I'm Hurt, would the pain ever go away?

It's been two years since we last spoke, too long since we last saw but the memories are still firmly engraved in my heart and mind. It's funny how my heart could still beat faster at the thought of you.

Sometimes, I still want to hate you, more often, I want to hate me but none works.

And As much as it kills me to admit it, I miss you. But, No! I dont love you anymore. No! I dont regret the times we had. No! I dont want you back and Yes! I'm stronger,  eventually,  the hurt healed and the pain faded.

I hope you are happy. I hope you are really happy... God be with you.

Yours truly,
Sandra.

Hi there,  as you must have deduced from the letter above, my name is Sandra and once upon a time, I fell deeply in love with the most amazing person ever (or so i thought) but three years into the relationship, things went sour and we hit the rocks.

It's time to mix up with 'bad' people...

"We have the tendency to want the person to be a finished product while we give ourselves the grace to evolve"

Charles was from a Christian home but he didnt know God personally. He got into the university and got into drugs, he slept with every girl he could and soon, himself and his 'gang' got into robbery. He managed to finish his education and when he did, he got into drugs and internet fraud full time. He did make a lot of money tho.

Amy was a church girl. She came from a Christian home but unlike charles, she stayed through. She was born again and  had a steady relationship with God. She went to the university and came back unchanged, still godly.
Working at her Church office, all she wanted was a man who loved God more than he loved her. Oh! Of cause, she wanted him to be cute, smart, ambitious and financially stable enough to take care of her but the major prerequisite for a relationship was the love for God.

Life happened....

Charles and Amy crossed paths.

I was Born with Sickle cell Anaemia and Still My Dad disowned me because I converted to Christainity.

My name is Hammed Ajiboye. I'm a Christian from a Muslim home. A writer, a reader and learner and this is my story:

My conversion to Christianity wasn't a knee jerk reaction. I had always wanted
to be a Christian. What I read in the Bible touched my heart and soul. The story of God's unending love for humanity, salvation and me as a person.

The various stories of healing I read touched the dusty chords of my heart. I desperately wanted healing. Wanted to be free. I had been born with sickle cell, a terrible life threatening, blood zapping condition that has no cure. It was a life of pain. The only way to beat the condition is through meticulous management, prevention of crisis and avoidance of complications.
For me, however, I wanted total healing, not management.

When Life Gives you Lemons, Make a Lemonade

Exams were to start in three days. Dayo Had just finished Revising the course he was to write first, when his hostel mates started calling those interested in Playing football to come down to the field. Dayo, quickly ran downstairs, He felt football after three hours of intense reading was a good way to relax.

Few minutes after the second Half, Dayo noticed that an opponent had dribbled his players, leaving him and a teammate who was playing defense. Much to his dismay, his opponent successfully passed his defender and sent the ball straight to the goal post, in other to save the goal, Dayo had to perform a stunt which required him to dive and stretch.
He caught the ball successfully and fell on his right hand. Trying to stand up he heard a cracking sound from his right hand and he screamed.

Ever Loved someone that didn't Love you Back?

Ever Loved someone so much that it seems no matter what they do you don't love them less?
Well, I have.
I fell in love with this person one time, and He didn't treat me right. He loved someone else more than he loved me - and he always said it. So Basically, I was the 'spare' - The one he used to keep warm because his 'love' was in another university.
There was this one time. I went to Visit him in His Hostel, and just when I was approaching his room, a girl (who'd I call AB) was leaving.
He said she was just a friend. I believed. Why would he lie? Afterall sincere enough to tell me about the other girl in another school.
Two weeks Later, I was in a friend's room sleeping. AB there too - she turned out to be a friend of my friend's room mate. I woke up to gist of AB Telling Her friend how 'good' My 'supposed Boyfriend is'.

