When will I meet the one for me?

 So, sometimes, I wonder if one day I'll meet the one - the one who will be mine.

Hehe, I know that this is really corny and cliche, but it's funny how many people in the world keep believing in love. I mean, there is nothing wrong with believing, but waiting for a soul mate, well, that's just off.

Even though I've written several romance-cliched novels, I still ask myself one question:

Is there such a phenomenon as "the one"?

Cause to me, I feel like many individuals just hook up for other reasons (and not love). 

People hook up for money (increasing their social status), to survive (having someone to share the bill with), to have children (blessed baby-factories), to not be alone (this is so cliched), and many more bizarre reasons.

But, it's only a few people that actually came together, all in the name of love, and most of the time, they never really worked out.

My experience of love, well... I've not had one yet, I think.

OK, I'll admit I have zero experience.

But I just think love is a farce; something unreal...something invented to create an illusion of fantasies that do not exist...something to just hold on to.

I guess with all the shit going on in the world, brief perfectness such as love is acceptable, but that does not mean they are real.

So far, the only love I know could be real is the love God has for me, cause believe me...if it's true that the creator watches from up there and still cares for us, despite how despicable we are (emphasis on meeee...) then I'll say that it is dope!

Anyway, I'm not writing this to put anyone off from believing in love, loving, or hooking up with your true love (if that's real), I'll just say that before you go heads over heels in love with someone, love yourself first. 

Before you go falling hard for someone, ensure you've got a soft landing ready.

Cause love might be beautiful, but nothing is most beautiful than finding love with/in yourself.

Okay, now that I've gotten this from my system...I'm off to writing another romance novel.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll find that true love someday.

Haha, I just hope so.👩

Photo by Vie Studio on pexels.com

Don't cry over spilled beans...

 Mara hurried down the lane, her feet swift against the hard road, as she followed the crowd of paparazzi. They were all in a haste to get the buzz, hot, and live. The teenage pop star, Kyle, was being crazy again, and they were sure to get that on the live feed. However, on getting to the skyscraper, Mara diverted from the others and disappeared into the backdoor. 

She made her way up the stairs, past the security, and weaved herself to the fifteenth floor, where the girls-sensational-idol was standing, about to throw himself off the railing. 

He had a bottle of brandy in his right hand, while his second hand gripped the railing of his apartment’s balcony.

 

 On seeing this, her heart leaped – it was worse than she had thought. He was practically about to shove himself down fifteen floors, and it would be all her fault. 

With a sharp scream, she called him, “Kyle!” 

That was the one call she ought to have made years ago. If she had only screamed as loud as she did, eighteen years ago, then everything would have not been this bad. 

She had become a coward. 

She had let her fear and uncertainties consume her, and her indecision had led the young man to stand over his own death. 

But, like a ray of sunshine, he turned his head to her, and suddenly, she knew the heavens had given her another chance to right her wrongs. 

Without hesitating, as she had done years ago. 

She ran. 

Like never. 

She leaped to him and grasped him in her arms, as tight as she could, knowing she would never let him go, never again. 

Kyle squirmed silently into her neck, and he looked up at her face. 

As though in a whisper, he breathed, “You are here now, mom.” 

The tears she had long held in her chest as guilty pains came rolling down her cheeks, as she smiled – sincerely for the first time, and asserted saying, “I am sorry, my son. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I was a coward.” 

These were the words Kyle had waited his whole life to hear as his purple lips pulled into a small smile. 

“Yeah, mom, I know.” He simply said. 

 

That smile burned Mara’s chest, and she knew at that moment that it was too late. He removed himself from her grip, and with one swift move, he was over the railing. She rushed to him, holding him by his arm, but he had his mind made up. 

He smiled again, but underneath that was a deep sadness that had swallowed him up.

“You can’t go back, you know, mom. It’s never going to be the same again.” 

 

With these words, he peeled her fingers from his arms, and even though she tried, he slipped away, and she watched – helplessly – as he fell down to the darkness already awaiting him. 

What was the use of her tears? They were pointless. 

She knew, yes, she knew at that moment that if only she had been brave when she needed to be, then time would have not gone against her. 

 But Kyle was right. 

She could not go back, as it would never be the same. 

Playing Cards

What is life like?... 

Life is like a box of playing cards, the more you see, the less you have, and eventually, you’ll be the joker. 

We are all seated around a table, with our pack of cards in our hands. Life is the game we play: some people are lucky with their cards and win a lot at the beginning. However, there are some that lose and have to keep playing over and over till they do. Yet, there are some that eventually give up, and dump their cards for others.  

The table is the world. The game is life. The pack of cards is our choices and decisions.  

The way we play around with our choices determines how we win each round of the game. Some choices make us, causing us to win some rounds. Yet, some choices break us, causing us to lose some rounds. However, giving up and not making a choice to keep playing caused us to be out of the game. 

We all have a joker, a wild card, that saves our wins during rounds. 

These wild cards are second chances at life, that we can either take or refuse. The Joker can be an extremely beneficial, or an extremely harmful, card. These can cause us to win it all, or lose it all. So, however, we let our decisions lead us, such is how our game of cards is played. 

