Biology



I know I've been battling with myself. My mind runs wild but my body tells a completely different story or rather my body reacts to these battles and all I have to show for it is a couple pounds of fat around my mid section. I've chosen to ignore my body because I have my "rules". These "rules" (a better word would be "principles") are set up to better myself or at least for me to appear a certain way. For instance, don't lay down with a man unless you can afford a pack of condoms. If you have to scratch your head after looking at the price of sanitary towels, forget it my friend. 

I'm 27. A lot of time has passed and I am still not at the place I want to be at financially and in terms of accomplishments, I am far behind. I've recently taken time out of "life" (how do you take time out of life? - we'll get to that) because I felt like I wasn't being my true self or rather I was turning into something I no longer recognised and I disliked. This dislike of myself now meant I was putting up walls, blocking certain aspects of my growth, so I would appear principled and responsible.

What am I talking about?

Part of my character requires me to take calculated risks but another part of me impulsive. I'm talking about love. Nature vs nurture. I am soft but I am temperamental. I like the idea of love and legacy but I am scared of childbirth and a vacant partner. 

I've reflected back on my parents marriage and I am envious of it. I believe I can have the same too but I want it to be better. My mother chose my father even though she was advised against it. She loved my father enough to procreate with him, even though his time on earth would be short. He mattered to my mother, not his viable life span. My father breathed and she was in love. My father loved my mother, she was intelligent but didn't necessarily have the means to explore all her options academically. My father was into literature, mythology and legal language. I've come across some of his written sermons. He had an amazing mind and I saw something in my mother but to be honest with you, I think it was down to biology. My mother saw my mother's lean frame, her hips and her calm and measured nature. Till this day I listen to my mother's sultry voice, I admire her calmness and I know where my hips come from. They overlooked each others flaws because of love. 

I meet potential partners all the time - that's my ovaries talking and I hate that part of myself. I feel like when I meet these men, I  am a walking billboard, I'm constantly auctioning myself off. Whether I like it or not my body will always be a point of contention when it comes to the male gaze. I am not for every man but I am for someone and I need him to be attentive. 
My body has to be noticeable before he can even explore my earning potential and level of intelligence. I am not the smartest and I am not a big earner but my ability to produce offspring....

I don't want to be known for the children I gave birth to. I do wonder about my mother, even though I am a product of love, am I all she has? What were her goals and plans before my father? Was the Lagosian housewife dream hers? Is it mine?

I've had a friend of mine recently reappear. I'm pretty sure he knows I am open for a relationship with him but he has always been cautious and with good reason.He always comes back to peak into my life, to see what I am up to. Can this be the mother of my child? Can she hold down a job for more than a year? Does she know what an anaconda is? (inside joke). Can she break down a simultaneous equation to a 9 year old? Please play Sam Cooke's Wonderful World here or Beyonce's 1+1.

I like intelligent men, I like philosophers. How can I demand of someone what I am not myself?
I will constantly be playing catch up to someone who is better than me. It makes me question myself and why I don't value what I have.  Maybe I need to evaluate what I am attracted to in men. Is a man settling when he chooses me? If I am choosing someone who is just as principled and as calculated as I am, breathing is not enough. For me to notice he had breath, meant I heard him speak, it meant I admired his perspective or I loved the way he put words together or I am intrigued by his library. My library is lit and my cursive is banging! Please ignore the words "lit" and "banging, future long-term partner. 

For you to exist and for me to love you as you are, it's not how you look, it's you, what you say, your character, what you do. For men, I find it to be the same but the looks department is a thing. My looks department has been waning as of late. My break on "life "meant I paid off my bills for 6 months and willingly entered a hole of depression. The black cloud returned and I wanted life to stop. I literally have a bucket list of things I want to do and I will happily die afterwards. That's my mind speaking but my body wants this man to choose me, not my potential, not my child bearing efforts but me. Nothing but me. I've warned this man, when you enter this sphere, my life, my world, you know exactly what to expect and I'm not here for friendship alone. I will not be friend zoned in 2017.

I've read "We Should All Be Feminists" and yet on the most basic level, I really just want one man to notice me.  I know Adichie does not dispel the inclusion of men, for women to experience equality in totality. Don't come for me! Although it is so strange, after education, power, money, some of us just want to nurture. Why am I so ashamed of this form of womanliness?





