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Hii guys. I wrote this a year ago and I still believe in the message the post preaches. Do you think you were given your nationality as a punishment? Do you think you’re in Nigeria for such a time as this? Tell me what you think!
I’m a Nigerian.
In a day I see maybe five people talking about Nigeria on social media and … all of them are negative.
Surely God doesn’t give us Nationalities to punish us. Surely.
I’m scrolling through my Whatsapp updates and I see that everyone is lamenting the recent shootings in Jos.
Then immediately after, I get a news notification; Nigeria has overtaken India as the largest number of people living in poverty.
“Soon, it won’t lie in us to blame our parents’ generation for what’s gone wrong in Nigeria anymore.
One day, your children would look at you and ask what you did to make Nigeria what it is today”
This haunts me. A lot.
I’m right in that place where my actions begin to become relevant for what happens in Nigeria. Right now, I’m simply still working on attaining my LL.B* and enlightening one person at a time through my blog posts. Right now, I’m keeping used water sachets and wrappers in my bag when there’s no waste bin around, rather than throw it on the sidewalk. Right now, I’m just telling the truth in my class and small groups rather than telling nothing. Right now, I insist on my subconscious and conscious mind believing in Nigeria’s greatness.
Right now, I’m practicing what it takes to treat Nigeria right. To make her great.
Right now, what are you doing?
To be honest, you have to be doing something. Ask yourself “what am I doing right for Nigeria?”
It won’t lie in us to blame anyone anymore. If we do nothing, oh, we’re getting the blame.
Love and Light,
Your Nigerian Ambassador (Debby).
*As you know your girl now has her LL.B.
Go ahead and give your comments.
That’s straightforward guys.
My name is Deborah.
Deborah Ibukunoluwa Adebayo. Read this page detailing more about me.
I have a lesson to share with you as regards my name.
Debby(as I’d rather call it henceforth) was a judge and prophetess in the scriptures. Her story is contained in Judges 4 &5.
She was happily married to Lapidoth (I know of this happiness, guys. She informed me). And she judged under the palm of Deborah.
Mama Debby was a nation lover, a patriotic, loyal and strong woman. She was desperate to solve challenges and lead the people nearer where they ought to be. This desperation, as it always does, led her to her calling where she solved disputes as the chief judge, and also told the people the mind of God as a prophetess.
But mama didn’t loose sight of the truth in the midst of this. There was something holding it all together.
Debby made God’s business her business and God made her business his business. She could’ve gotten carried away with the pressing case of Rachael whose husband wanted to put her away or the case of Nathaniel who flagrantly disobeyed the instructions of God, and in being carried away by that, she could’ve ignored God’s new demand at the battle field.
She started out heeding the call to help at a local level and quashing the comfort of staying back at home doing the chores(I wrote why chores are good in this post) while discussing the men who weren’t at battle. She took up God’s work and God seeing her heart, took up her work – her desire to see a nation whole again.
The lord will take up the national matter on your heart, not to worry. You, my friend, just take up his work.
And when the call comes to go on higher, don’t be carried away emotionally (or logically) with the urgency of the work on ground (cue Nathaniel and Rachael).
Helping Nathaniel and Rachael were very much in line of God’s will for her but her extreme passion to help had a possibility of getting in the way and hindering the real deliverance of Israel.
“Make God’s business your business and God will make your business his business.”
AFAQ (Anticipated Frequently Asked Questions). I know guys, I know.
1. Hey Debby, are you certain national matters were on her heart?
Yes dear, I am certain. God finds it hard to speak to a person on things their heart are not attuned to. That’s because they won’t hear. You hear God clearly on a situation of which you are waiting and hoping and praying.
2. Debby, I have issues detecting whether God is giving me a higher assignment. I don’t seem to hear him.
Okay, pray that your ears will be open. You can make a daily declaration to that effect, it serves to put you in a place where you are conscious of your desire to hear God. Also, reduce the distracting noise around you, okay? Cut down on assignments God didn’t ask you to take up. Apologize if you have to but draw back from busyness that’s not productive. Importantly, Read the scriptures.
3. Deb, this is not a question. You do have a beautiful name.
Well thank you reader, I’m over here smiling.
No matter how pressing your current assignment or heart preoccupation is, God’s business should be number one. God should be number one.
