Fope's Blog

Photo by Steve Johnson from Pexels This evening, my sister called me. She'd just come out of her school's prize-giving day and she was mad she didn't get any awards. Honestly, she had reason to be mad. This year, she worked super duper hard, and got grades to show for it, pretty much 100% on every test, or 97% on the 'bad' days. So, she figured at least one of those perfect grades had to count for something. But they didn't. "Not even an acknowledgement of my hard work. I really really tried this year", she said.   The thing is, this was a rant and we both knew it. Despite her hardwork, we both knew that her not getting the award meant it went to someone even more deserving. Still, it sucked. And that's how adulting feels. There are days I feel like I've worked so soo hard and something slips right out of my grasp, and I have no one to blame. Sometimes I try to blame myself, but I soon realize there's no point crying over spilled m

I think my kind of feminism is what Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie calls  Feminst Lite .  This is me  : Feminist who believes in equal rights for men and women, and who also believes in the Biblical model of womanhood- in and outside marriage. In marriage it's with the infamous submission, outside it, it's a  celebration of the uniqueness of being a woman. I don't believe that men are "naturally superior", rather I believe God has bestowed different responsibilities on men and women in a marriage that the order of headship and submission gives room for. This difference in roles comes with no qualifier of what's more or less important. To me, the bottom line of  Feminism is having a choice, a real choice. Not the kind of choice that is available on paper, but gives room for systemic misogyny, where taking a maternity leave can severely damage my career. Photo credit:  richard evea  via  Foter.com  /  CC BY-SA I think both views - Feminism and Submis

Pride isn't always big and grand or loud. And I think this subtle kind has to be the worst. It's the kind that makes me see her mismatched eyebrows before I see her. It's also the kind that makes me hang on so much to the error in the order of his words, that I end up missing the point of what he was saying. Sharp, critical tongue.  That's what Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth calls it. On some days I call it telling it as it is, on other days I sandwich it between cozy good words. But that's like handing someone a blade sandwich; nicely cushioning the blades between bread doesn't make it less cruel. A sharp, critical tongue is one way to show pride, but there's also the habit of interrupting people mid-speech, the need to control outcomes, and  whole list  you can self-diagnose against. Photo credit:  ~Momma B~  via  Foter.com  /  CC BY-NC- I haven't quite nailed it yet, so this isn't a here's my "victory over pride" self-help

I had this idea to write what I'd like to have experienced by the end of 2017 now. They're not quite detailed goals for the year, but rather, some overall themes to hold myself to in the months to come. So here I am, actually sticking to one of the many things I've resolved to do this year: turning more ideas into actions. I remember 2016 in two parts: the first was January to March - incredibly strange periods of my life, lots of acting out of character; then the other part was October to December - trying to stuff in a year's worth of personal achievements into the last few moments. I don't really remember much of the middle. So in 2017, there'll be a lot of this - writing. Not just in a journal tucked away somewhere safe, but here too, out in the world for the days when I can't remember the meaning of all the code messages I've embedded in my journal for secrecy sake (ironic right? I too cannot deal with myself sometimes). There'll also be

My friend got married last week, and on their wedding website she pretty much said, "I'm marrying the guy I made fun of in a group chat with my friends". I thought it was funny, so obviously I read the rest of the story. It was one of those where she had an assumption about who he would be, it was all fun and jokes until they got talking and he turned out to be amazing. So amazing that she now calls him the love of her life, and they've vowed to spend forever together. Now, this is one story where she gave him a chance, even when he seemed laughable.  At the very least, we can say it wasn’t love at first sight, a.k.a. no obvious chemistry.  Today’s 21 st century love script  in a 'no chemistry' situation probably says, “nah, the guy would probably fit in the friend zone”. Right? How about we talk a little about seeing beyond the 21st-century ingredients for love and instant attraction? Photo credit:  Katy.Tresedder  via  Foter.com  /  CC BY-NC-ND

In an   earlier musing ,   I said that I thought my newly found contentment was the “the kind that came with being at complete peace with God.” And unlike Trump, I haven't changed my mind. But I wanted to   know how to bottle this state of peaceful happiness   for the days when it might be illogical to remain that happy. So I did some digging into my new habits and talked the One who knows it all, and here’s what I found: I think discontentment with my life starts when I refuse to count my blessings. When I'm so focused on the part of my glass that is half empty that I ignore all that it has taken to fill this glass up to this point.  I know my life in itself is such an underappreciated gift. I have good health, sound mind, a wealth of family and loving friends, and many other priceless gifts. Yet, all these sometimes seem very trifling in the light of unmet expectations. Photo credit:   Richard Walker Photography   via   Foter.com   / CC BY I now believe that remaining

