@Hillary_Powers

Hi guys! If you're wondering if I'm okay, yes, I am. I've just been terribly caught up in a busy schedule lately. Hope to be back to posting and engaging your articles soon. Catch ya later!

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Heartbroken and frustrated, but hopeful still Lead Image https://pixabay.com/photos/guy-man-people-dark-shadow-hands-2617866/ Today, I do not know whether I should be sad or scared or angry. Believe me, it is more painful when you cannot determine how to feel as a result of the things going on around you. When I woke up today, little did I know that it would turn out to become a frustrating one for me. It happened that my final year results were released last week, Friday to be precise. Even though I did well in my papers, I still was not satisfied with a grade I got in a particular course. I had been expecting an A in that course, but I got a B instead. While I am not totally obsessed with grades, I think I deserved better than a B because I really put in a lot of work in that course as I was the group leader of the final year assignment we did in that course. After a while of brooding and choosing to see the positive side of it, I got over it and let the whole issue die down so I could enjoy the weekend. Today, my class representative sent us all a document of the list of students' names who have passed and do not have an outstanding course. This list is to be forwarded to the National Youth Service Corp (NYSC) for the mobilisation of fresh graduates. Alas, I checked over and over again but I couldn't find my name on the list. What could have been the reason? I have never failed a course all through my years of study in the university. When I eventually found my name, it was among the names of those who failed some courses and will have to sit for them again before they can graduate. Then I remembered, something like that happened at the beginning of my third year. We had been on holiday when the pass list was released and a particular course had been marked as outstanding for me. That very day, I left home and went down to school to file a complaint at the office of my department. There, I found fellow classmates of mine who had come for the same reason. A number of us had the same issue with that particular course. The head of the department ordered the departmental secretary to verify our claims by looking for our results. In no time, the secretary brought the results. It was there, we did write the exam and passed that course. The head of the department apologised to us, saying it must have been a typographical error. We were asked to put down our names and matric numbers so that the issue would be resolved. That we did, promptly. I even suggested that the course representative be called upon whenever the list had been recompiled and edited so as to be sure of the corrections, but my departmental head assured me that there was no need for that. However, today, I was shocked, devastated and heartbroken to find that nothing was done about it that year. This is because the new pass list that I checked this morning still had the same error as before. It was still the same course that was erroneously marked as outstanding for me and others. Anyway, I have gone to my department today to complain about it again. I met another classmate of mine who also has the same issue. We've been told to check back tomorrow. I have been weighed down all day. In fact, I've not been able to eat all day because I'd lost my appetite for food since I saw the list in the morning. While I hope that the issue will be rectified tomorrow, I cannot help but feel sad and disgusted at the gross misconduct and unprofessionalism in my country's educational system. There's this friend of mine who graduated from the same school but a different department two years ago. Till now, she hasn't been mobilised for NYSC because of an error like this. Last month, I read a post of hers on Facebook where she talked about how she had been going helter-skelter about the issue when it happened, but it still didn't get solved. Now she's been delayed for two good years after graduation. It's really sad and heartbreaking!