The Journal

A friend of Mine whose also a blogger (www.baggermouth.blogspot.com) gave me this story to read, Hoping I'd like it enough to Post it here.
I did Read it and I loved it. Why? It's a 'highly' sincere story of a Boy whose life hasn't been a bed of roses - He has done things he wished he hadn't and uhm, he's still struggling to get back to where He's supposed to be. I'm pretty sure almost everyone can in some way relate to His story.

I hope you enjoy reading it and more, I hope you Learn something from it.

Personal Data
Name: UGO IGWE
DOB: 10|10|1993
Occupation: STUDENT
Hobbies: WRITTING

All my life, I had always had a reason not to love who I am.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, the big man up above finally looked down below at me. Up until now, I didn't fully understand what grace was all about. Grace is an unmerited favour from God.
This was basically all I understood grace to be. They say you never know the value of something until you Lose it. My life up to this point has been a function of God's grace right up till now, where it all ended (Or so I'm making myself believe).

It had always seemed as if nothing ever came easy for me. I always had to struggle for everything that resembled
success or a break through. It always happened that no matter how hard I worked in school, I just never was the best. I always came close but never was the very best. This one time, I was chosen from my entire
set in primary school alongside another peer to represent the school in a writing competition. With the little time we had, I'm sure I gave it my best shot. We gave it our best shot. Normally, when two or
more persons are representing a school, awards are awarded to the 'representatives' on behalf of the school. Words had come that my school came tops.
With that "normal" idea, I invited my mother to come to the price giving ceremony who of course in turn
had told whosoever her eyes could find that her baby was receiving an award. To my biggest shock, when the award was to be given, only my peer was called up. Did I fail? Was I the worse at the competition? How
do I face my mother?

The Girl on the Balcony

...My Name is John. This story is about one of my most memorable times in Spain....

It was Thursday, the only day of the week that my teaching schedule left me free. I taught English and Literature in more than in a high school. I was twenty-five and full of enthusiasm for books and imagination.
I was sitting on the balcony drinking Juice and rereading - after a lapse of ten years - The Black boy.
Suddenly i felt someone watching me.
I looked up. On one of the balconies of the building facing mine, at the same height as my own apartment, i saw a young woman. I raised a hand and waved. She waved back and left the balcony.
Curious to know where this might lead, i tried to get a glimpse inside her apartment, with no result.
"This will go nowhere," i said to myself, and returned to my reading.
I hadn't read ten lines before she was back on her balcony, this time with a reading glasses. She sat down on a deckchair.
I began feverishly making signs and gestures. The young woman was reading - or pretending to read - a magazine.
"It's a ruse," I thought. "it's not possible that she doesn't see me, and now she's posing so I can enjoy the show."

I couldn't quite make out her features, but i could tell she was tall,slim with dark curly hair. Overall, she seemed to be a beautiful girl, maybe twenty-two years old.
I left the balcony, went to my bedroom, and peered through the shutters. She was looking in my direction. So i ran out and caught her still looking my way.
I sent her a big, pompous wave which demanded a response. Indeed,she waved back.
After such greetings, the usual thing is to strike up a conversation. But of course we were not going to shout across to each other. So

Becareful Not to APPLY Your Smartness Without Knowing The Facts.

This is should be my shortest Post ever. But regardless of the length I'm very certain you'd get the Core message,that is DON'T APPLY YOUR SMARTNESS WITHOUT KNOWING THE FACTS.

...A Friend of Mine was walking by when he came upon a huge crowd on the road. He figured there was an accident and was eager to get to the injured parties but couldn't due to the crowd.
Being a CLEVER SORT, he started shouting, "Let me through! Let me through! I am the son of the victim".
The crowd made way for him. Lying in front of a car was a donkey.

It's Your Choice

Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"
He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator.
If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?"
Jerry replied,

Empty Your Cup, Only Then Would You be able to Get a Refill #ZenStory#

A CUP of TEA!
Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.
The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is over full. No more will go in!"
"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculation's. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

Be Original. Be Yourself. Don't change for anyone or anything.

