When we were still kids, anytime our mom buys milk and Milo, we will just be jubilating and before you know it the milk will finish.

We were always using two tins of milk against one tin of Milo, there's hardly anything we will eat then as kids that we will not add milk, Even the tasting while making the tea will finished the milk.

So during one holiday like that, I decided to visit my aunty, let me go and eat all the good good things in the city, as I reach with my dad that very day, everything was okay, my aunty served us better soup and Garri. Very early the next day my dad left without my notice.

I didn't even know when day break sef, until my aunt woke me up for breakfast, I was very happy inside me, chai this is the type of life I have always dreamt of, sleep wake up and eat, no stress at all. I got to the dining table and saw the shock of my life, one spoon of milk inside mug with Lipton not even Milo, with two slices of bread.

Tears full my eyes, this is the kind of food they used to give to prisoners now, God who sent me, is this the reason this woman woke me up from my sleep?. Me that used to drink tea with who sent you cup. I now used style to asked after my Dad and was told he has gone, ha I'm finished, bread and tea that we used to use as appetizer, hmmmn I just drank the thing with hope of eating that kind of soup I ate in the night.

People of God, it was 12 o'clock no show, 1 o'clock no show, 2 o'clock no show, till around 3 o'clock before this woman come give us food, Garri wey I dey finished 2cups only me, na him 4 people eat. I felt sick immediately. I can endure everything but definitely not hunger.

This woman get mind go buy me medicine to drink, did I tell her I need drugs, madam I need food, abi them they take drugs on empty stomach ni? To call the long story short, holiday I plan on staying for one month ended in two days.

I can't come and k!// myself by myself.

#childhood

The way you treat your mother is the way life will treat you. A mother is the source of love and life.

A mother is made of unconditional love, a love that no one else can give you. Don't judge her. How many times have you sat down to listen to her? To have a conversation with her about her past? Perhaps she never told you about the miserable life she had to endure before you came along.

Maybe she never shared the wounds she carries, the scars that reopen every time she remembers them... the painful childhood and adolescence she lived through. The difficult moments she endured when no one listened to her, when she was mistreated, leaving traces of harsh words, poverty, fears, and abuse.

How many hidden sorrows does she carry in her heart, ones she never shared with you—so you wouldn't have a distorted image of her life? Out of love, she chose not to tell you, or perhaps silence became her refuge to avoid suffering further.

Treat her well, like the unique treasure she is in your life. Doing so will bring you blessings, peace, joy, stability, and a long life.

And remember, the way you treat your mother is how others will treat you. People around you will learn from your actions and the love you show. There is only one mother—if you don’t value her now, you may regret it in the future when sleepless nights haunt you.

It won’t be your mother keeping you awake—it will be your own demons of disobedience and disrespect that refuse to let you rest.

If you do not address your childhood
traumas, your romantic relationships will.

The winner takes all.
I have a theory: if you put in 80%, you get 80% back. But if you put in 100%, you get
1,000% back. The last 20% is where the magic happens. Because almost nobody is mad enough to go all in. Only a perfect storm of delusion, obsession and a pinch of childhood trauma makes that extra 20% possible. It's the part where you keep going long after logic says retreat. Where your biggest weakness becomes your biggest strength: an inability to stop. Because at a certain point, success isn't about talent or luck. It's about who's willing to suffer for the longest. Pain is the filter. Few pass it.

#delusional #willingness #winner #winningmindset #winning #mindset #positivemindset #success #inspire #inspiration #motivation #motivational #motivationalquotes

The winner takes all.
I have a theory: if you put in 80%, you get 80% back. But if you put in 100%, you get
1,000% back. The last 20% is where the magic happens. Because almost nobody is mad enough to go all in. Only a perfect storm of delusion, obsession and a pinch of childhood trauma makes that extra 20% possible. It's the part where you keep going long after logic says retreat. Where your biggest weakness becomes your biggest strength: an inability to stop. Because at a certain point, success isn't about talent or luck. It's about who's willing to suffer for the longest. Pain is the filter. Few pass it.

#delusional #willingness #winner #winningmindset #winning #mindset #positivemindset #success #inspire #inspiration #motivation #motivational #motivationalquotes

Anyone who has spent any time in space will love it for the rest of their lives. I achieved my childhood dream of the sky.”

If I am not your first choice, please don't waste my time. Don't chase me if I'm not the one you truly want to be with. Don't play games. Don't love me in halves.

If I am not your first choice, don't encourage me to share myself with you. Don't let me open up to you about my past, my childhood, my fears. Don't let me reveal my soul to you if you're not ready to nurture it. Don't ask for a place in my heart if you're not planning on staying there. Don't awaken my love if you're not ready to love me. Don't hold me if you'll easily let me go.

If I am not your first choice, don't stop me from finding the one who would put me first. Don't lie to me and tell me that I'm the only one when you're still juggling options. It is okay to not know what you want, but please, if that is the case just let me go.

If I am not your first choice, please leave. Leave and don't disturb my peace. Leave instead of half-loving me. Leave instead of lying to me. Leave because I don't need this kind of darkened hope in my life. Leave before I get hurt enough to leave you. Leave before you leave a mark. Leave, because I can't keep sharing my world with you if you're distracted.