Toodles guys, till next time.
Don’t forget to drop a comment and share.
I remain Debby.
P.S: I’m totally glad to write on here again after three weeks. 😊 I hope to send out a newsletter soon telling you some things😉.
My passive preoccupation for some time has been on the subject of therapists.
I planned that after turning it over in my mind a few more times, I’ll put up a post.
Tonight, I’m envisioning the million things I need to do tomorrow and in all that, I remember my thoughts on therapy.
Some people perhaps at the sight of the word ”therapist”, without thinking, they say ‘God forbid’. That’s cool. God forbid.
It’s just that therapy is broader than the narrow stream you’ve perceived it to be while watching T.V.
A therapist’s goal is to help patients make decisions and clarify their feelings in order to solve problems. Therapists provide support and guidance, while helping patients make effective decisions within the overall structure of support.
Source: all psychology schools
What I fancy about therapy appointments, even though I’ve never been to any one are:
- The comfy offices. They probably have tips for interior designs peculiar to their profession. You do know that your dwelling place affects your mental health, right? It does. I may one day do a post on that, it does.
- The fact that you can have me-time. You can just talk and talk and you’ll be listened to and listened to. Intriguing right? You’re not careful to not dominate the conversation, rather it’s all yours to dominate. You’re sure the therapist isn’t thinking let this girl finish her statement so I can share my own woes too.
- The fact that silence is allowed. I don’t understand this restless urge by people to constantly fill silence. Silence isn’t always a void. It doesn’t have to be filled. A little quiet please.
- The fact that you’re prodded by the littlest of statements. A soft-spoken question can give you time to pull up the fibres of your mind. This is opposed to the rushed living and suppressed emotions most people daily engage in. Here, careful, minimal, conscious living is at work.
- You leave feeling better because you’re able to close old chapters in your life. You’re able to analyze your relationship with everyone that matters to you. To voice out, for perhaps the first time, all the positive and negative things you think about a person’s character and you don’t have to be careful doing it. (you get what I mean or you don’t? that you love a person doesn’t mean it’s everything about them that sparkles to you. You are permitted to have candid and accurate opinions on your friends and family).
- You have someone who Is not entangled with your everyday life and living ( a stranger), get into your mind. No expectations from them. No judgements. No need to compose yourself. Compose, bawo?
I’m smiling just thinking of what I’ve written.
Or you’re still waiting for the punch line? Sighs, this is it really. Up there. Put in two words: Reflection time.
Not all therapists can provide you with what I just listed. No. no.
But I think its worth considering. I think therapy just advocates for simple and wholesome living. Yes, you’re a successful and busy investment banker but in your one hour a week, you get to just slow down, keep quiet and wonder why you really threw yourself a birthday party last week. Think on your motivations.
Perhaps since the start of this post, you’ve been thinking that Debby is just talking sha. She doesn’t know those who see therapists see them for serious reasons like mental illnesses and that they pay a lot. You probably whispered the mental illnesses part.
I don’t think mental illness should be whispered. It’s a thing. In Africa, we now recognize it and are starting to care for it, good. But you must understand that a number of people who get depressed, for example, are those who have suffered from burn-outs repeatedly.
Burn-out? Sounds familiar? It means to tire, due to overwork; or to extinguish due to lack of fuel. Occasionally most of us get burned out then pick up again. I think some don’t pick-up and due to tangled emotions and heavy workload, they may eventually get depressed. In light of that, do you now see why the little things matter and are worth discussing? Perhaps in therapy?
You are important so little things that affect you count in the grand scheme of things.
You still don’t think so? okay, share your thoughts.
Like I said, I’ve never been to a therapist, this is my imagination canvassing for it. But perhaps I’m also saying something more and for lack of space, this would be continued in the concluding part of this therapy discussion coming up on Wednesday. I hope you’ll be around to read it.
During the council meeting on Thursday, Simon’s resolve grew stronger. He’d always nursed the thought in his heart, that this Jesus could be the real deal, and if he was but another fake prophet and rabbi, he deserved to be heard at the very least, to be investigated.
His response to the excitement filling him was to rapidly tap his left foot against the ground.
It was the forbidden fruit all over again – restricted areas always have awoken the greatest curiosity. His sister, Ruth, would prepare a befitting meal and Jesus would stop over at his place before leaving Nain, he had it all figured out.