The Conscious Side: N*Gg*R - Swiss

















On the other side of the pond, the UK, it's pretty much political season every day but it's been a while since I've heard a song so honest and blunt. Normally you have to be in the grime scene or listen to American hip hop to get an honest opinion about the reality of being black in the diaspora...

Finally Some Inspiration!: Tha Suspect ft Fela Kuti























I hope you are having a brilliant start to the new year. I wake up every morning sit at my desk and there is a list of things I need to complete before this year ends, in BOLD letters. I have no choice but to fulfil all those goals.

Android Time

Thursday, October 30th 2014
Prose
Android Time















The sluggish reminder of dawn peered through my heavy eyelids and I had no choice but to wake up. I rolled over towards the left side of my bed, feeling around for a phone and sure enough it made a loud beeping noise, twice, indicating the battery was low. I looked at the time, it was exactly 15 minutes until my alarm would go off.

4:00


Travellin' man don't wander too far...
Listened to I'm Not a Saint. Perfect.

OMO 2014 IS HERE!!!

Just before piling myself and a friend onto a packed bus around 3 am in the morning, we conversed with a random person by the bus stop. This is a normal occurrence on a new years day, on any other day in London town this would be an annoyance. We dubbed 2013 'doomsy' and looked forward to a promising year.

This Christmas

...meant very little to me and it has been this way for several years now. Anything associated with Christianity has become a tolerable existence between myself and my family. My devout Christian mother prays every morning for my salvation and every time I walk past her mumbling her prayers, it worries me. I start to question why I felt it was remotely sensible once upon a time to announce my non-religious beliefs and why I regard the constant invites to church as insults.


The Past 3 Dreams

Orange Paper 

The train slowed down and the name of the station was announced. I stood to gather my belongings and staggered to the exit door of the train. Squinting to adjust to the natural light, I held on tightly to a bar as the train halted, soon I was hoisting  up my suitcase, clutching on to the straggly tote bag and planted my weighted feet onto the platform.


Blockage Beyond Belief

I have nothing valuable to say. My mind is invested in heartbreak. I am trying to use this heartbreak to get out! I need my sanity back, something to talk about.  I want to go out. I want the colours to mean something. I want conversations to serve as inspiration. I want the sounds to soothe me.

Everything is clashing. The lights are too bright.
The Sounds are too loud and stressful.
Outside is a struggle.

Solitude

"He who delights in solitude is either a wild beast or a god."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

I agree.

Just Stan

*This is not a review. 

Yes! The Yonce is back. Nah...let's stick with Beyonce. The 14 tracked, self-entitled album dropped unexpectedly this week and you noticed. I certainly did. I was honest with myself and I watched all of Blue Ivy's mother's videos and I listened to the entire album twice and found myself repeating "Partition", "Drunk In Love", "Pretty Hurts" and "Flawless" of course. . I was particularly interested on how Beyonce managed to clear a sample from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “We Should All Be Feminists” TedxEuston Speech. The Queen Mother of Contemporary African Literature agreed for her voice to be used on Beyonce's trackFlawless/Bow Down? It was so deliciously paradoxical.

 It was one of the main reasons why I decided to listen to the album. Initially, I thought of it as a marketing ploy, to draw in a new kind of audience. I’ve never known Beyonce to be politically inclined, only in her days of Destiny Child when it was cool to be pro something. To be fair, we did see some humanitarian world effort with “I Was Here” but wasn’t she asked to do it?

The videos and production helped a great deal and encouraged me to listen to the album and I made sure I listened to it without the visuals; I didn’t want to overlook the lyrics.  The frivolousness of pop culture has been criticised over and over again, which has caused me to deliberately seek out music that is pleasant to my ears sonically and is somewhat meaningful. We are entering a golden era of music which focuses on the conscious and lyricism. Beyonce never had those two. It’s now a fad to make music that means something in pop besides being gimmicky and sexual and Beyonce did all of the above.