A plum once said "just because a banana lover came by I converted to banana,his taste changed after awhile so I became an orange the he said I was bitter so I converted to an apple but he went for grapes. Now I have changed so many times, I don't know who I am anymore. I wish I had waited for a plum lover to come along."

Because a group of people don't accept you
for who you are is no reason to strip yourself of your ORIGINALITY. You need to THINK good of yourself(cause the world sees you as you see yourself,the world hold you according to your estimate of yourself).

Never step down to gain acceptance. Never
change to win a relationship. In the long run
you"d regret that you traded your uniqueness for momentary validation.

The group that doesn't accept you isn't yours.
What water can do,gasoline cannot and what copper do,gold cannot. The fragility of an ant enables it move,the rigidity of a tree enables it stay rooted. Everything and everyone has been designed with a portion of uniqueness to serve a special purpose.

In the history of the universe, there hasn't
been someone like you,and to the infinite of
time to come, there won't be anyone like you.
You are original, You are special, You are rare, You are unique, You are the only true original of yourself everyone else is a counterfeit, You are a wonder, You are a masterpiece.
Celebrate your existence. BELIEVE IN
YOURSELF.
Lots of love.

Sand and Stone

Two friends were walking through the desert.

At a point in the journey, They had an argument and one friend slapped the other in the face.

The one who got slapped was Hurt, without saying anything he wrote on the sand:
"TODAY MY BEST FRIEND
SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE".


.They kept on working until they found an Oasis,where they decided to take a bath.

The one who got slapped in the face got stuck in the mire and started drowning, his friend Saved him.

After he got recovered from the near drowning he wrote on a stone :
"TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE"

The friend who slapped and then saved his best friend then asked,
"AFTER I HURT YOU, YOU WROTE IN THE SAND AND NOW I SAVED YOU, YOU WRITE ON A STONE, WHY?"

The friend replied
"WHEN SOMEONE HURTS US WE SHOULD WRITE I T DOWN IN SAND, WHERE WINDS OF FORGIVENESS CAN ERASE IT AWAY.
BUT, WHEN SOMEONE DOES SOMETHING GOOD FOR US, WE MUST ENGRAVE IT IN STONE WHERE NO WIND CAN EVER ERASE IT".

LEARN TO WRITE
YOUR HURTS IN
THE SAND AND TO
CARVE YOUR
BENEFITS IN STONE.


TAKE THE TIME TO LIVE!
DO NOT JUST VALUE THE THINGS YOU HAVE IN YOUR LIFE, BUT VALUE
WHO YOU HAVE IN YOUR LIFE !

One Summer Night

The fact that Henry Armstrong was buried did not seem to him to prove that he was. dead: he had always been a hard man to convince. That he really was buried, the testimony of his senses compelled him to
admit. His posture -- flat upon his back, with his hands crossed upon his stomach and tied with something that he easily broke without profitably altering the situation -- the strict confinement of his entire person,
the black darkness and profound silence, made a body of evidence impossible to controvert and he accepted it without cavil.
But dead -- no; he was only very, very ill. He had, withal, the invalid's apathy and did not greatly concern himself about the uncommon fate that had been allotted to him. No philosopher was he -- just a plain, commonplace person gifted, for the time being, with a pathological indifference: the organ that he feared consequences with was torpid. So, with no particular apprehension for his immediate future, he fell asleep and all was peace with Henry Armstrong.

But something was going on overhead. It was a dark summer night, shot through with infrequent shimmers of lightning silently firing a cloud lying low in the west and portending a storm. These brief, stammering illuminations brought out with ghastly distinctness the monuments and headstones of the cemetery and seemed to set them dancing. It was not a night in which any credible witness was likely to be
straying about a cemetery, so the three men who were there, digging into the grave of Henry Armstrong, felt reasonably secure.
Two of them were young students from a medical college a few miles away; the third was a gigantic negro known as Jess. For many years Jess had been employed about the cemetery as a man-of-all-work
and it was his favourite pleasantry that he knew 'every soul in the place.' From the nature of what he was now doing it was inferable that the place was not so populous as its register may have shown it to be.
Outside the wall, at the part of the grounds farthest from the public road, were a horse and a light wagon, waiting.

