Archer’s guide to purposeful living

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So it’s been a couple of weeks since the actual 70kg debacle happened and since then I’m down to 65kg. I’m heading to 55. 

Thing is I have a dream to be fit. I’ve always had that dream. It’s not because of pictures from the media or anything; I’ve just always been obsessed with taking care of myself. Thing is I’ve never ever HAD to. I’ve never had to jog, moisturize or anything. I have good skin. I’m not a sugar person, I love going on walks and I love eating healthy. They are habits that are so ingrained they are a part of me. You’ll find it in my diaries as far back as 11. The situations I was in at the time agreed with these things. I had the time, nothing better doing, I was broke so I had to feed with discretion, and I loved colleges that were really far on the campus. So, I never needed to create or change my lifestyle to accommodate these dreams, they just did.

Till now.

Now, I’m a content creator, tailor and designer, three relatively sedentary jobs. I wake up, eat, work till noon, eat and nap, begin work by 1.30, stop by 5-6, prepare dinner, eat, work; that’s my ideal timetable. It’s worse when I’m on a deadline. Unfortunately, I forgot to give my body the memo. All she knows is that I’m eating all this food and we’re not doing anything with it. So, like a classic hoarder, she’s storing everything everywhere she can store it. Waist, hip, bum, Cheeks; anywhere her chubby fingers can fit them in. I was well on my way to becoming my biggest fear in the world. 

The 70kg was the wake-up call I needed. I wasn’t going to get a dream I wasn’t making any moves to accomplish. I had seen the signs, my jeans weren’t fitting, my tuck-ins weren’t as flat as before but I just shoved it off. I was busy, so busy. “I’ll deal with it when I have the time,” that’s what I told myself.

I’ve now realised you never have the time when lifestyle is involved. You make the time. I think lifestyle is health (exercise and food), it’s a relationship with your kids (if you have them), it’s taking time out to rest and shutdown, it’s concern for lovers & good friends… They are things that as you get older, you need to make a conscious effort to do if you want to keep them around. You can’t neglect them a whole week and then do the needful one day of the week. You can, but it’s not healthy and in time, you’ll see the result of your ‘half-ass-ment’. Imagine not drinking water all week and then turning into a camel on Saturday, or ignoring your partner an entire week and then planning a fantabulous outing on weekend. First week, it is a pleasant surprise. “Oh baby, thank you. This is amazing.” And then you do it the next week, and the week after; No calls or texts Sunday through to Friday and then Saturday outing, every weekend of the year. It won’t even reach two months before they’ll find someone they can share their real daily lives and have your number saved as ‘The weeknd’.

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Rise of the machines

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One Saturday morning, a month or so back, I was out on my speed-walk when I ran into a sign. ‘Check your BMI’ it read and had an arrow pointing in the direction of a residence-turned-hospital. My BMI was the least of my interests. I was a healthy young woman, with a tiny tummy bump. Apart from the tummy, my body was perfect for me. I was curious about my height though: was I a 5”4 or a 5”6? I’ve never really known and tape rules don’t measure it right. So I completed my 45 minute lap and returned, bouncing in with my sneakers and confidence. 

70. Seventy fucking kilograms.

That was what the scale said. Frankly, I thought the nurse was lying. Wanted to prey on my insecurities and get a regular visitor. Then, I got home and that scale read 70 too. Could they be in cahoots? With these days of technology and apps, was it so impossible to imagine the online persona of both scales interacting on a social networking site… scalebook? Poundchat? Instaweight?

Scale at home: did anyone check some jogger’s weight in the past hour? This girl, that hasn’t touched me in a year, just plopped herself on me with the anger of a mad turkey.

Scale in hospital: Oh yeah… me. I told her that her her weight was 70kg… you should have seen the look on her face dude, hilarious!!

And bang-bang-boom, the scale at home spits out 70kg.

We’ve all seen the movies about the rise of machines; this situation cannot be so far-fetched. Yes, I have noticed my jeans and skirts getting snug, but who is to say the drier isn’t in on the mind-fuckery too and using excess heat to make them smaller. What if the machines have decided on driving us quietly insane instead of rising against us? They know how women and weight gain are never in agreement. They can be using that against us!