The album had been painted as her most daring album yet, almost revolutionary. I had to find out what the fuss was all about. This was an honest album and we actually got to hear an opinion from beyus, some soul, some heart. I prefer her rachet (the slang term for the American underclass) and beautiful, I couldn’t help but reflect on the lyrics of “Pretty Hurts” “What's in your head it doesn't matter”. This line was meant to challenge society’s obsession with image, particularly with women but in the context of lyricism, I prefer Beyonce just beautiful, her efforts for feminism is commendable but it didn’t do much justice with the simple lyrics. If you’re going to be a feminist, do it right!  Who am I to criticise the award winning, chart topping African American female singer? Too much good is going on here for me to criticise and I felt snobbish in that single moment.

We box artists into genres that when they try to evolve, it’s painful for us to accept that change. 

I said that like I cared. Absolutely not! 

In Beyonce’s case, it’s not only that she was innovative in dropping her album with no middle man involved, out of nowhere and had the number one selling album across the globe on Taylor Swift’s birthday and lives up to her message in empowering herself as a woman (key word being herself, please read on). The only thing evolved about this album, is how it was released and how she managed to bite into every past time artist’s style and get away with it. She carried all her influences and updated them in today’s music using the hit makers such as Pharrell, Timberland, Justin Timberlake, her husband, Hit-boy, literally and as a noun. Note; none were female (excluding the visual cameos). It was still a Beyonce album; only she was more open about her sexual exploits. That was the message; why are you crucifying me for being sexually confident? I am a grown woman, let’s challenge the whole landscape of feminism in this America/World and stop messing with my ‘new’ money. I am happy and I am fucking. All wonderful messages that need to be discussed. No sarcasm intended. I really meant what I wrote.

It's a polarising piece of work and Beyonce Knowles is a polarising artist; you either accept her for the artist she is or completely dislike her (I am trying to avoid the overused word, ‘hate’). I've never met anyone who picked and chose songs on a Beyonce album until now.

I will try not to be classist and like some of her songs and try not to think too much about the lyrics. After all, I understood all she had to say and I was entertained, that's enough right?

The Loot

That's what it feels like.

This desperate scramble for wealth and the 'look at me I've made it' mentality.

And I will admit, I've bought into it, just a tad bit and I don't blame anyone else for doing so, I learnt from my colonial fathers, they taught me best. After all, 'money' makes the world go round (I hope you know it really doesn't).

Living in a country that doesn't have a lot and will do anything in her capacity to hold on to the little power she has left, is pretty much what you have to do to survive in this world. We no longer work together, we compete, the negative kind that is. What is yours is not mine and you'll make me very aware of it the moment I get too comfortable. You will have to do your very best and even if you were good enough, if someone better comes along, please do have a reclined seat somewhere in the back whilst I waltz my way into victory.

No we cannot all get along. I  cannot accommodate and tolerate. I'm grown enough to not deal with theatrics of life. What are you doing and where have you been?  God forbid, I be myself in an interview. Quiet, demure; I don't give you a lot, just enough to keep you interested and see me work.

After you have gathered your spoils and arranged all the letters besides your name that you are entitled to have, please tell me what is left?

My loot is adventure, occasional comfort and work I WANT to do.  I'll show off my work when it is finished and I'll credit whoever needs to be credited...so you can spend your spoils on my spoils.






Delirious Me

A Note to Self:

Lady,

I understand you have experienced a moment of selflessness and you have ravaged in your impulsive habit but today, you will dig out whatever dignity you have left and dust off your mask of pride. Put it on!

You cannot walk in your heels of confidence just yet but the cloak of humility has never looked better.

The next time you ever go back on your word after much thought, coaching and common sense, I will bury you alive.

Retrospect is a gift you have been given, use it to your advantage. I cannot have parts of me in tatters when I have worked so hard to put back together your self esteem. Do not undo my hard work.

I am part of your personality one of the positive characteristics that still exits. Yes, dignity, pride, humility and esteem, we had an emergency meeting in your moment of weakness. The floride in your toothpaste has not slowed you down but it seems to have accentuated the coon or the potential desperate housewife in you.

We have invested in overthinking and the occasional walk on the common to get you out of this emotional downward spiral you are content in dragging yourself into.