Delighted, he was tempted to laugh aloud but restrained himself. Suppressing his glee, he tuned in once again to the discussion at hand. The Pharisees council of Nain had always been such a heated group of people for a small village 32km southwest of Capernaum.
”…he just wants the crowd!” Someone was saying
”and oh are they following him. Jesus of Nazareth” another scoffed.
”he supports the baptizer, John! And openly claimed he would eat, drink and be a friend to the tax collectors. Tax collectors! What kind of teacher of the law speaks in that manner?”
Simon couldn’t stop himself from venturing the other side, ”but haven’t you heard he healed the widow’s son as they all left the village mourning. Surely the man is worth knowing-”
”we have known ENOUGH. I heard all he had to say once he made mention of John. Surely this one also thinks he is the messiah. Woe betide us, all men are now the chosen one of David’s race, all men are now the messiah!!”
And the murmurs of discontent increased.
Food had been passed and wine served. The meal was nearing completion and Jesus seemed in good spirits. Simon’s alert eyes had noticed his every move, down to the very first fact that his disciples ate without a thorough washing. He stored each detail in mind ready to tell the others. Surely, this man was a prophet, speaking boldly the truth contained in the law.
A pleasant smell filled Simon’s nostrils. In the cacophony of noises as Bartholomew told a story and the men laughed, Simon knew when the masculine smell was infiltrated by a fragrance; a fragrance as appealing as it was disturbing for reasons he couldn’t place his hands on yet, – a sensational fragrance, a forbidden fragrance. Alarmed, he looked up just in time to see the sinner.
He almost swore. In his house!
Almost at once, the male-dominated crowd quietened and most eyes fell on the woman while the remainder fell on him – passing a message, ”Do something.”
But Simon remained rooted on the floor where he sat. He was bewildered that such a sinner woman had even braved entering uninvited in the first place.
Simon’s eyes popped wide as she fell at Jesus’ feet. Her cream coloured cloth lifted with the wind and settled after her as she crouched behind Jesus.
Holy indignation filled Simon. Didn’t Jesus care what he and others thought of him? Didn’t Jesus know that he, Simon, was the only Pharisee to have extended him a warm hand in Nain, and he dared act like a sinner with this woman, this infidel!
His pulse throbbed and he gripped the end of the table cloth to rein in his anger as much as he could.
The scent of fragrant perfume filled the house, as an alabaster box broke, overpowering the combined smell of food, masculinity and even her own fragrance that had previously filled the air.
The other men around the house stood to gain a clearer picture of the baffling activity, some gasping.
Her heavy sobs pierced the silence. Each sound of the sob fuelled the inferno burning in Simon, no prostitute or beggar or tax collector had stepped foot in his house right since he’d lived there and in the one day this Jesus came, his house became unclean with this terrible sinner.
He couldn’t help the regret that gnawed at him, he’d been forewarned, Jesus was nothing but an impostor, a wolf in sheep clothing. Surely a prophet would’ve known what sort of woman touched him; even a beggar would’ve known!
Jesus, hearing Simon’s thoughts as clear as day, chose to speak with him. In the many pairs of eyes that followed him, Jesus knew exactly where to look. His eyes found Simon’s and with a levelled gave he spoke. ”Simon,’‘
”Teacher.” teacher. That word still befitted the man for reasons Simon couldn’t place as he had an aura of authority. The fire burning in him began to die and Simon knew he needed to keep that anger burning.
”I have something to tell you.’‘ Jesus replied and Simon nodded.
“A man loaned money to two people—500 pieces of silver to one and 50 pieces to the other. But neither of the men could repay him after. This man was however kind enough to cancel their debts. Now who do you think will love him the most?”
Simon didn’t need to think hard, his heart fluttered and he felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Shame started to take hold of where anger had been. ”I suppose the one who had been forgiven the largest debt”.
Whatever stone had sank was lodged there at the pit of his stomach and for the first time in many years, without accusing words, Simon knew he wasn’t as pure as he’d always thought.
“That’s right,” Jesus said. Then he turned to the woman and said to Simon, “Look at this woman kneeling here. When I entered your home, you didn’t offer me water to wash the dust from my feet,’‘
Rejection wrapped round Simon, Jesus was right. The night air became cold, all laughter and feasting from earlier on, forgotten. Of course, it was only proper custom to offer guests water for washing their feet. He hadn’t been after honouring Jesus at all, so he had no troubles neglecting that custom.