 I know you guys are sniggering and murmuring that I should better go do some push-ups and cut out carbs. But hear me out, Because today… today, they tell you you’re 10 kg over your normal weight… tomorrow they make you elect a clown for a president

 

So far, so good. 2017 edition

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Apologising for being absent for so long

Defending myself because the phone makes writing three times more difficult

Writing this post on a laptop, because I am

Celebrating that I got an official writing job and part of the perks is an office laptop.

Attending church again… I’ve missed it sooooo much… and a month ago, I was

Receiving the baptism of the Holy-Spirit in my life, although

Reading my bible is still challenging

Patching things up with my parents while

Deciding  my twin brother needs to exist very far from me (someone who thrives in your happiness is not worthy of you)

Praising to Power Flow by Monique, Mighty God by Joe Praiz & Soweto Gospel Choir

Making very healthy career choices,

Hoping they pan out.

Watching the amazing world of gumball, Clarence and Rick and Morty

Listening to Tonight by Nonso Amadi and Romeo and Juliet by Johnny Drille.

Eye-binging on Pinterest, as usual

Wearing socks to help out with my cold feet

Moisturizing with Yoko’s yoghurt milk cream… it’s amazing

Learning how to network better and smarter

Trying to be more vocal about my thoughts and intentions

Having a serious talk, where the decision was made to move on

Becoming okay with that and moving on as well because

Realising that I have a crush on someone new… Not completely new but certainly different from my regular type *fingers crossed*

Working smarter and more efficiently

Going on more walks… though not as much as I should

Moving to William McDowell’s Spirit Break Out and Efe’s still within the flow

Crossing 1000th delivery off my list really soon.

Learning to love and understand myself more every day.

For abs and for glutes?

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I went trainers shopping on Friday… Like FINALLY! I’m getting my fit on!! YASSS FITFAM ‘R’ US! 💪

I kid. I don’t lift weights, I don’t jog. I hate jogging; everything is jiggling and flopping about… D-rated stuff… D for disgusting. 

What I do like is walking. If walking was a guy, we’ll be up in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G… we’ll have a tree house and a bunch of babies waddling about… A woodpecker will come by and we’ll say, “no woodpecker, this is our tree now.” 

I digress. Point is, I walk anywhere and everywhere. My feet have gotten so used to extreme walking that they’ve adapted to calauses. Unfortunately, I don’t get to walk as much as I used to in my younger years and it tells… my flabs have new flabs to party with everyday.

Some people diet, some workout, but I walk (and watch my food of course… Watch it go into my belly 😁😁😁). Speed walking is my go-to get fit to-do. Asides the keeping fit benefit, I’ve missed just roaming in the open and mazing around the estate for an hour. I missed it so much I tried it with my ‘fashion’ tennis shoes.

Friends, I was barely half way before the shoe was squeezing the life out of my feet. I ended up walking back home bare-socked. So, I needed to buy the appropriate leg appendage aka trainers. So, i donned my outer wear and headed out to find it.

Things didn’t really go according to plan because, well, Friday is the absolute worst day of the week shopping. Why? Vendors are excited, friday is like the gate to the weekend. A weekend of possibilities; maybe it would be the day a 9-5 person came and bought everything, maybe the office people could drop by with their hefty wallets and lack of bargaining skills… ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN!

So, vendors are unwilling to banter much with we lowly peasants that are ready to haggle them to within an inch of profit. No siree, They want to keep their stock (and their urges) for the office gang. The Best ways to go shopping?

1. be the first customer… Traders always want their first customers to buy something as a premonition for the week. First customer on a Monday?? They would rather chain you up than have you leave empty-handed​.

2. Be a late in the evening customer: the day is spent, they’ve made as much as they would make for the day. Hope is dead, reality has set in… they have barely broken even all week. They are desperate.

3. Saturday evening: it’s the last day of the week, no work on Sunday, (insert excerpt of dead hope and empty wallet reality from number 2). It really is the best time to shop… You get extra bargaining power if the vendor is weeping while closing up shop.

