Writing on phone sucks 😒

My laptop has been down for weeks running to months and I have to make do with my phone (that’s what I got). I have to write on this 6.4 inch amoled screen. I must tell you, it’s not in any way funny, but I make do.

At first, the idea of writing on phone was one of excitement for me. I was like “to hell with bogus laptops. What do I even need a laptop for when I could do everything on my phone?”


I was like “you type fast on phone, well, not as fast as on laptop but fast enough, so why worry? Just tiptoe into making your phone your new creative outlet.”

But that relationship didn’t last too long. After a while I began to feel constrained. You know, I began to miss the freedom that comes with a bigger screen, I began to miss my laptop; the comfortable feel of my fingers on the home keys, my palm on the palm rest.

Don’t get me wrong, you can actually do anything with your phone. You can write articles, blogposts, do reports, submit CVs and whatnot. But after a while, you begin to miss that homely feeling that a 15 inch laptop brings you, that authority, that confidence to search the web and open a thousand tabs if need be.

I know what you’re thinking; why not just get another laptop?

Hmm… you might be right. You miss it get it, right? Well, let’s talk about how the laptop came down in the first place, something to do with the VGA (video graphics array)… let’s just say I got pissed and, to hell with the laptop. Friggin metallic dumb-head cases. They are so fragile! Just a couple of power-ups and suddenly something tiny gets ruined that affects the whole thing.

Now, I’m really going into what makes a laptop formidable (so to say), what differentiates a laptop from a laptop, 4k tech, resolution, processor, cores, 2 in 1s, and the likes. Let’s just say sometimes adversity brings with it a hunger for knowledge.

Thanks for reading, beautiful people. Ed Sheeran’s Beautiful People playing in my head… we don’t fit in well, cos we are just ourselves…


What happened to good old words?

I have a question for you; how many posts/articles do you read per day?

You might be wondering why I’m asking, but there are about 75,000,0000 (seventy-five million) sites on WordPress only. Did you know?

There are also many creative bloggers out there, working their minds out to put beautiful content on this platform and the net, and many (understatement) of them are unread.

Many a time, I have come across interesting posts with zero likes. And I just think, what a sad place this world is. I mean, what does someone have to do to get read? It shouldn’t be rocket science, right?

But daily it looks more like rocket science. Imagine the quids you got to pay to these platforms if you ever dream of getting some reasonable readership. From so-called premium plans to sponsored posts and whatnot. And still you don’t get exactly what you picture.

Could it be because people don’t read anymore? The number of people that read for leisure has declined a staggering 30% since 2004. Read more (later) here. People prefer to watch TV than read. It’s a fact. In fact, blogging has evolved over the years to what we now know as vlogging (the sound of that still irks me).

What happened to good old words?

Well, there is a silver lining. Anytime you get sad concerning not being read, just remember that this white space I’m writing on now, your website, the whole friggin internet won’t exist without words. Yea, because the programming languages used to create what we know as the internet are words! Be it PHP, Javascript, they all contain words. So the irony is lost on those people who feel reading is boring, those people who drool at every sliver of colourful light on every rectangular screen.

Personally, I love to read. I love to encourage writers to write more, to express. Sometimes encouragement is all that’s needed to create beautiful beginnings.

What should be focused on to combat the dearth in reading habits is reading techniques. I feel it’s not that people don’t like to read, it’s just the way the words are presented and where too. Well, that’s another post for another time.

Thanks for reading, humble friends. Let’s encourage each other. Let’s be nice and critical when we need to be. Catch you later!

GIRL ENCLOSED: excerpt 1


My room is a mess, chocolate wraps and balled papers everywhere. There’s something sad about the litter, perhaps it depicts my life at the moment. Slivers of sunlight streak through the curtain opening, like stage lights, not shining on me. I could have been a superstar, a bestselling author, basking in the limelight, but here I am, unworthy, fat, and sweaty. I hate these clothes I’m in, I hate my armpit, I hate my fat. But this isn’t the first time I’m hating myself, I started hating myself when my bingeing brought this unwelcome fat. Now I feel like the balled papers on the floor, symbols of my purposelessness.