My experience with alcohol Lead Image https://unsplash.com/photos/fOKaK7EjydM So, I stumbled on a post by Olasquare some hours back. In the post, he tells us about his short-lived experience with alcohol, and how he and this sanity-stealing substance had to part ways for good. Well, I saw a reflection of myself in his story so I decided to recount my brief experience with the bottle as well. The Beginning. Most alcoholics would agree that they got introduced to drinking right from home. Probably one of their parents or both, in some cases, take alcoholic drinks. Such is my story. Dear father isn't exactly an alcoholic because I've never seen him get drunk before, but he doesn't refrain from taking alcoholic drinks. On my first moment with alcohol - I can't remember how old I was exactly but I know I was definitely still below the age of ten - dad came home with a green bottle. It was bigger than the usual bottles I'd seen at the time. It was square-ish in shape. (Later got to know it was a gin bottle, Seaman Gin, precisely.) So, whenever dad took a capful of his strange drink, he would squeeze his face to accompany the gulping. That seemed very funny to me, but since dad wouldn't let me have my turn, nor explain to me convincingly why I couldn't, I became inquisitive to have my face squeezed while gulping a capful of this colourless substance too. On this day, dad was at work, but his bottle was in the refrigerator, at home with me. Hehe.. The refrigerator was locked as usual, but unbeknownst to my beloved parents, I'd already found my own way of beating the security system Employing the services of a friend of mine, we invaded the refrigerator and brought out the bottle. We each took a sip of the liquid. It was horrible. It had this pungent and acidic taste that burned my throat while I swallowed it. I could now understand, regretfully, why dad squeezed his face whenever he drank it. In that moment, mom who had left her workplace unusually early that day, walked in and caught us, little rascals in the act. Well, I won't bore you with details of the flogging I received. The subtle longings. Ever since that first experience, dad would go on, warning me sternly to stay away from alcohol. *But why? If it was so bad, who did he still take it himself? Sometimes, you never understand adults and their ways.* The rebellious instinct in me never stopped longing to taste alcohol again, especially beer. It always felt nice seeing commercials of beer drinks such as Heineken, 33, Gulder, Star, Satzenbrau etc on TV whenever football matches go on halftime breaks. I wanted to know how these all tasted, and why a fuzz was always made about them during football matches. *Maybe they were some kind of elixir that would make me a better football player after drinking?* While I spent the most of my teenage years hoping to have a taste of beer, it never happened. Dad had stopped keeping alcoholic drinks at home. And when he did, he'd make sure that they were still uncorked so I wouldn't dream of tampering with them. The years went by quickly, and yours truly had attained the adult age. By this time, I was in my third year at the university. A friend and classmate of mine invited me to this party at his family home. It happened that one of his cousins just passed his Institute of Chartered Accountants of Nigeria (ICAN) exam and was celebrating the feat. At the party, I was served a sumptuous plate of rice and chicken. For the drinks, I was told to make my choice. There were soft drinks and alcoholic ones too. I'm guessing you already know the choice I made. Yes, it was a chilled bottle of Trophy lager beer. *(Don't judge me. I needed to satisfy my longing, you know.)* To my surprise, beer wasn't horrible as gin. My friend's cousins were impressed that I could drink alcohol, unlike their cousin, my friend, who abstained from drinking. It felt nice. I would go on to taste other kinds such as Star Radler in my later visits to my friend's place. NB: All these times, I'd never been intoxicated because I drank moderately. The let-down and inevitable parting. Sometimes in April this year, I'd just finished writing my final paper as an undergraduate. A classmate of mine, beautiful and charming, (she's actually my love interest) invited my friend and me to a little party to celebrate the end of our schooling journey. At the party, there were all kinds of drinks. Soft drinks, Whisky, red wine, etc. I thought I'd be impressing my crush if I drank alcohol at the party. So, silly me began to mix all different kinds of drinks, and gulping them as the party went on. To cut the story short, I became intoxicated to the point where I lost my grip on reason, and began to say things out of sense, as I was later told by my friend and my crush. The next day, I felt deeply embarrassed and ashamed of myself when I remembered some of my behaviour in my state of drunkenness the previous night. I also hated the feeling of hangover. That was the day I finally called it quits with drinking. That I did with a little piece of poem as a memento of the ugly experience.