”… but she has washed them with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You didn’t greet me with a kiss, but from the time I first came in, she has not stopped kissing my feet.”
Simon broke inside. He saw for the first time what he had never seen in his many years of being a Pharisee, in his years of laying heavy rules on people while priding in his own obedience to the law. Light shone and he saw himself for who he really was. Flawed yet proud.
” …You neglected the courtesy of olive oil to anoint my head, but she has anointed my feet with rare perfume. I tell you, her sins—and yes, they are many—have been forgiven, so she has shown me much love. But a person who is forgiven little shows only little love.”
Turning to the woman, “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
The men at the table said among themselves, “Who is this man, that he goes around forgiving sins?”
But those were no longer Simon’s thoughts. Jesus had in that simple parable and intense gaze showed him what he had overlooked. Looking at Jesus, his heart broke, contrite his thoughts had changed ”forgive me my 500-silver-coin-worth of many sins, Lord. Please forgive me. I have judged others and thought myself better. I have not honoured you as I should. I need to love you more for I am but a sinful man”.
A person who believes they haven’t sinned like the cultist has, is rarely ever repentant. Like Simon, they skip the real details of honour, they forget to wash and anoint his feet.
You only love him to the degree you’ve come to realize your former depravity and the magnitude of his love and grace in forgiving you. I’ve known this message below for some many years:
”some people tell me I take this Jesus thing a little too seriously, I tell them, I guess he took me pretty seriously when he chose to be nailed to a cross for me’‘
The lyrics of a certain song goes thus:
‘‘why should I care what people say? They don’t know what you mean to me”.
You can lavish your love on Jesus, pouring all you’ve ever made and treasure at his feet, when you understand the great depths he went to save you; when you realize you’re the one who owed a employee’s daily wage for 500days and deserved to be locked in utter darkness but he forgave you.
1. This is a fictional account of the story contained in Luke 7:36 – 50. For example, we are not told of Simon’s sister who in this fictional account, prepared the meal
2.The events of this story could have taken place at Capernaum and not Nain. Some say Bethany. Commentators are not sure where exactly.
I hope it has blessed you. If you like this post, you may find this on the violent storm too interesting too.
I have so much in my heart but I cannot write them down.
But I know that my blog has this space of memorial service for those that have fallen in recent times. This is a part of my prayer on Thursday, 28th of June, 2018:
I’m grieving. Grieving. Today, Lord, marks something serious in our lives as Nigerians.
We’re still mourning the Jos killings and Bodija Ibadan killings came upon us, then the Lagos tragedy.
Too much blood shed. Too much. Lord, we’re bleeding. Lord, we’re begging. Lord, we’re saying have your way. Our hearts are heavy. This is not the nation you created, not the Nigeria you spoke into existence. A lot has gone wrong. Terribly wrong.
Lord, in this time let many not lose their faith in you. Let them not mourn and doubt you. Let orphans not think you wicked. Let teenagers not turn to alcoholism and prostitution. Let widows and widowers not despair. Help pastors to comfort and exhort. Help the average man volunteer. Lord teach us to give, teach us to open our homes and purses and hearts to those ones in need.
Lord, teach us to give our prayers, time, money and effort to making Nigeria better. Please, guide us with your eyes. Instruct us in the way to go about taking deliberate and purposive actions in Jesus name I pray.
Same people, same routine, same environment.
21 May 2018
I’m a bit on a low. I guess I am tired. Tired of University. In need of a fresh perspective to life. Away from the boring routine.
I’m starting to think I should get myself out of the pressure.
Beware of generating pressure instead of impact.
If the academic calendar were run smoothly, I would be going to Law school this November but that isn’t possible any more. The school year wouldn’t be over by then. My mates and I are going next year.
For a while that worried me so much (my thoughts: I want to stop schooling already. Why would I go to law school next year, then still be there into 2020?!) and I whined. I just had to tell myself to snap out of it. How easy is it for us to dwell on the not-so-positives? Sometimes the circumstances aren’t negative, they simply clash with our ideas of utopia.
Staying in UI since 2013( actually 2013 session but we resumed in 2014 due to strikes) is bound to take its toll someday. Same people. Same environment. Same routine.