Write your story ideas, they said, but here they are, on the floor, lost forever in the squeeze, crushed under the gravity of uneventful palms.

I don’t feel like cleaning up. I won’t clean up. I just want to sit on the bed and be sad and not change anything.

Someone’s knocking.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“It’s Bibi.”

“I can’t talk right now, B.”

“Just want to know if you’re okay, that’s all.”

“I’m okay, go away.”

I strain to hear if she’s still at the door. She’s not. Perks of living with friends. I just want to be left alone right now. Is that too much to ask? I just want to be in the room and not get out like forever.

I pull off my sweaty top and lay on the bed, head facing the ceiling. I wish I could see the universe through these walls, like superwoman. But I can’t be superwoman, can I? Superheroes are not fat. I imagine a pot bellied superman. The thoughts almost get me to smile. It’s been ages since I last smiled. I do smile at Bibi’s jokes and at Cynthia’s million dollar smile, but it’s mostly fake.

Yea, Cynthia has the kind of smile you can’t help but smile back at. I envy her perfect dentition. No wonder all the guys are after her. I can say little for myself, no guy wants a fat girl. Guys look at me like for a while then chuckle. Obviously my situation makes them laugh, well, if that’s the only thing I do for them.

Mum says I should not use the word fat. She says I’m big. But she’s just being nice, she’s just being a mother.

I should tidy up my room, but I think I’ll leave it this way. What’s even the point tidying when things just get messy again?

My sheets stink of booze and sweat. I should wash it, but I’m too tired for that. No, I’m too lazy for that. Yea, I’m fat and lazy, what could be worse?

Sometimes I wonder why Cynthia and Bibi haven’t driven me away from the house. I mean, I’m practically useless in this house. I don’t tidy up the dishes, I never cook, I never do anything.

Dad said I should move into the family house, but I think he knows that’s not going to happen. There’s a reason I left, I just want my space and freedom. Freedom to buy booze, freedom to sleep all day, freedom to do nothing.

I think I should write. Yea, I feel this is the moment to open my deserted laptop. I feel ideas flowing in, they flow in faster when I’m sad.

I open up my lappy. It’s just really reoccurring to me that I haven’t opened my laptop in months, months! My heart beats as I hear the chime from the laptop. What am I really going to write? I haven’t written in ages and I’m rusty.

I skim through the icons on my desktop. A particular Word document hits my eye. It’s titled The Man In A Hat. I check the word count, 6382. I really gave this a shot, didn’t I.

The Man In A Hat is about a man, obviously. He’s a magician that comes across two orphaned kids playing football on the streets. He becomes intrigued by them. He takes them in under his tutelage and they become lifelong apprentices. The boys grow in skill and later find out a devastating truth about their late parents’ demise.

Well, that’s the way the story is suppose to go, but I really don’t know. You don’t really know what your characters are on about, at least that’s the way I see it.

I read a few paragraphs to know how to continue the story. I know it’s going to be a herculean task because of how long I’ve abandoned the story. Maybe I should take a gulp of whisky to stir things up. I hid a bottle in the wardrobe so that Cynthia and Bibi don’t find out.

I make sure the door is locked. I pull the mini bottle from the rumble of dirty clothes overdue for laundry. I open it up and take a drag, then a long drag, until I caution myself not to finish the bottle.

To be continued. Thanks for reading, as always. Much love. You guys make the world a better place.

To Write or Not to Write?


I have been fighting a rather silent battle for some days now: to write or not to write?

That question is deeper than first meets the eye. And the deeper you think about it, the more propelled you are toward the tail end part of the question.

Not to write.

So it’s cool not to write… hmm… so what do I do now, delete all my content? What? What?

Each time we write, we send a piece of ourselves out there, into the open, onto the internet. And this process could be exhilarating; thinking how readers will react to what you write, trying to anticipate their reactions. The whole brainwork could really leave you feeling drained.

I feel to have that oxygenated start as a blogger or writer or.., you have to care less what readers might think of your work. And remember, you’re your first reader, so you have to care less about what you think of your own work.