So, as i was neither the first, the last, nor was it a Saturday;  i came home empty-handed for all my trouble. 

However, Saturday evening is just around the corner and I’ll be darned if i don’t rise victorious with sneakers as my spoil.

May madness

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May was a tough month for me… Really tough. The parents really tried their best to drive me over the wall. It eventually culmated in me shouting at my dad after he locked the room I do my sewing in an effort to keep me from doing my work that night. He did that when I went to get his flask of water downstairs. So, I got upstairs, flask in hand, and lo and behold, the room was locked. This was between 11 and 12 at nighy. I went to his room and he had locked his door as well. 

At this point, ladies and gentlemen, i lost it. I went ballistic. I shouted, i banged at their door; it isn’t a moment I’m at all proud of. But I was very fragile emotionally and physically at that point, i was at the edge. 

It had been two months of craziness since my friend arrived. If not for how open my friend and I were at communicating, I promise you, our 12 year old friendship would have gone down the drain. She knew my parents mannerisms almost as well as I and we weasled our way through. So, when they took to calling her to reprimand my behaviours for her to “talk” to me as a “good friend” it was a new card that they had never played  a because growing up, they never ever had an interest in meeting our friends. These behaviours were:

  1. Why do i always laugh with her and not with them?
  2. Why does she go to church and i don’t?
  3. why am i always with her, she should make sure she sends me away next time i come to check her in the chalet

There were also threats of sending her away for the slightest things. We talked indepth about everything, my friend and I but, in that week, asides all the parental drama, I had a mad deadline to meet and was barely sleeping. My father would go to bed by 11 and see me at the sewing machine; he would wake up 5 and meet me still at the sewing machine and there was no consideration, no sympathy. Just a series of “what have you done for mes” “the same diligence you use to work for your customers (if not greater) is for your parents”. I started to call him Captain Von Trapp in my head, before Maria came on the scene that is.

I said a lot of things in the dead of that night. A lot of things that would have, on a normal day, been left unsaid. But the fact was I knew that he had locked that door, to deliberately get a rise out of me. I rarely rose to anger but there is always a day of reckoning. I remember, at a point my mum came out asking, “are you mad?” (In Yoruba) and i told her “this situation doesn’t concern you. Action and reaction are equal and opposite… He locked that door to get a reaction from me and by God, he will get it.” I’m such a science geek. Lol.

I almost left this house that day, the only things that held me was my friend fast asleep in the chalet and my sewing machine – My livelihood. It’s one thing to flee home at 20 (which I did) another thing when you have a machine and customers​ to fend to.

I almost renounced my car that day. I had already taken my spare box (aka vex box, containing spare clothes, undies and shoes in case I had to leave the house real quick) and car accessories out, torn out all my car and church stickers. I wanted to slash the tyres… I swear. I was a haze of anger. When it clicked: He might have bought the car but it was my money that had gone into its maintenance and upkeep these past 4 years, not his. Possession was 90% of the law and Abby (car’s name) would remain mine. My dad would later used his steering lock on the car to ensure i didn’t drive it but, as the car had a fault and I wasn’t driving her, I ignored him and the lock.

In the esueing days, he would lock the gate from within when I went out to give a customer her clothes, to ensure I couldn’t come back in. If i went to the chalet to check on my friend, I would get back to the house and the door would be locked. This even happened at night! And my twin brother revelled in it. He seems to think we’re in some sort of competition so when there’s a strain in my relationship with my parents he levers on it and starts doing chores he will never do to show he is the better one. He will take my dad aside and paint a more detrimental picture of me to my dad. He’s 26. I’ve spent a large portion of my life not caring for him and watching him perfect this mannerism that it’s just amusing now.

I moved my sewing machine back to my room. It’s pretty cramped there but it will suffice, for now.

The events in May has made me take the bull by the horn concerning my moving out dream. This house is not mine. I do not belong here. I will never be truly happy here. These are realisations that May birthed in me. Realisations that have me looking deeper into my business and her financial stand and what I will do to get her to where we need to be: a studio/apartment.

Amazingly, business opportunities have opened up in all directions and I am so excited​. Me and my bank account both. Can’t wait to save enough to get out of here!!