No offence to all my loved ones. You guys know you’re the absolute best. It may not show on my face everyday but I’m a sucker for good friendship and when I get attached, I get attached. I love you guys.
But help! Lol. I need fresh perspectives behind fresh faces. Just help. I guess I’m starting to realize (took me so long eh) that I’m not a social person.
My friend Chizaram in the past six months or so has gone for two international conferences and rubbed minds with other law students, lawyers and important people. Thats amidst other adventures I know she has had outside of that. Your home girl on the other hand… Now, were I to have been at those conferences, I strongly doubt I would have made friends as easily as she did(I mean I’ve seen pictures. Lol. how do you get to take a dozen care free pictures with not one, not two, not five people in the space of a week for each of the conferences).
I’m not afraid of introductions or initiating conversations, no. Its just that small talks don’t cut it for me. Big talks do. And you just have to appreciate that not everyone is capable of having big talks. So there goes my meeting lots of people!
If I were to be a loose talker, I’d have started this part with: oh shoot me. Lol. I didn’t say that though. It’s the same places over and over again. I only gave you my three types of mornings right? I didn’t give you a breakdown of my day.
Its predictably uninteresting.
That’s not to say I don’t do any interesting things but I guess I have more interesting moments from what I read or watch on my phone and laptop than where I go. That has to change, or what do you say?
I’ve stayed in a private hostel since 200 level and it’s the same feel. The same room. The same curtains. The same type of table and wardrobe! The same entrance.
Left to me, I would have added spice to my personal apartment; Introduced plants, bought new wall art, switched up the arrangement to become airy and minimalist.
But, it isn’t left to me.
Same faculty. Same Chapel of the resurrection(where my fellowship holds services), same hostel.
I think I’ve pretty much explained this already.
I would say okay, every Friday or Saturday, I’ll go with a friend to some new place in town, but *weeps*, that’s money. A lot of money. Because the new places that I have in mind are high-end places. Every weekend?
You see now guys, you see why I’m tired? Why I’ll like to get called to the bar, work and earn?
Okay, this is a positive post so we’re cool.
😀😀It just feels good to let that off my chest.
If you have suggestions, let me know o. Or if its an all expense paid trip to some high-end place, I’m also interested. On a serious note, that’s why you guys rock. You’re a different world for me. Thank you for constantly reading what I write. My pen owes you.
“Readers are not sheep, and not every pen tempts them.”
(A quote you should know if you’ve visited my about me page).
Flowers and newness,
Hello people. Debby here again and we’re in a new space!
DebbyHub it is.
Soooo, today’s post is basically a lifestyle one that gives an example of my three types of morning.
I got the inspiration from Eureka naija.
P.s: Expect a post on Wednesday. This girl here is about to have an additional day for publishing posts. Twice a week. Saturdays and Wednesdays.
The perfect morning.
1. Wakes up by 5:30am.
3. Has quiet time with God.
4. At 7:00am prepares 5-20 minutes meal
5. 7:10am Gets the bag packed and bed laid.
6. 7:20am showers
6. 7:30am scrolls through whatsapp messages, sometimes bbc news and emails (while eating).
7. 7:50am Calls a cab and heads to class.
1. Wakes up 6:30am
2. Has quiet time with God
3. At 7:10am Prepares and eats cereal/ slices of bread.
4. 7:20am Showers
5. 7:30am spends impossibly confusing time deciding what to wear and getting the lipstick right.
5. 7:45am hurriedly lays bed, packs bag and calls a cab.
6. 7:55am runs out of the room for the day.
1. Wakes up 7:00am
2. Stares at the alarm clock again
3. Prays and boils water for bath.
4. Realizes electric kettle didn’t work and tries again.
5. showers at 7:25am.
6. At 7:35am the world is a mess. No befitting clothes or shoes. Bad hair day.
7. 7:45am straightens bed, clears work surface.
8. 7:52am stuffs belongings into bag and sprints out of room.
8. Walks till a bike is in sight.
9. Gets to class 8:10am.
If you’re new in the blog, I’m currently a 500level law student at the University of Ibadan, Nigeria. I wrote this with my 8am classes schedule.
So what do your three types of mornings look like? Give a summary of if in the comment section or if you’re a blogger you can do the same blog post and give me a tag, I’ll like to know.
