from hotels? Either i do forget them or I’d have too small a bag to fit them in. mostly it’s toilet soap and tissue in the hotels I go to, never shampoos and conditioner. I don’t think it’s necessary for toilet paper and soap. Is it?
Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out? Always always tucked in. I never leave my room no matter how late I am, with my sheets tucked out neither can I go to sleep with it tucked out. Something about as you lay your bed so you lie on it, works for me
Have you ever stolen a street sign before? Nope
Do you like to use post-it notes? I think it’s cute but I don’t use it. I consider it messy unless you can post it neatly.
Do you cut out coupons but never use them? Ahh no coupons for me over here. I live in Nigeria.
Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of bees? A big bear. i always have a fear of things I cannot control. Sorry but I can’t control a swarm of bees because they’re going to come at me from all angles and try getting in my head to confuse me. Imagine the sting. The pain, from all over. A bear on the other hand, no that’s wrong, a big bear on the other hand, I will probably have an overdrive of adrenaline that might push me to make a decision which we can never tell, might pay off. I’ve never been faced with a big bear but i do make extremely brilliant decisions in moments of danger and panic. I’m really not tooting my own horn, just giving you a long epistle on why I will go for a big bear rather than bees.
Do you have freckles? No
Do you always smile for pictures? I wish. I do not always smile for pictures. I mostly smile. There was a time I used to smile that far-reaching smile where your whole being lights up and your face wrinkles with the laughter. these days however, I barely even take pictures. *Sighs*
What is your biggest pet peeve? I don’t know my ‘biggest’ pet peeve. Perhaps cunningness.
Do you ever count your steps when you walk? Nooooooooo why would i?
Have you ever peed in the woods? Lol, just the woods? Yes yes and yes
What about pooped in the woods? Ah, there you have it. No no and no
Do you ever dance even if there is no music playing? On the average, no. when I’m feeling goofy and probably with family, yes.
Do you chew your pens and pencil? No
How many people have you slept with this week? None
What size is your bed? I don’t know, big. You get that average size that a normal human uses, yes.
What is your song of the week? None really. Worship just springs out of my mouth
Is it okay for guys to wear pink? It’s okay. Probably just depend on the shade of it and the context in which it is worn
Do you still watch cartoons? Considering I don’t know when last I did, no.
What’s your least favourite movie? I don’t know. It’s definitely out of my head, thank God.
Where will you bury hidden treasure if you had some? And now why would I tell you?
What do you drink with dinner? Water, fruit drink, soft drink, wine…
What do you dip a chicken nugget in? Ketchup really
What is your favourite food? To think I should be good at answering this question by now, considering I’ve always been asked since perhaps nursery school. I’ve moved from pounded yam, to chicken and chips to fried rice, to toast bread to amala and ewedu. One thing I know for sure is I can’t function for very long without my African dishes.
What movies could you watch over and over and still love? Interesting Christian movies, interesting motivational movies, interesting love stories.
Last person you kissed/kissed you? I’ve never kissed nor been kissed
Were you ever a boy/girl scout? I had an inclination towards girls brigade at some point but we changed church at that point and that was the end.
Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? No
When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper? That would be a really really long time ago
Can you change the oil on a car? No, I wouldn’t even know what to open.
Ever gotten a speed ticket? Noooooooo
Ever ran out of gas? Noooooooo
Favourite kind of sandwich? Just put all the loveables inside, I don’t mind.
Best thing to eat for breakfast? Oats and fruits
What is your usual bedtime? 12 midnight. Take or subtract a few minutes
Are you lazy? I used to be
When you were a kid, what did you dress up for halloween? I never even reckoned Halloween
What is your Chinese astrological sign? Yoda yoda yoda…lets move on
How many languages can you speak? I guess two. English, Yoruba. I can greet you and make really super small talk in Hausa and French.
Do you have any magazine subscription? Online, yes
Which are better legos or Lincoln logs? I’m lost
Are you stubborn? No
Who is better…leno or letterman? option E
Ever watch soap operas? Yes, nothing much to them for me
Are you afraid of heights? Of a sort
Do you sing in the car? depends
Do you sing in the shower? absolutely
Do you dance in the car? with my family? With my friends? Yes. Otherwise, no
Ever used a gun? hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Did you get to peek a little into my mind? I considered answering 5o questions is enough for a blog post. I will answer the remaining 50 questions soon in another blog post. Till then, stay blessed and feel free to tag me to answer some questions.