Busy day - A trip down memory lane Lead Image https://pixabay.com/photos/baby-birth-healthy-baby-child-1531059/ First off, have you also noticed that we seem to have shorter days now? I'm not talking about the weather concept of shorter days, longer nights here. I mean, the day is now literally shorter than it used to be. It's almost as if someone or something has reduced the usual 24 hours to maybe 22. Hahaha But seriously I think that the days do go by insanely faster than normal these days. It is either a day is no longer up to 24 hours or an hour is no longer made up of 60 minutes or a minute is now less than 60 seconds. It just has to be one of these. Lol 😂 So, it happened that today went by so quickly for me as I tried to sort out some stuff offline. As a result, I couldn't come up with a short story like I had planned. Instead, I'll just share with you one of my childhood memories. Memories, they say, show up so quick but leave one far too soon. In the two decades I've been living, there have been assorted events and situations I've found myself in and these, whether bad or good, have made living worthwhile. These events and situations have also become memories, some of which I can proudly recount, and some I do not wish to remember, let alone talk about. But today, it's one of the good ones I'll be sharing with you. It was in the year 2005. Mom had been heavily pregnant, and though I was still a kid, a little below the age of ten and didn't fully understand the concept of pregnancy and childbirth, I knew quite well that mom wasn't normal. There were obvious changes all over her, physically, emotionally and psychologically. Towards the end of the year, on a fateful morning on the 17th of October, I woke up only to learn that my mom was missing. Dad was also missing but I didn't find his absence worrisome since he was a cop and actually leave for work any hour of the day. Where could mom have gone? About three hours later, dad came home, looking frustrated and sullen. His eyes were red and he didn't seem to be wanting to talk too much but as an inquisitive child that I've always been, I asked him about mom anyway. It was from his explanation which was cut short by his sudden outburst of tears that made me learn that mom was due for childbirth and had been taken to the hospital very early in the morning by dad. It was the first time I was seeing dad so distraught. He made food for my siblings and me before leaving for the hospital again. At the time, I really didn't understand what was happening and no amount of explanation from Dad could have made me realize that my dad was only saddened by the news that his wife, my mom, couldn't give birth normally due to a wrong positioning of the baby in her womb and that the Caesaren section was the only way to go. I also didn't know that Dad was greatly worried because he had no money to foot hospital bills at that time. Well, all I knew and remember quite clearly now is that in the evening of that same day, dad returned looking cheerfully bright. In fact, he was almost dancing as he entered into the house. It was then he broke the news that my mom had given birth to a male child all by herself after being abandoned in the theatre room by the nurse and doctor who were waiting for Dad to come with the money and consent that the C-section be performed on her. It was a day of great news and jubilation in my family. The doctor had reported earlier that there was no way in the world that mom could be delivered of the child due to wrong positioning of the infant in her womb except C-section but mom who had given birth normally to all her first two children didn't lose hope and God came to her assistance. To cut the long story short, that same day, dad declared that the baby would be named Miracle. Hehe.. Thank you for taking this trip down memory town with me.

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Deena: Tale of a mother (cont'd) Lead Image https://pixabay.com/photos/portrait-woman-fashion-963307/ In case you missed the first part, you can find it here. https://read.cash/@Hillary_Powers/deena-tale-of-a-mother-b8166b0e Deena didn't sleep all night. Instead, she had stayed awake, thinking about her younger self, and crying about her inability to avert the awful fate that awaited her daughter. The following morning, Nadira came into her room to sweep the floor. She noticed her mother's teary face. "Yuuma, what's the matter?" she asked her mother. "Did baaba beat you again?" "No, my dear," Deena faked a smile, "a fly got into my eye." That was a lie. Dropping the broom she was clutching, the teenage girl offered to take a look at the eye but her mother insisted it was fine now. "Sit with me, my child," she requested instead. She was a little confused. Her mother saw it in her eyes. "Sit, I just want to have a word with you," the mother explained. Nadira obeyed. She gazed at the girl for a while before speaking. "Tell me, my dear. What would you like to do now?" "I want to sweep your room," the girl's eyes dilated, an indication that she was confused again. She didn't understand why her mother was asking such question. Was it not obvious enough? Could she not see the broom she'd entered into the room with? "Ok. This is what I mean," Deena attempted to explain better, "As Hassan is planning to continue his secondary education, what about you? What do you want to do?" "Oh, Yuuma, you asking about what I wished to do after school. I would like to further my studies like Hassan, too. I wish to become a lawyer, then I'll make a lot of money, and build a bigger and better house for us all" Nadira's face beamed with a longing smile as she spoke, looking into her mother's eyes. As she tried to meet her daughter's eyes, Deena made that false smile again, but the girl could see right through it. "But I'm only just going to JSS three. Why are you asking, mother?" she asked. Deena sighed. "Are you worried that I'll leave you like Hassan is about to leave us? Tell me, yuuma, is that why you are sad?" Nadir asked again, this time her face was tainted with worry. *Shout out to my wonderful sponsors!