Personally, I’m the hardest on myself. You can picture me pacing, soliloquizing, asking if writing is what matters to my life right now, asking why I can’t just pass time like everyone else without feeling like I need to write something. It’s not like I’m getting paid for scribbling stuff, not yet. In fact, I just upgraded my plan to premium, so cash is actually leaving me. And getting paid in the blogosphere is even becoming more of a herculean task by the minute. So, why write?

Write to express? Bleh, that sounds more and more clicheric each day. So, why write? Because you can’t not write? That sounds twisted, but I think I’ve seen that expression somewhere. Yea, so people claim to write because they can’t stay away from writing or they are somewhat compelled to, like an OCD kinda thing.

That could be me, compelled to write. But why? For the flair? For the praise? Or maybe for relevance, self relevance. So can I say I write to feel important? That’s sick (LOL). Well, anything that strikes your fancy, right? But I won’t be surprised if truly I write to feel important. I mean, everyone is on to something. Some people hang out with friends to feel that sense of importance, some others go skiing or mountain climbing or whatever just to feel something. So it’s not a bad thing if I write to feel something good about myself.

But where do we draw the line, where does writing become a drug?

I guess that’s a topic for another time. As always, friends, thanks for reading. And remember, I read you too.

Is Pluto a planet or not?


Is Pluto a planet or not?

Who cares what Pluto is? It is what it is, and whatever we humans say about it doesn’t change shit about what Pluto is.

Did the planet ask to be named “Pluto” or whatever? Hell no! So that’s on us. That’s our confusion, that’s NASA’s confusion.

I haven’t written in a days. I have been battling the question: to write or not to write? And to be honest with you, I haven’t really found any tangible answer. But here I am.

So why am I writing? Because I love WordPress so much? Or because I get paid to write? I don’t know! Or maybe I just need to rant. Maybe I’m frustrated. Maybe life is frustrating.

Maybe I just need to keep listening to Castle On The Hill by you know who, and Ride by Twenty One Pilots. Pluto is enjoying it’s ride around the sun, so why don’t I enjoy some good music too, right?

Really, have you ever wondered how planets feel? Massive, scary bodies orbiting the sun. Do they feel like gods or are they lonely? Do they feel abandoned, devoid of life? Do they envy Earth? And why is Earth so different and full of funny beings? Are we alone?

Are we alone?

Thanks for reading, friends.


I enjoy writing on WordPress. I feel it’s got realer people

You’re a writer or you write sometimes. You must have battled with where to write at one point or another. You have accounts everywhere; Medium, WordPress, Quora, Tumblr. But which one is the best platform for you?

I enjoy writing on WordPress. I feel it’s got realer people, people who see the effort in creativity. I was active on Tumblr a while back in the school days, but I kinda got jaded with the never-ending posts and all, and also, Tumblr has to do with a lot of gifs. I don’t even know what’s up with Tumblr right now, I think I saw somewhere online it’s about to be sold by…

Though Facebook isn’t open-source, I used to post a lot on there, but they are a million times meaner that Blogging platforms. I could post something really detailed and get about a dozen likes. And you can’t even see it on any search engine. So yea, fuck Facebook sucks.

I’m not on Medium right now, I don’t even know what it’s like. Medium… sounds moderate.

There are a lot of these platforms popping up everywhere like popcorn.

“Are you on Pinterest? Are you on Instagram? Quora is a good place to get readers…”

Dude! Cut me some slack. So I should be everywhere on the internet because I want to write.

Sometimes I even feel exposing yourself on the internet isn’t such a good idea. I think of Googling my name Victor Enesi and I’m caught with fear. Who knows what I’m going to see? Lol.

What if I’m at an interview and the interviewer is like “Let’s look him up online, let’s see what he’s about.” And they check me up and see all these conflicting texts. *Facepalm*

Thanks for reading, beautiful people. Without you the internet wouldn’t make much sense. It would just be a bunch of cooled hard drives marking 1s and 0s.


Why do you write?

I asked this question in my previous post; why do we write? These days it is the most obvious questions that elude us the most.

Have you ever sat down to really ask yourself why you write? That’s if you write. Or I want to ask you now, do you write? And if you do, why do you?