It's June a.k.a. birthday month and I'm taking stock of my life...again. I don't know how or why, well maybe I do, but January to April were incredibly lonely. I wasn't always alone, but it was just lonely. I had just gotten back from my Naija trip, during which I almost always had something to be excited about. Even basic stuff like the constant honking of  okada   guys had me alert and somewhat excited about life. Then I came back to Canada and moved 7 hours away from home. New city, new school, new phase of life (sorta), no more mother to whine about my day to, no more siblings to bug me, and then there was the super dry city...oh, and winter too. Basically, a whole lot of change and the result? Bam! I gained 15-20lbs and didn't even realize it, and I also got involved in some *sigh* let's call them avoidable things. Photo credit:  wolfgangfoto  via  Scandinavian  /  CC BY-ND Now, it's June and I've had really really good months so far, and

This week has been beautiful. I’ve loved almost every minute of it. My hair experiments have turned out pretty well. My skin - despite the attention-seeking dark spots- has been fantastic too. If I'm being real, it has nothing to do with the happenings of the week. I've been in a really content place. It's the kind that comes with being at complete peace with God. Even before realizing that the dictionary defined contentment (word for word) as being "in a state of peaceful happiness", I knew it was exactly how I felt. I absolutely love it here and I'm fighting fervently to protect this space.  As seen on my Instagram page The biggest thing I'm coming to terms with this week is the idea that my unworthy little self is somehow meant to radiate God... to reflect him… somehow. How?  I guess I know what that's meant to mean. I get it, but at the same time, I don't. Why would God even think me worthy to have a part in His grand scheme of th

I recently had a conversation with one of my friends, which led her to the conclusion that I wasn’t spiritual enough to date her brother. It was kind of a joke, but as we know, in every joke there’s at least an iota of truth.    So, it got me thinking. See, I self-identify as an open-minded person, at least in my circle of Nigerian, Christian friends, I’m a little bit of an anomaly. I have my own ideas about life, alcohol, sex, and other things I wonder about. No, it’s nothing that necessarily contradicts the Bible; it’s just a little too much for my people. Now, without even knowing the details of our conversation, you’re already thinking I’m not Christian enough to date you or your brother. Don’t worry I don’t want to date you either. On a serious note though, I was taken aback a little by my friend’s conclusion, mostly because I wondered if the things that made her come to that conclusion were the same ones being impediments to my ability to tell my non-Christian friends

Photo credit:  San Diego Shooter  via  Foter.com  / CC BY-NC-ND   Picture this: I'm at a new church, my first young adult gathering. Aka, the best place to be judged for coolness, how spiritual (or not) you are, and the best time to leave a good first impression or even catch potential bae's attention. All is going well and no one is starting too much at the new girl. A simple question is asked, "who has ever been to a young adult conference", and as you may know (hello long time blog readers!) I have been to quite a few of those. Remember  this  and  this ? So, I eagerly raise my hand and proceed to share my experiences. I talk about how different my experience might be from what they have in mind for their upcoming conference (a one day conference). Then I go on to say that all the ones I've been to have taken me out of town, sometimes to rural (internet-less) areas. The part about not having Internet access caught their attention - it's 2016,

It may sound silly, but I've only now fully realized that just by virtue of being mine, my story counts.  For someone who has a personal blog, a blog that isn't necessarily centered around her taste in fashion, or faith or some particular interest,  you'd think I would already know that my story has to count. People actually take the time to read it and some enjoy it.  Although, that's no measure of the validity of my story, it should have been a reminder that just being uniquely me is enough. But somehow it still takes grand revelations to bring this fact to consciousness. Thinking of the books and blogs that have captured my heart in the last few months, I've realized that they've all been heavily-laced with personalities of the authors that make it feel like I know them. It's like they're telling me about something that's really important to them and why it is. And because I like what I'm hearing (or reading), because there's somethin

Sometime in the middle of this year, I caught up with an acquaintance that I hadn't seen in a long time. Being at similar life stages (with school coming to an end for both of us), talking came really easily. As we talked, we were amazed at how many squeals of "me too!" escaped our mouths. I remember her saying, “But Fope, you look like you have things figured out on Instagram". And I looked at her with one raised eyebrow thinking, "How did you come up with that? It's not like any of my captions do more than explain the picture." In retrospect, I should have understood what she meant. As someone who has gone days without speaking to any human, not by deliberate choice but by happenstance, and one who also has had to consciously close Instagram because her thumb hurt from scrolling too much, I should have gotten it. I should have understood that she managed to make up a whole picture of my life from my posts. Deep down, I'm sure we know that