* Every of her daughter's questions seemed to break something inside of her. She couldn't bring herself to tell the girl. How could she bring herself to tell her sweet little girl that she was about to be sold to someone older than her own father under the guise of marriage? How could she poison her daughter's sweet dreams with such a terrible news? What kind of mother would that make her? "Not at all, my child. I'm just considering your school fee. You know, with the ways things have been hard for us these days," Deena said, lying about the real reason she'd started the conversation with her daughter. "Mother, it will be fine. Allah will provide if it's his will," said Nadira. Allah's will? Deena scoffed in her mind. And what would little Nadira know about Allah's will? Only her father knew that. It was for the 'man of the house' to decide, after all. Nevertheless, she assured her, "Yes, Allah will provide." "Now, mother, let me get on with my sweeping so I won't be late for school today," Nadira said, getting up to pick the broom. She watched her daughter as she began to sweep the floor of her room. No, Nadira would not end up like her, or even worse. She wouldn't allow it. She knew what she had to do. That evening, when no one was looking, she made her way into the room where they kept Nunu, a kind of fresh milk produced from a cow's udder. Mubarak especially loved his Nunu to be fermented till it became alcoholic. So there was a special container for storing his Nunu. Deena opened the container. She reached for a wrapped powdered substance hidden in her bosom, it was rat poison. She unwrapped the substance, and began to pour it into the container. As she watched the content dissolve in the liquid milk, Deena prayed for Allah's forgiveness. The End.

Deena: Tale of a mother Lead Image https://pixabay.com/photos/portrait-woman-fashion-963307/ "Silence!" Abdullah ordered his 14-year old daughter when she protested against getting married to Mubarak, her cousin who was six years older than her. Abdullah had gone on to explain to her why she had to do as told. It was the will of Allah. Also, he was her father; he owned her, and knew what was best for her. Ever since then, silence had become an inalienable part of Deena. While her father played a vital role, her entire society equally made sure of that. The few nights she stayed up crying in fear of the fast approaching wedding day, her mother, Amina, would make her understand that women were to talk only when spoken to. And that the best thing that could ever happen to a woman was getting married with the blessings of her parents. Regardless of whether she loved her husband or not, and whether she was ready or not. Seventeen years of being married to Mubarak, silence still prevailed over her. She had no say in the running of the family. When Mubarak decided to take a second wife just three years after their wedding, she had tried to protest against. She was not exactly against the man taking a second wife. She only kicked against his doing so at a period when they were finding it hard to make ends meet. "Silence! I'm the head of this house, and I'll do whatever I want," Mubarak had announced. Three years after, he made that same announcement again when he took his third wife. After the head of the house did as he wanted a second time, things became even worse. It took a great toll on the children's schooling. Even basic clothing and feeding became barely affordable. That pushed Deena into searching for extra jobs. For her two children to stay in school, she had to earn additional cash to the little she was earning from cultivating and selling vegetables. But Mubarak would not allow it. He was the head of the family, and it was his place to provide, not hers. In fact, god-fearing and virtuous women wouldn't leave their homes without the consent of their husbands. Deena always wished to please Allah, so she gave up on that. Shout out to my wonderful sponsor! Two nights later, Mubarak came to her room. It had been a long time since he last came to her. Of recent, he always preferred to be with his latest wife, Faleehah, but here he was tonight. After some minutes of what seemed, at least in Mubarak's mind, a lovemaking session, he began to speak. "Deena," he called her. "Yes, husband," she responded, intentionally making the vocative a single word rather than the phrase: My husband. "There's something I must tell you." "I'm all ears," this time, she completely avoided the vocative. "Alhaji Gimba has offered seven of his biggest cows for Nadira's hand in marriage," said Mubarak. Deena said nothing, she was yet to recover from the shock of the news she just heard. Mubarak continued, "Half of the cows' worth will be enough money to pay for Hassan's schooling in the city, don't you think?" Nadira was Deena's second child and only daughter. Hassan was her first child, and he had just been admitted into a secondary school in the city. "But she's only fifteen, Mubarak." Deena finally found her voice. "Yes, and how's that a problem?" Mubarak said, pretending not to understand what she meant. "She's but a child, Mubarak!" Deena's voice was now quavering. "Besides, Alhaji Gimba is way older than you, her own father." "What are you saying? Weren't you a year younger when I married you, ehn?" Mubarak countered her former statement and ignored the latter. "Please, my husband," she couldn't hold back her tears now as she stood up from the bed and knelt down to plead. "You shouldn't do this. You shouldn't give away our daugh--" "Be quiet, woman!" he cut her short. "I'm only even telling you about this because you're her mother. Not because I wanted your advice." Mubarak got up from her bed. "If I were you, I'd start getting her prepared for marriage," he said as he walked out in annoyance. That was the end of the matter, his mind was made up. There was nothing more she could say. Mubarak's angry exit made it certain. Now, she was left with the task of breaking the news to Nadira. To be continued.