I did some searching on the internet concerning this question, and I found out that people mostly write because they can’t not write. Doesn’t make sense, right? I mean, how can’t you can’t not write? Lol.


Seriously, people write because they are compelled to write. It’s like a spell for them, waking them up in the dead of night to go write on tree barks that bleed and anyone who drinks of the tree blood will be infected with the writer’s curse.

Okay, seriously, writing is an art. It is a way to express yourself. Writing is not just about stories, there are people who write computer programs, religious books, amid others. Or let me put it this way, storytelling is an art. And so is programming too. Anywho, point remains that writing takes some skill, imagination, creativity.

But the most important question is — why do do write on WordPress? Or what are the places to write on the goddamn internet?

I feel where you write is as important as writing itself. Are you rewarded for taking your time to write something that many people read? Or is it just a compulsion for compulsion sake?

Thanks for reading, friends. I always try to ask the difficult questions and find answers to them. Stay tuned for more insightful writeups.


I feel writers don’t get rewarded enough

I woke up this morning inspired to complete the poem I was writing yesterday just before I dozed off. Here it goes:

I don’t feel like writing
Zigzags in the deep sky
Deadly thunder strokes lightening
Illuminating my empty sheet
Somebody keeps wondering
For why is all the prattling

Food on the table, comfort
Mount Everest on my plate
A lava of stew
My spoon makes the jump
For the good of life

Why do we write
Bleeding thoughts on trees
Mother nature keeps crying
Her heart keeps melting
The cost of self expression
Minting her broken heart
Why do we write

Yea, I didn’t feel like writing at all, but I just decided to try. Half the time, I’m grappling with the question; why do we write? And where do we choose to write on?

I feel writers don’t get rewarded enough. In fact, writing has become so undesirable to the point that writers are so scared to tell people that they write. Telling a friend or stranger that you write is like leaking out a dirty secret. Writing now feels like an art that belonged to the 20th century. This is a world of science now, of computers, phones, spaceships, gadgets and whatnot.

But companies like WordPress.com and Facebook and Twitter and the likes still rely on writing to sell! Yea! Everybody goes on there to write what they feel. Just imagine Twitter without words. Imagine Facebook without posts. Imagine this very WordPress without our sentences and paragraphs. Mission impossible, right?

And still the art is ridiculed, while clueless people make billions off unsuspecting writers.

If the laws of nature permeated our human actions, then you should get paid for every sentence you construct anywhere on the internet. But we both know that human actions are far from logical.

Thanks for reading, friends. I hope we all figure out this writing thing. I believe everybody in the world has got something to say, and creativity should be rewarded. 


3 Ways To Achieve Financial Freedom

We are all trying to break through many struggles in life, thinking of where the next meal, or house, or car, or anything fancy is going to come from. We all aspire toward some form of greatness, some form financial freedom.

But the truth is financial freedom doesn’t come easy, you have to toil and toil except you’re from some financially rich background. And even if that’s the case, you might still want to make something for yourself.

I don’t judge people based on fortunes they were born into. Be you rich or poor, life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it. If you have a good head start, then good for you. End of the day, quality of life is what really matters, how influential you’ve been in other people’s lives.

But for clarity sake, what is financial freedom?

Financial freedom is the level you reach when you have amassed enough income to live the life you want.

Take note of the word want. Remember that want is different from need. You need what is necessary, you want what you want dream. Two very different things.

Okay, enough talk. What must you do today to be truly financially free?

Here are some tips:

1. Spend Less Than You Can Afford

I’m sure this isn’t your first time of hearing something like this, but it doesn’t make it any less true or valid.

Truth is, you need to be as frugal as you can be.

People run into financial troubles most times because they spend more than they can afford.

This tip is telling you to spend way less than you can afford. Instead of going for that 10 bucks meal, make it a 5. Yea, even though you can afford a 20. That’s the whole point to this.

2. Learn to Bargain

Some people say they don’t bargaining skills. I say, there’s no such thing, we all learn as we go.

Negotiation is an art. It’s a skill you just have to learn to be financial emancipated. It’s very important.

“It’s 10 bucks, can I pay 5?”