If I am not your first choice, please leave. Because I'm the kind of person who pours when I love, who cares more than most. I am the kind of person who believes in rare connections. I'm the kind of person who will write you love letters, and make sure that you know you're enough when you doubt the way your heart beats. I'm the kind of person who will give you every part of me, but I need you to meet me there. You can't meet me half-way. You can't ask me to quiet the way I love. You can't ask me to settle for an almost. I'm the kind of person who wants all or nothing, who believes that a person's love isn't rare if everyone gets it, and I won't settle until I find someone who is ready. I won't settle until I find someone who is not afraid to choose me.
#Relationshiptips
#Lifegoeson

YOUR GIRL-CHILD IS WORTH MORE.
Last week, our ultrasound unit welcomed a 16-year-old girl, heavily pregnant and carrying the weight of a difficult reality. As she lay on the examination table, her nervous eyes scanned the room, searching for a glimmer of hope. I was curious to know and understand the circumstances that led her to this point. So I asked, and she opened up, sharing a story that would break the hearts of even the most hardened individual.
"I was denied education," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "My father said it was a waste of resources to train a girl." These words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the harsh realities faced by countless young girls around the world.
As the examination progressed, the weight of her situation became increasingly apparent to me. This young girl, barely out of childhood herself, was now facing the daunting challenges of motherhood. Then I asked myself, what about her dreams and aspirations? What about her future? This young girl's story is a powerful testament to the importance of education and empowerment. It highlights the need for comprehensive support systems, that would prioritize the needs and rights of girls and young women.
This is a reminder that parents can do better!!! She is also as important as a boy child. Besides, no one decides their fate. I honestly don't have a better way to communicate how concern I feel regarding this menace, but I do hope this message go a long way into fixing our hearts and opening our eyes to the reality that, that child under your care didn't choose to be a boy or a girl. As we reflect on this young girl's journey, we are compelled to ask: What can we do differently? How can we create a world where girls are valued, empowered, and educated? The answers, much like the solutions, will require a collective effort, a commitment to challenging the status quo, and a willingness to fight for the rights and dignity of girls everywhere.
For this young girl, and for countless others like her, we must do better. We must create a world where education is a fundamental right, not a privilege reserved for the few.

The old clock on the wall ticked, each second a hammer blow against my frayed nerves. The rain outside had become a relentless drumbeat, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. I paced the dusty attic, the scent of mothballs and forgotten dreams clinging to the air. My family, they were gone. Vanished. No trace, no explanation, just a single note scrawled on a crumpled piece of paper: "We had to leave. We'll be back for you soon."

But how soon was soon? Days? Weeks? Years? The thought of them, their faces, their voices, fading into the mists of time, filled me with a dread that gnawed at my insides. I clutched the worn teddy bear, its fur matted and faded, a silent witness to my childhood. He smelled of my mother's lavender perfume, a faint whisper of her presence that kept me clinging to hope.

The attic, once a haven of forgotten treasures, now felt like a prison. The cobwebs draped across the rafters like ghostly shrouds, the shadows in the corners seemed to dance and writhe, whispering secrets I couldn't understand. I was trapped, a prisoner in my own home, surrounded by memories that both comforted and terrified me.

I had to find them. I had to believe their promise, to cling to the hope that they would return. But the rain kept falling, a relentless reminder of the darkness that had descended upon our lives. And in the silence of the old house, I felt a growing fear, a fear that whispered, "What if they never come back?"

The rain hammered against the windowpane, each drop a tiny drumbeat against the silence of the old house. I sat huddled in the corner of the attic, a dusty blanket pulled tight around me, the scent of mothballs and forgotten dreams clinging to the air. My heart thumped a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the rain's steady beat. I was trapped.

My family, they were gone. Vanished. Just like that. One day they were bustling about the house, their voices filling the rooms with laughter and the clatter of dishes. The next, an empty silence, punctuated only by the creak of the old floorboards and the wind whistling through the cracks in the windows.

They had left me a note, scrawled in my mother's familiar hand, a single sentence that sent a shiver down my spine: "We had to leave. We'll be back for you soon." But how soon was soon? Days? Weeks? Years? The thought of them, of their faces, their voices, fading into the mists of time, filled me with a dread that gnawed at my insides.

I clutched the worn teddy bear, its fur matted and faded, a silent witness to my childhood. He was all I had left. He smelled of my mother's lavender perfume, a faint whisper of her presence that kept me clinging to hope.

The attic, once a haven of forgotten treasures, now felt like a prison. The cobwebs draped across the rafters like ghostly shrouds, the shadows in the corners seemed to dance and writhe, whispering secrets I couldn't understand. I was a prisoner in my own home, surrounded by memories that both comforted and terrified me.

I longed for the warmth of my mother's embrace, the reassuring rumble of my father's laughter, the mischievous twinkle in my brother's eyes. But they were gone, swallowed by the storm that had swept through our lives, leaving me stranded in a sea of uncertainty.

I had to be strong. I had to find them. I had to believe their promise, to cling to the hope that they would return. But the rain kept falling, a relentless reminder of the darkness that had descended upon our lives. And in the silence of the old house, I felt a growing fear, a fear that whispered, "What if they never come back?"