Currently at: A picnic organized by the youths of my church to commemorate our fellowship’s anniversary.
Thinking: about maturity. If I say it has nothing to do with age, that would be extreme. But age doesn’t define maturity at all.
Eating: nothing at the moment. I just ate rice though. One more thing, guys, I love oats and considering the whole world has been saying it’s one of the healthiest meals you can eat, I’m pumped. One thing though, I need interesting ways of preparing my oats. I’ve seen too many good pictures of awesome oats on the internet. So I want berries and almond nuts and other fruits. Enough of plain oats and milk.
Pondering on: the situation of Nigerian youths. Hmm. My thoughts on this one needs processing before its made into a blog post. This space wouldn’t take it.
Reading: too many things. I just abandoned one book on accents ( you say potato). It didn’t turn out to be what I expected – it has too much details on the phonetic symbols. Its oral English all over again and guys, that’s water under the bridge. Secondary school issues. If you want to teach me on accents, make it interesting please.
Another book I’m on is “The fall of babylon“. “Mere Christianity” by C.S Lewis too. Those are the books im reading amidst several articles.
Wanting: new friends. I’d really love to meet new minds. Help me. Emphasis: new minds.
Listening to: Reckless love. You just may be dissapointing the blog family if you’ve still not listened to this song. I referred to this song in my last life update. It’s real. I may start up a play list segment on the blog to let you know the songs I’m loving – still a probability.
Encouraging you to: Develop yourself. No one will do it for you.
For another encouragement, watch this video. It’s just seven minutes, thirty one seconds and I think it would do you nothing but good!
Guys, while you’re here, read old blog posts. 😀
Title: And After Many Days
Author: Jowhor Ile
Publisher: Tim Duggan books
The book traces the Utu family in PortHarcourt, Nigeria. The setting of the conflict period is 1995. It’s an interesting tale of children growing up in a privileged middle class family in Nigeria. The oldest son, seventeen year old Paul gets missing and we’re confronted with a personal loss and on a larger scale, political loss.
Political loss as evidenced by failure in virtually all sectors of the society. I think it’s despairing that the challenges faced back then in Nigeria, mostly as a result of political failure are all very much present in this day – even worse. The plot is rich and devastating. It however doesn’t hit you badly until the climax.
And after many days lends credence to the voice about the Niger Delta crisis in Nigeria; the development of the crisis and it’s impact (oil spills, gas flares, western oil companies arrival, the humiliating and harrowing experiences the military forces the members of the community through, the desecration of all indigenous land and even streams by the companies) – all from an insider’s point of view.
There’s also an exposure to the way the military government ran things at that time.
Jowhor is deserving of his award in the Etisalat prize for fiction in 2017. He is a delicate story-teller. This is his debut novel. The book employs a seamless technique of moving back and forth through time. The book has an intriguing and hooking opening, coupled with the author’s timeless and endearing way of describing events. It’s written in a third person omniscient perspective.
The characters are absolutely believeable and they draw the reader in. I think most Nigerians would relate with the upbringing of the Utus children. This book takes you back in time to your childhood.
One last credit: it had me checking the dictionary for the meaning of some words. What else can I ask for?
“You might be carrying a document instructing you to be sold and you won’t know it. Won’t read and can’t read would land you in the same place”
“God forbid!” He spat out. He looked like the sort of man for whom all strong emotions came out looking like anger. Ajie couldn’t tell if he was angry that Paul was missing or angry with Paul for going missing or whether he was angry at all. Whichever way, it was clear his sympathy was with Ma “
“But whatever there was to know about desire and it’s cost was beyond Ajie then. He was at that time completely passionate and pure. He imagined himself, his brother, and his sister to be people who would shoot into the world and burn, fiery arrows set free by their parents from their home here at number 11. they would love greatly and do useful things. Bbi would become rich and important and build houses and hospital for the poor. Paul would simply change the world”
“When misfortune befalls you, people secretly blame you. Ajie noticed this. People can’t help it. They do it so they can believe it won’t happen to them. They haven’t done whatever it is you did to deserve this suffering.”
I like this book. I generously give it 5stars.
P.s for the those who’ve read the book: what do you think of Bendic and Ma’s parenting style?
So tell me, what do you think?