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Think for yourself Lead Image https://unsplash.com/photos/j7wPFNAXdio While I cannot call myself an avid fan of animes, I can say I have seen quite a number of them, and for that, I think I am, at least, an anime enthusiast. In my own rights, so to speak. Around here, when the word, anime, is mentioned, most people easily think of Naruto. I might not really be able to say why it is so but my best guess would be that Naruto has been around for quite some time and it has an amazing storyline from which many other animes draw inspiration. I have my place in that bandwagon, too because Naruto happens to be my favourite anime. Though there are also others like Fate: Stay Night, Fate: Unlimited Blade Works, Kuroko no Basuke, Death Note, and some others which I can't remember right now, that rank high in my shelf. Still yet, Naruto remains my favourite. Apart from the fact that the series starts out by following the story of a love quadrangle (if that's a thing, though 😂) between Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura and Hinata, I love the way the characters mature with time and have the plot split into other subplots great subplots revolving around themes such as family, friendship, sacrifice, jealousy, betrayal, amongst others. But the most outstanding conflict in Naruto is the struggle between the whole ninjas of Hidden Villages against the dreaded Akatsuki group whose one-time leader, Nagato, sought to capture the all-powerful nine-tailed demon fox's power to create the Infinite Genjutsu. The Infinite Genjutsu is a sort of global mind illusion where people live as if there was no war, suffering or pain in the world. While it sounds like a good thing, there is a sinister part to it. There is no room for people's freewill. People are unable to think for themselves, and they only have to believe what the Akatsuki wants them to believe. For this reason, Ninjas from all the Hidden Villages unite to make sure that the Akatsuki group does not succeed with their plan. *Now, that takes us to the real purpose of this topic.* Some months back, those of us that are conversant with the crypto world will remember how tweets by Elon Musk dictated the course of the crypto market. Whenever he posted something in support of Bitcoin, there would be an uptrend in the market. Subsequently, it was the other way round whenever he posted something negative about it. Arguably, Elon Musk's tweets paved the way for the bearish market that started in May earlier this year. That got me thinking: why? How could one man's tweet wield so much influence over a global market? Then it made sense to me why the Ninjas in Naruto kicked against the Akatsuki's Infinite Genjutsu plan. It is very pathetic that a good number of people in the world today have no idea what feats they are capable of achieving when they listen to their minds. Self doubt has eaten so deep into their mentality such that they are afraid, unable to think for themselves, make vital decisions for themselves or even live their lives doing what they love. Look around, you will see that it is teeming with individuals suffering from identity crises. Most people have actually based their lives on the premises of other people's opinions. Especially those of celebrities or famous persons. The truth, though, is that you cease to be a complete human being the moment you let others think for you. You become a second tier human, a mindless zombie. Nature has designed it that every human should have an equal chance at figuring out the world. This is why each human is born with a mind of their own. When you leave that quest for others to accomplish in your stead, it simply shows that you do not have a mind of yours or you simply do not know how to put yours to work. I'm not saying you should not be welcoming of ideas and opinions of others but I'm saying you should not be swallowing everything hook, line and sinker. Also, learn to bring yours to the table, too. We are sentient beings. We are supposed to compare and contrast our ideas and opinions with those of others so as to fine-tune a conclusive judgement that will be beneficial for everyone. That is how the world gets better, diversity in perspectives. Remember that the world cannot be correctly seen in black and white. You need to start believing in yourself that your voice matters, and that you also have what it takes to be a role model. It is all in your mind, and you have to take charge of it.