Deathbed

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My phone is dying.

As far as excuses for not blogging goes, it seems the stupidest. It’s like the “my dog ate my homework” of not doing assignments. Which I never ever used because we had a dog growing up called… You guessed it, snoopy. Winnie snoopy actually and she never ate paper. She loved chocolate drinks though. Died at a young age. Pronably because dogs aren’t meant to take sugar. Don’t bother comforting myself, I don’t blame myself. She should have refused.

Anyway back to dying phone. The screen is cracked so bad it looks like Spiderman’s web is hanging out on it. Not only that, the back and​ home buttons have a mind of their own. So I’m writing a blogpost and then the back button gets an itch and starts singing “back it up girl”… and it won’t stop. It’s like pressing the button as fast as you can but 10 times faster.

Not only that, it doesn’t charge normally. You need a protractor and a compass to get the right angle that the charging point must tilt into the phone to have it charge.

Not only that, it’s slow. Like if a tortoise and a snail were on a lame donkey and made an app that runs… crawls… shuffles at their speed that’ll be this phone.. the slow coach note 2.

Not only that, my earphone broke in the earphone port. I didn’t even know that could happen. But happen it did which means that

Not only that, I cannot receive calls without speakers and I cannot listen to any music on my phone. None. Just my ringtone. Which I have loved and used for 3-4 years but still… No music? What a damn dommage.

Not only that, the phone calls randomly. So I’m apologising 2-3 times a day to people I haven’t talked to in a year.

Not. Only. That. It turns on phone functions randomly. So people will walk up to me and tell me my torch is on. Or I’ll turn on the screen and y hotspot, Bluetooth and wifi are on. All on this phone that doesn’t even want to charge right.

And as pinnacle of the not only that’s, the screen cannot sleep on it’s own. You know how you can drop your phone and trust that in thirty seconds the screen is black? Not this phone. I have woken up to 2% battery on a hot enough to poach egg phone with cracked screen on, WiFi active, Bluetooth available, with missed calls from an ex. How did I explain that the phone randomly called him? I didn’t; couldn’t. He believes is signs and signals which I, truthfully, also believe in but there is no sign and signal that will take me back to this young man. Not even if he has a red arrow on his head.

Crappy matchmaking phone. Just a matter of time till I dump it for a younger, faster, better-looking thing… But don’t be mad phoney, it’s not you, it’s me. 

Crayfish conditions

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For the past month, things have been a bit terse in the home-front; i mean terser, which I never thought possible but here you have it.

A best-friend recently got a job not too far from here but as she lived 2 states away, she needed a place to stay till she got a place of her own and being as I have a brother staying with a family that none of us know or are in anyway related to, I believe we owe the universe a favour… It’s easy to pray blessings on families that roof people but, it’s a better blessing to offer this roof. We have two self-contained chalets behind the house and that’s where she is staying and my parents are transferring the aggression of been put in this “situation” to me. Unfortunately, the days of me just been a sponge and soaking all this aggression in are gone… I’m saturated with the anger they’ve transferred my way for over a decade. My culture frowns at been angry to elders so you just take it all in till you reach an age that you don’t soak it all in… The sponge can’t take anymore.

They have problems with me :

  1. Hanging out in the chalet with my friend.
  2. Gisting and laughing in said chalet with said friend
  3. Even just sleeping off here

There’s a huge argument about EVERYTHING and boy oh boy, is it exhausting?! I feel so bad that my best-friend cannot stay in this huge ass mansion comfortably. And i actually said so to them after the new spat they brought up. 

I made dinner and after laying the table, my father (with my mother cheering him on) went ballistic about all things forgetting to put glasses on their tables and then made this cursory speech about how my bestfriend is my guest and that he might have to send her out of the house based on my “bad behaviour”. 

The not setting glasses bad behaviour. They had their forks, knives, spoons, plates all set on the table like it was Buckingham palace. Dinner made and served in coolers like they have a live-in chef. Kitchen cleaned and garbage tossed out like ttherewas a chamber maid but the lack of glasses just screamed bad behaviour and terrible child at them. Because we all know how not giving people glasses riles normal people up.