..........

The work of excavation was not difficult: the earth with which the grave had been loosely filled a few hours before offered little resistance and was soon thrown out. Removal of the casket from its box was
less easy, but it was taken out, for it was a perquisite of Jess, who carefully unscrewed the cover and laid it aside, exposing the body in black trousers and white shirt. At that instant the air sprang to flame, a cracking shock of thunder shook the stunned world and Henry Armstrong tranquilly sat up. With inarticulate cries the men fled in terror, each in a different direction. For nothing on earth could two of them have been persuaded to return. But Jess was of
another breed.
In the grey of the morning the two students, pallid and haggard from anxiety and with the terror of their adventure still beating tumultuously in their blood, met at the medical college.
'You saw it?' cried one.
'God! yes -- what are we to do?'
They went around to the rear of the building, where they saw a horse, attached to a light wagon, hitched to a gatepost near the door of the dissecting- room. Mechanically they entered the room. On a
bench in the obscurity sat the negro Jess. He rose, grinning, all eyes and teeth.
'I'm waiting for my pay,' he said.
Stretched naked on a long table lay the body of Henry Armstrong, the head defiled with blood and clay from a blow with a spade.

Ambrose Bierce

Divided Heart | Final

Finally, here's the last part of this series. i'll like to remind you that All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely UN-intentional *********************************************************

Divided Heart | Part 6 Of 7

let out a little yelp, and my room mates gathered around me immediately. Dumb stricken, I let the phone fall from my hand – and someone picked it up and read the text out loud. They all went quiet for a while, and then started to talk all at once. Everyone had an idea on how to save the day, and each person felt their idea was best.

Divided Heart | Part 5 of 7

Within one week of seeing that play, I re-discovered passions and hobbies I had thought lost forever. I would dream up some exotic activity in the morning and send texts to both of them – inviting them to ‘trip’ with me. Inevitably, ‘sandra would say no – and in fairness to her, suggest some other activity that she preferred. ‘cynthia on the other hand seemed to exist for me, and so we did all sorts together.

Divided Heart | Part 4 Of 7

As I turned around – almost in slow motion – to greet him, my heart prayed all sorts of prayers: that it was not really him, that power supply to coca cola spot would fail all of a sudden and I would disappear under the cloak of darkness, that he would be here alone – looking to grab a quick meal before heading back to his laptop.
I caught the smell of Omnia Green Jade for the second time in one night. As I extended my hand to ‘Ruki, I saw her. She was standing right behind him.

Divided Heart | Part 3 Of 7

I walked into coca cola spot a few minutes before 7pm. It felt wrong, criminal even, to sit at the centre-table where I met ‘Sandra exactly Three years to the day – so I chose a different one in the dimly lit corner. I sunk into my chair, acutely aware this was her favourite restaurant and she might walk in at any time.
Then she, the other she, arrived.

Divided Heart | Part 2 Of 7

I became confused. She would not say a yes, or a no. I was lost. I had been so certain all I needed to do to ‘formalize’ our relationship was just ask. Now, I had become the laughing stock of my friends. After all, how many guys ‘chased’ a girl for Two years? I prayed. I sang. I fasted. I thought. I dyed my hair. I got a new perfume. I changed bathing soaps. Nothing changed; well, maybe something did – my grades fell, alongside my self-confidence.
And then I met ‘Cynthia..

Divided Heart | Part 1 of 7

All of a sudden, there was a lump in my throat.
Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched sandra cry, threatening to reveal the turmoil I felt inside. I swallowed hard as I fought the urge to put my arm around her shoulders and comfort her. I dug my fingers into the back of my chair till they hurt, willing myself to remain seated. It was better to let her cry, to leave her to settle this on her own.