Starting Again Lead Image https://unsplash.com/photos/srDKOjF3rSY ***With every door that closes in*** ***Don't be afraid, to start again*** The above are the words that begin the lyrics of **Start Again**, a song by Australian-New Zealand singer, Stan Walker. The song, which features another Australian singer, Samantha Jade, is also one of the soundtracks for the 2015 film, **Born To Dance.** **Born To Dance** follows the story of Tu, a young hip-hop dancer living in New Zealand. Tu hopes to win the national dance championship but his father is not supportive of his dance career. Rather, he wants his son to be enlisted in the army. However, this does not stop Tu as he forms 2PK, a dance crew with his friends. The crew prepares for the national championship, and meets after work daily to practice and perfect their new dance moves. In one of their rehearsals, Tu is recorded making awesome dance moves and the video goes viral on YouTube. Soon, Tu's video is noticed by K-Crew, the country's top hip-hop dance crew. K-Crew invites amateur dancers for an audition for new members and Tu secretly goes for it without telling his own crew members. Tu becomes friends with Sasha, one of K-Crew's dancers and girlfriend of the crew leader. The two of them begin to develop feelings for each other. After days of training hard, none of the amateur dancers is selected to join the influential crew. It is revealed that the crew only invited them so as to steal their moves. Tu is devastated because it is only a few more days before the championship starts. He goes back home sad, thinking about giving up. At home, he is able to confront his dad, telling him about his love for dancing and how he is not interested in the army. His father comes to reason with him and allows him to pursue his dream of dancing. Tu also reconciles with his former crew, 2PK and they get back to training ahead of the championship which will soon start. As the championship begins, K-Crew's leader, Kane, uses his influence to almost rule out 2PK from the competition. However, Tu finds a way around it by forming a new crew right in the middle of the competition. Sasha, who has come to discover Kane's malicious actions against Tu and his rookie crew, breaks up with him, and explains her innocence in the whole matter to Tu. The new crew still consists of him and his fellow teammates from 2PK, and just one new member, Sasha. Delighting the audience with their incredible moves, Tu's new crew makes it to the final and defeats K-Crew to win the national championship. At last, Tu's dream comes true. You might be wondering why I had to go through the trouble of narrating the whole movie now. Well, it is to take a cue from Tu's story. Sometimes, we go through a rough patch in our lives. And whilst in the middle of it, we mull over the idea of giving up. It always seems like the best thing to do. I, for one, have been thinking about calling it quits with blogging ever since the former platform I dedicated my whole time and money abruptly closed down. It took me quite a lot of convincing from people like @princessbusayo to start blogging again. When I finally started blogging again, my account here got marked as spam here within two weeks. The bot stopped visiting my posts which have somehow become invisible. I did my best to find out the reason, seeing that I did nothing wrong, at least not in my own knowledge. And when I couldn't find a reason nor a way to rectify the issue, I began to think that my blogging life was coming to an end. I seriously wanted to give up again. The thought of starting all over again felt scary and hopeless. But when I woke up this morning, the first thing that resonated in my head was Stan Walker's song, Start Again. I had to play the song and put it on loop for about 20 minutes. As if it wasn't enough, I checked my WhatsApp and one of my friends posted the words, START AGAIN, on his status. That was when I knew that the universe was talking to me. I had to start again. My former account might be lost forever, and so might be the time and energy I exerted trying to build it up but that won't stop me from trying again. After all, a wise Mary Pickford once said, and I quote: *"This thing we call failure is not the falling down, but the staying down.."*