Read a book, write again and stop tweeting...but no! You do what you feel. Clearly age does not come with maturity but we are working on it.

We are aware it is winter, wrap up warm and escape into the world of literary devices, possibly relearning grammar and work.

The past is a wonderful illusion that you love to drown yourself in, but you have not utilised these moments in a positive way, rather they seem to have a negative effect on you.

This mirror, called your diary, try reading it. It will help you. This is your most honest place. We'll review your improvement in 3 months time.

Victoria Awosode is synonymous with Seun Amusan.





Let The Games Begin

Stranger: You know I can take you out on a date.

Me: No thanks. I'm happily single.

Stranger: Don't live to regret this!

Me: My last regret was 5 ft 9, do you want me to add you to the list.

Stranger: No maam!

Jogger's Knee

Tensions run high in my house, other than the fact that all four females menstruation cycles are synchronised around the same time, we are very opinionated individuals who require a lot of space.
You need space, the oestrogen level in my house is too much, and there's enough heat to pop any popcorn seed when having a 'discussion', even when discussing medical remedies for one with jogger's knee.

I sit for many hours of the day, working on something...it could be a project, a blog, artwork...everything my mother consider's a hobby and what I refer to as 'self-employment. I have a knee injury in which I am very sure I incurred ever since I decided to jog, as you do when you are less mobile and you start to freak out over weight gain. From previous posts, you will realise I am terrible at jogging, believe it or not you can jog wrongly and I am one of those hopeless joggers. I don't have a trainer so I've resulted in avoiding it all together. So here I am resting my leg and yet I know the muscles in my knee are still inflamed, I've gone to the doctors and I'm told rest and rest some more and hey there are some drugs you can take to help you with the pain.

I personally avoid drugs because I know the food I eat which I have no control over as I am self-employed is poison anyway,  if not poison, the combinations and lack of variety can send you to an early grave. Why would I add some more? And that description led to an argument. The old and new collide. Wisdom from an elder is essential in life but sometimes you just have to except, the individuals you live with are stuck in their own ways and whatever new knowledge you have gained doesn't make you an expert, knowledgeable or enlightened, you're just another reading sibling and guess what everyone else reads too.


Daugther of a Migrant

I cannot stress how important it is to instil self confidence into a child, no matter where you are from, what colour you are or faith system you participate in. I am also sick and tired of people telling me to 'move on' or to 'get over' my childhood traumas. Certain problems need to be discussed, that may be the only way I can heal those wounds. I do not know how many times it will take for me to have a good 'ol conversation with my girlfriends...cry myself to sleep or simply be angry at the world before I move on and get over it already!

I also do not want to be ill advised and asked to 'pray' away my problems...avoid being the angry black woman. I get angry sometimes, not because I am black, not because I am not 'lady-like'. Fortunately I do not represent the black community, everyone has different experiences, I happened to have a terrible childhood. People are intelligent enough to know that I am simply a person....that happens to have feelings and it is perfectly normal.

Yes, I get passionate, my voice increases in volume and in pitch when I am discussing a topic close to my heart. One of those topics is the terrible schooling system that I was subjected to, from nursery to secondary school. Traumatised, self-hating, low self-esteemed girls in pubescent stages of their lives , all slammed into one building with equally menopausal crazy mortgage-paying teachers.

That's an entire five years of your life...pretty much defending yourself, physically and emotionally just because you want to learn. I have been upset at my mother for a very long time...trying to get her to understand the difference between raised in a black bubble and waking up to a white-mare. It is difficult. I am beginning to believe I wasn't made for England, I wasn't made for this cold climate and mentally it is driving me crazy. I am constantly deficient of vitamin D and I have never experienced the sun from an African climate.

If I hear one more African, telling me how difficult it would be if I returned to my country of origin, I might just kill a person. Did my parents not live there, Are my relatives not surviving? Did my parents not survive over here? What is so terrible about a country you live in?! It is good enough for you, so why is it not good enough for me?!

Can you believe, I am stuck in the West and I want to get out...whilst people are drowning in the process of getting to the land of 'opportunity'. It is no more the land of opportunity folks. We all want to leave! I want to leave, I'd happily trade places. I have no idea how I'd adapt but I'd like to be given the option.