Non-Fiction May 10, 2016 3 Comments

Life as a non-fiction writer

So I’m wondering, “what exactly keeps me from writing?” It’s not one thing, that I know for sure. So when someone asks me that question, of course I come up with an answer but I still know it’s not one thing.
The time is 1:35am and I’m preparing indomie in the kitchen. This is the time I’m best atuned to write, I know. My thoughts have always resonated well with writers who, when they’re interviewed, talk of writing early in the morning after they wake up. I think yes, that’s the way! But for me, no. I have to have my personal devotion with God first.
So I considered, what of much earlier Debby? Perhaps, if your personal devotion would be by 5am, what of waking by 3 am to write? But then I felt it would be mechanical, like I’ll be doing it just because it has to be done, if it really were first place in my life I would merrily run to have it anytime I wake up.
Last night, the Lord had different plans for me. I found myself on YouTube and I found Zadie Smith. Then I saw an interview she had with Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and I spent an hour on it.
I got this drive to write as myself. Chimamanda was pure in her own skin;comfortable. Her favorite book of mine is Americana. She said she wrote it going against the set back rules, even to herself. Well, I always got that vibe reading it.
I then decided I was going to do what I pleased on my blog. Truth is, I love writing fiction, infact I started the blog as a place to put up my short stories but writing fiction doesn’t come easy to me anymore. What will we do about that?*mindless shrug*. I’m going to live my life doing as it pleases my Lord and myself. I would put up a post when I can, I would endeavour to make it a real good one. I won’t delve into all aspects like I did when I was trying to find my voice. I look back at something like we’re weak without weekly words and I don’t even hear myself in it. What was I doing giving definition of words? lol.
I’m thinking I’m more of a non-fiction person now. I would blog on that and I would do what is right, no fear of laid down patterns and procedures. I would find myself subsequently writing at night, with more midnight snack *small smile*. Nevertheless guys, if I were to find my fiction voice back again, I would probably write a post like this and delve right back into it. It’s my blog. It’s a personal blog. A lifestyle blog. My life isn’t a straight-out ‘one definition’ life. Thus if you’re going be reading a lifestyle blog, you’re going to be reading a burst of different tastes. You’re going to be reading changes.
On that note, welcome Debby and welcome reader✌
P. S:I feel having said welcome, we’re all looking forward to different gigantic posts in this “new dawn”. Nothing of such people, nothing of such.

Debby Adebayo

Fiction May 3, 2016

the lad

Prov 20:11
it is by his deeds that a lad distinguishes himself
if his conduct is pure and right

Daddy made me paste this bible passage by my bed. He is a firm believer in waking up to read your motivation. What daddy doesn’t know which I’m certain mummy does, is that I don’t wake up to read what is by my bed. In fact I don’t look to that side. I wake up when mummy comes to the room speaking rapid Yoruba, asking If it wasn’t ‘morning enough for me to rise’, her hands smelling of something from the kitchen. The smell I still love the most is that of meat broth. Ezekiel had come to school one day and thrust his thin fingers in my face asking me to smell it. It was weird that he was proud of cooking meat before coming to school but it also led me to envy him. Envy that he could have a spontaneous early morning life, and be prone to eating meat while cooking it. Mummy won’t let me near anything other than washing plates or other errands.
Perhaps daddy will find another way to have me learn it, to read the post by my bed wouldn’t work.

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