How our life plays out, eventually.

Image by TanteTati from Pixabay 

The Girl Behind The Words

Do you want to know the girl beneath "Asides"? My name is Temiloluwa Ruth Oyelola, but Alexandra Oyelola is my authoring name, and I’m a Gemini, a close shave to being a Taurus. As a quiet gen-z, I grew up in Malali, Kaduna State, and I spent the majority of my childhood there. I attended Future Leaders International School until my fourth grade, even though I had attended two other schools during this time. From here, my family moved to Osogbo, Osun State where I joined Olive Branches Schools from 5th Grade to 7th Grade. In 7th grade, at the advice of my aunt, I wrote the Junior WAEC Examination. {Sorry to kids like me that had been forced to jump classes} Luckily, I passed and got enrolled in Baptist Girls High School. I spent a term in BGHS before we returned to Kaduna and I registered at Destiny College, where I completed my grade school and graduated in the year 2015. I became a Dufil-Indomie ambassador in 2015 after winning their promo for that year. The prize was to visit Disneyland, alongside four other winners and our respective guardians. During the process, I visited Lagos for the first time when we went for our France visa appointment. Yet, unfortunately, we could no longer go as the visa application was rejected for two other winners, and thus we were compensated on a monetary level. {Story of my life} After graduation, I went for a three months computer appreciation awaiting my admission. However, on missing my admission to Obafemi Awolowo University, I began working at a playground center. Here, I worked for a year and some months as a caregiver. {More of Nannie jobs with a collar} Afterward, I proceeded to Lagos State to write TOEFL and SATs to prepare for my studies in the United States. I passed both exams and was to resume Southwest Minnesota State University, but my visa got declined. {Wahala for who wan Japa!} Unable to proceed and raise funds for a second consular meeting, I left Lagos and returned to Kaduna. Fortunately, I got admitted into Ahmadu Bello University, to study Human Kinetics, a four-year course study. {ABU to the save!} While awaiting admission, I also became a member of the Kaduna State Triathlon Club, after getting trained by the Kaduna State Swimming Coach, Coach Yahaya, a blind but highly talented swimmer. He became my inspiration, and with this, I learned how to swim. {Thanks, coach Yahaya} However, I dumped swimming again when I resumed school at ABU Zaria. Currently, I am a part of the Volleyball and Handball team at my school. I plan to keep this up and develop one of these sports as a side career to boost my main dream of becoming a physiotherapist. {A girl can only dream...} In the year 2020, I completed my first novel titled, 366 Days Together, and this began my story of being an author. Following this, I made my first poetry collection which I called “Our Silent Words”. I became a published writer when I self-published my e-books at the beginning of the year 2021, via online publishing platforms. Later that year, I began writing my second book, a duology and completed the first book while going to school. To keep myself busy during the strike periods, I became an intern at KadaHive Innovation and Tech Hub, where I wrote content, developed my writing skills, coordinated several events, participated in community work, and had lots of other amazing adventures. The most memorable events I’ve had working with KadaHive are participating in the global cleanup for earth day, and co-hosting an earth art festival, both in 2022. In April, I also published the first book in my duology, titled “Dominique”, and for the first time, I had it monetized. My plans are to have my books, one day, on a bookshelf everywhere in the world, and probably, have one made into a movie. After all, a girl can only dream… These and more, are the story of my life. Yet, a book is not finished until the end is realized. I’m probably still midway through my story, but as the famous saying goes “life has given us many blank pages, and it is our duty to fill them with many amazing moments that would become our greatest memories.” Jump in, and let's explore life together...

Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay

It's too late.

They say you can’t be stupid enough to get hurt, in the same place, twice. However, I had, multiple times.

Thus, no one could stop me when I decided to go to court that morning. Not mom, not dad. Not our kids. Not his parents. And, definitely, not him. I and James had been married for 15 years, and every single day, I was a battered piece of garbage useless to my community and to myself. Why? Well, when James decided that the punching bag in our exercise room in the basement was not enough for him, I became a replacement. I cried to my parents. I cried to his parents. I reached and begged for help, but none came. However, I had the last straw when I fell into a coma after losing my third child, due to a severe beating I had received from James. From that moment, I had ended everything with him. I would no longer endure it for the community, for culture, or even for our kids. I could no longer care what the community would call me, and I am sure this was the best decision for my kids and culture? Damn culture! The culture that made it right, all things that were wrong. The culture that hyped James as he drew the map of Africa all over me. The culture that had made my mother weep helplessly, and give me stupid bits of advice to carry my cross. Yes, damn the culture. James had many chances to rethink his actions. He had a lot of time to stitch me up. He had a million chances, but he kept dashing them in pieces. Now, I believe I’ve been lenient enough, and I know my children would understand that I tried. I would ensure my daughter grows with the courage to love without having to get hurt, and my son becomes a man who respects women and would never raise his hands against them. James, the culture, community, and our parents never stitched the problem at its bud, and now, it’s full-blown, and my wounds are far too deep, too deep to be stitched. 

Image by Nino Carè from Pixabay