I had to listen to myself, recall a horrifying story whilst my friends were over this weekend. I remember lying to a teacher in school, how I'd flown to Nigeria in the Summer, rode on an elephant and swam in the 'brown' ocean. As imaginative, a child can be, this is sad one. It is a sad story of a young child playing with stereotypes she has been fed by the media, a white world, a white-mare. This teacher was definitely white and of course loved telling the low-income kids he taught in a school in Jamaica and even attempted an accent. Whilst me, unprivileged child, had to dream and make up stories of a country I have yet to step foot in, the country that my parents came from. I remember that day like yesterday. My father was told the story, normally my over-zealous Christian father would have warned me of the perils of hell fire and lying. Not this time! How shameful. Your child has to make up stories from what she has seen on TV about her heritage.

Self image is important. If you accept yourself, your esteem is built, giving you the confidence required to overcome obstacles you will be faced with in life. Black girls are not beautiful in the UK. That is what we are taught. It is changing, but it would change much quickly, if our meek Christian peace making mothers would teach us about the world we live in and the world we are from.

A Poem From Way Back (God Knows When)

There's no war between us
Because I can't win this fight
I'm on the losing side
A battle of the mind
My heart can't decide
My soul is giving in
There's no war between us

You've disarmed me with your bullet of words
And my heart has no amour any more
I've been warned many times before
Never let your guard down
All those walls, then what is love for?

Little did I know, behind those suitor's eyes
The disillusionment of my own demise
Infatuation can be a strange device
Faltering all the plans I ever had

There are no blue helmet troops
Your defiant ass won't call it truce
My peacemaking efforts are of no use
Now I'm the target of constant abuse
I can't win this war. I plan to lose.
There's no war between us

With Art Comes Some Responsibility - My Unedited Honest Thoughts on 12 Years A Salve Release


I recently got into a Facebook 'tiff' with a friend of mine, over the 12 Years A Slave Trailer.
I am up for a good ol’ historical based movie but after watching Quentin Tarantino's ‘Django Unchained‘ and cringing at the trailer of Lee Daniel's ‘Butler’, I'm fed up. As soon as The Help came out, I was told in advance that there would be a wave of post civil right movement movies, along with a slew of slavery movies.

The Civil Right movement and Slavery story is important, it should be acknowledge and as Steve McQueen stated in the Tiff Press Interview, the story needs to be told more accurately. How a story is told is often determined by who is telling the story which will at some point, translate into the film. I guess he was referring to author of 12 years A Slave, on which the book is based upon, authored by Solomon Northup, despite the fact the script was written by John Ridley.

My friend didn’t understand why I had chosen not to watch the film and challenged my decision by defending Steve McQueen’s work as ‘art’. I understand that art can be subjective and open to different perspectives and opinions. I for one believe that we all have a choice to make and with those choices come consequences. So, if you choose to direct a slavery film and it happens to be released all in one go, along with other civil right movie films, you need to question why this is the case, which other observant individuals like myself did.

The issue isn’t the story so much, it’s rather the attention it gets. Why is it that when a black character is a slave or struggling to achieve something post civil rights movement, this is award winning material. When other stories are told, which explore a variety of black images or roles, normally positive stories, it is not acknowledged. If Steve McQueen really wanted to talk about an honest depiction of African culture/history, we have plenty of material that spans more years than the period Africans were enslaved for.

I respect McQueen’s craft, I am a huge fan of his work but as a black British director, I would have thought with all the struggling black actors out there, out of respect for the craft, you would acknowledge a huge problem in Hollywood and the British film industry. This problem is the typecasting of black actors and actresses, the lack of funding for writers and directors whenever they come up with projects that are far from the usual stereotypes. It is a difficult task to find a major film project that includes an all-black cast, without a lead white actor.

No doubt, this is changing. There have been ground breaking YouTube series, such as ‘Awkward Black Girl’ and the ‘Black and Sexy’ channel and the recent release of ‘Mother of George’ and ‘Half of a Yellow Sun’, which have done amazingly well at the Sundance Festival this year and for ’Pariah’, in 2012.

