Dear Anambra Youth, I'm writing to address a crucial matter concerning our state's future. As you may know, Valentine Chineto Ozigbo, a prominent figure in Anambra politics, left the Labour Party to join the APC. This move has raised concerns among many of us who believe in the Labour Party's vision for a better Anambra. As young people, we have the power to shape our state's destiny. We cannot afford to sit on the fence while our future is being decided. I urge you all to join me in calling on Valentine Ozigbo to return to the Labour Party. His leadership and experience are needed in a party that truly cares about the welfare of Anambra people ¹. If Ozigbo refuses to return to the Labour Party, I'm afraid we may have to reconsider our support for him. As young people, we cannot compromise on our values and principles. We deserve a leader who shares our vision for a prosperous and equitable Anambra. Let's make our voices heard and demand that Ozigbo returns to the Labour Party. Together, we can build a brighter future for ourselves and generations to come. Sincerely, [Hon. Uzoghelu John clement okwudili The Political Ambition leader Labour party

Laziness kills Ambition Anger kills wisdom Now read it to the left 💪😊💯

Ambition without action turns into anxiety

Your future, your career is something that you don't joke with it Remember time passes Once it's passed you can't bring it back Or rewind it And also be careful and be very very very careful on how you handle the steps that lead you to future don't do roughplay with it because is a delecate thing and precious to you Maybe your fate to become the president of the country then you sit and play with it, you didn't work to get there, you didn't bother about the way there You procrastinate it by playing video games with destiny . Am telling you even the councilor of your locality you won't become. So take your time sir/ma'am focus, be determine pursue future ambition, make a move through your career and build your destiny.

Few things are impossible to diligence and skill. Great works are performed not by strength, but by perseverance. Ambition is the path to success. Persistence is the vehicle you arrive in.

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“Stay away from those people who try to disparage your ambitions. Small minds will always do that, but great minds will give you a feeling that you can become great too.

The sun beat down on the bustling market in Ibadan, Nigeria. It was a symphony of colors and sounds, with vendors calling out their wares and shoppers haggling over prices. At the heart of it all was Mrs. Adebayo, a woman with a warm smile and a heart as big as her market stall. She sold the most delicious akara (bean cakes) in all of Ibadan, and her secret recipe was passed down from her grandmother. Every day, her son, Tunde, would help her set up the stall. He was a bright young man with a love for learning. While his mother worked tirelessly, Tunde would often sit by her side, reading books or helping her with the accounts. He dreamt of becoming a doctor, but he knew he had to help his mother first. One day, a group of tourists came to the market. They were captivated by the aroma of Mrs. Adebayo's akara and her warm personality. They were eager to try the local delicacy, and Mrs. Adebayo was happy to share her delicious food with them. As the tourists savored the akara, they asked Tunde about his dreams. He told them about his ambition to become a doctor, and the tourists were impressed by his intelligence and passion. They shared stories of their own experiences with healthcare and encouraged Tunde to pursue his dreams. This encounter sparked a fire in Tunde's heart. He realized that his dreams were within reach, and he was determined to work hard to achieve them. He started studying even harder, and he began to think about ways to improve his mother's business. What do you think Tunde will do next? How will he help his mother and achieve his dreams? I'm excited to see where the story goes!

The world often wants to mold women into predetermined roles. A unique woman defies expectations and carves her own path. She is not a mere reflection of societal norms but a vibrant tapestry of experiences, defying conventions and embracing her individuality. A unique woman is a force of nature, shaping her destiny and leaving an indelible mark on the world. A unique woman is a symphony of contradictions, blending strength and vulnerability, independence and interdependence, ambition and compassion. She is a paradox, both familiar and extraordinary, a testament to the boundless potential of the human spirit.

The Captive at Blackwood Manor Read below👇👇 The rain hammered against the windows of the Blackwood Manor, mirroring the tempest brewing inside me. My fingers, stained a permanent ink-black from years of wielding a pen, tightened around the stem of a crystal goblet. Merlot, the color of dried blood, swirled within. My gaze, sharp and predatory as a hawk's, fixed on the woman across the mahogany table. Her name was Seraphina, a name that felt like a cruel joke against her current predicament. She was captivating – a delicate bloom of defiance encased in a frame too slender for the iron cage I had built around her. Her hair, the shade of spun moonlight, was plastered to her face by the relentless downpour outside, her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, were locked on mine. Fear was a palatable scent, a heady perfume that clung to the air. She had been foolish, daring to trespass on my territory, to pry into the secrets I guarded with a ferocity that bordered on madness. She’d sought the truth, the whispers of the darkness that clung to Blackwood Manor like a shroud. Now, she was mine. "You shouldn't have come," I said, my voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very foundations of the house. Seraphina swallowed, her Adam's apple a delicate tremor in her slender throat. "I... I needed to understand." A cruel smile twisted my lips. "Understanding comes at a price, little dove. And yours is a steep one." Over the following weeks, the Manor became her prison, and I, her captor. I reveled in the control, the power that thrummed through me as I dictated her days, her nights. Her every breath, every movement, was measured, observed, and subject to my whims. I watched her wither, the vibrant colors of her spirit slowly fading, replaced by a fragile, haunted beauty. I didn’t touch her at first. The anticipation, the slow burn of her fear, was a more exquisite pleasure than any physical act. I stalked her through the sprawling halls, a phantom in the shadows, my presence a constant, suffocating weight. I fed her, clothed her, and gave her the illusion of choice, all while keeping her tethered to my will. Sometimes, late at night, I would find her in the library, poring over the very books that had led her here. Her fingers would trace the ancient script, her brow furrowed in a desperate attempt to decipher the secrets that had ensnared her. I would watch her from the darkness, admiring the way the moonlight illuminated the curve of her neck, the delicate tremble of her lips as she whispered to herself. Then, one night, the dam finally broke. I found her in her chambers, tears streaming down her face as she stared at a silver locket, a relic of a life she could no longer claim. The sight of her vulnerability, the raw, aching pain that consumed her, ignited something within me, a fire that burned hotter than any desire. I stepped into the room, the shadows lengthening, the air thick with the scent of her despair. She looked up, her eyes wide with terror, and I knew, in that moment, that I had broken her. I took a step forward, and another. She recoiled, trying to back away, the locket falling from her grasp and clattering on the polished floor. I stopped. “You’re afraid,” I said, my voice raw, devoid of the usual cold detachment. It was a statement, not a question. She didn't answer, her silence more eloquent than any scream. I knelt, picking up the locket, my fingers tracing the intricate carvings. The locket contained two tiny portraits – a man and a woman, their faces blurred with time. A ghost of a smile touched my lips as I realized I knew the man. I recognized his eyes, his ambition, his weakness. “He loved you, once,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. “As I love you, now.” The words, meant to be a threat, hung in the air. A flicker of something akin to understanding sparked in Seraphina's eyes. She saw, perhaps, a reflection of her own darkness in mine. I reached out, gently brushing a stray tear from her cheek. My touch was no longer a threat, but an invitation, a promise of something more. The rain continued to lash against the windows, but the storm inside me, the tempest that had raged for so long, began to subside. This wasn't just about control anymore. This was about something deeper, something darker. This was about a connection forged in shadows, a love born from the ashes of despair. This was about the beginning of a beautiful, terrifying chaos. And Seraphina, my beautiful, terrified Seraphina, was at the heart of it.