I am beginning to think that if I am going to see more of myself in film, I need to look for an indie movie, or possibly Nollywood, Ghollywood and so on. I do not consider slavery as my history. My parents were not taught about civil rights as they were brought up in Nigeria, whilst their child was subjected to a half-baked fallacy called ‘Black History Month’ in Eurocentric education system.
Fortunately, my parents were big of education and reading, so I quickly learnt that ‘Black History Month’ was utter rubbish.


Film is a great way to teach and tell stories and as much as it’s someone’s art form or a way to a express themselves, the audience is also important. Who is going to watch these films and what message is it sending? For the black community, it sends a rather grim message that our stories are limited and when positive, it doesn’t sell, it’s not important.

My friend also thought of my views as separatist when I stated, I would support my own when it came to film. I agree, it can come across as I would rather we were segregated in terms of film. Well, right now, that is what it is come to. And more power to them. I think a lot of people of African descent are tired of being used for a larger political backdrop, tired of pleasing an old white man at the top somewhere. We want to own our own shit. Is that too much to ask?

Orange is the new Black is a perfect example of when all nationalities are not used as tokenism, but the most recent introduction of OITNB’s star, Danielle Brooks in American TV series, Girls, is questionable. I’m sure a lot of people like myself will be on the edge of their seats waiting for something ridiculous to happen when Girls airs. I for one never campaigned for the characters to be more diverse, because this is an honest portrayal of Lena Dunham’s experience.

Is it wrong for an all-black cast to release a normal experience of themselves? No. Does it have to be dubbed as segregation? No. Have we not been watching all white casts for a lifetime? Yes. So why are my views so extreme? 

The Art of Commenting

Recently, I have become more active on social media, joining the conversation online. I am active in other things, but literally as a freelance writer, it is my job to sit behind a laptop and write a bunch of articles, so why not interact with other readers and writers online? I've discovered I can go a little overboard, so mentally I've set up a mini guideline for myself.

We all have opinions and at one point, in our social interaction life we engage in digital dialogue which includes commentary. To be clear, I am talking about the comments left underneath article. We enjoy giving our feedback, criticisms and leaving comments below articles.

It seems that the commentators of these digital conversations can range from the well informed contributor to the downright rude and unintelligent mass of cyber bullies. I consider myself, an informed contributor who is very opinionated but open to conversation but definitely not a cyber bully.

Think before you write and relax, it's just a comment!

However, I am learning not to take my commenting efforts too seriously. It’s in my nature to be passionate, have an impulsive reaction which may involve me hurriedly putting together a tirade of words to get my point across. Avoid this! Commenting requires time and thought. You want a concise, correctly punctuated comment with facts. There are other readers out there who are just as knowledgeable and you don’t want to be made a mockery of online.

You can't take back a tweet!

More seriously, with the internet, the world is even smaller. The internet has come a long way since the 90’s, a never ending black hole of information that is stored away in the secret libraries, amassing a host of classified information. It is important to choose your words carefully while posting comments. The grammar police are not the only ones watching out for illegal activity, they might be concerned about the abusive use of the apostrophe but you may find yourself in an actual police station, if you are tweeting inappropriate one liners. It wasn't so long ago when a boy was arrested for tweeting distasteful remarks on the British olympic swimmer, Tom Daley's performance


If you were wrong, there's no point in bickering! 

I recently commented on article to do with colorism in Brazil and a day later I checked to see what the responses were and oh my oh my, I was accused of ‘white racism’. I’m assuming the individual who replied was white so I won’t even get into that.

One thing I hate when reading comments, yes, if you engage in commenting, you have a tendency to read them too. I hate the bickering over useless arguments. Although useless arguments are subjective, I think the bickering is a result of becoming even more defensive when you are in the wrong and someone has called you out on your inaccuracy.  As soon as I was accused of white racism, I simply ignored the individual and continued about my day until this post. I don’t consider myself a racist, well, I’m sure all racists don’t consider themselves as racist either but hey! There was no point of replying the enthusiastic commenter; I doubt we will ever meet.  Besides the commentator’s accusatory statement, he made other observations which were valid. I am not perfect, I must admit the comment I made was flawed and it could have been written in a clearer and coherent manner to avoid confusion but it wasn’t and life goes on.

Now for the comments. J