“That’s too low, take it for 9.”

“Okay, you know what, I’ll give you 7, that’s all I have.”

3. Save

Probably the oldest trick in the book, right? But still very useful.

I also tell people, money has one language; save me today and I’ll you tomorrow.

Thanks for reading. The hustle is real indeed. I hope I was of help here. If so, then share, like, comment, anything.

All rights reserved

5 Reasons Why You’re Feeling Tired Lately


Have you ever been in a state of mind where almost nothing interests you? You feel like you’re tired, nothing too cynical, but you just feel tired of everything.

There are a number of things that could cause you to feel tired, some of these reasons are:

1. Lack of sleep

This is the number one proponent of tiredness or fatigue.

Could be caused by poor sleep hygiene, insomnia, or other brain related disorders like sleep apnea.

If it helps, I too do not sleep so early. I spend most of my nights thinking. Yea, I have a somewhat hyperactive mind.

You can over this cause of tiredness by meditation, which is an effective way of calming your nerves.

2. Heavy eating

Have you ever felt sleepy after a heavy meal? It happens like all the time, right?

So don’t be surprised when you suddenly feel tired after a large meal, because you use a lot of energy in breaking down food.

Just keep in mind that a heavy meal can cause you to feel suddenly tired.

Solution to this cause is to eat as little as you can so you still have some excitement left in you after meal.

3. Jet Lag

Are you the type that travels all the time?

Then don’t be surprised if you have prolonged feeling of tiredness.

Jet lag is caused by time zone differences that mess with your sleep cycle, and this could cause you to feel tired.

To overcome this, make sure you have adequate rest after each trip.

4. Anxiety disorder

Are you the kind that worries too much?

Then you’re bound to get tired of worrying, and it’s going to tell on you, physically.

Meditation could help you worry less. Don’t take it for granted.

5. Ageing

This cause is inevitable. In fact, it’s pointless fighting it.

Ageing is entropy, a universal process. Things get disorderly with time and that disorder has repercussions.

There’s no cure to this cause of tiredness (yet), but there are preventive measures, like doing less physical work as you age.

Thanks for reading, friends. Share this post if it helps, and stay tuned for more insights on every day experiences.

It’s okay to be alone for a while


Its okay to want to be left alone for a while. It doesn’t mean you’re insensitive, it only means you’re human and need some time to sort personal things out.

People who want to be left alone aren’t inconsiderate, especially if they don’t do it all the time.

Yea, we’re social beings but we still need time to process.

Life is complex (to say the least) and everyone is kind of trying to figure it out. In other words, every human being needs some alone time. Even if you have a spouse or a lover or a close friend, you still need your alone time, because it’s not every last detail about you the other person knows and you still need your alone time to sort things out in your mind.

Thanks for reading as always, friends. Let’s all figure out together, this beautifully perplexing thing called life.


This Blogging Thing is Hard

Look, this blogging thing is hard. Sometimes it doesn’t even make sense why I get on some platform called WordPress and write things only a dozen people will see. You kind of get the feeling that you’re wasting your time.

I’ve seen on a blog post or two how it is important that you write for yourself or a particular reader, but you can’t neglect the fact that some amount of recognition is also important in encouraging the blogger. The likes and the views matter.

Victor Enesi

Human beings are social beings. We love when we’re being recognized, when we’re being seen, it kind of validates our existence.

“Oh, they know I’m alive. My work matters. What I do matters. I matter.”

Those words up there are some serious dopamine actuators, pure motivation.

It is good to feel good about yourself and also about what you do. Whether you write, take photos, do lab science, work in a bank, an engineer, an artist, it is very important to feel good about yourself.

Fortunately and unfortunately, we live in a world were we have to pay for things to move, you know, there’s got to be some kind of stimulant; money. To get these views you have to pay. You have to pay to promote your posts and your site. It kind of makes sense, but we also see a lot of junk being promoted.

Thanks for reading, friends. Victor here, I love to share thoughts about the world, stories and other things. Well, thanks for reading. Stay tuned.

Quantum Prim


“So how do I get to stabilise information in the quantum realm?” I asked Prim.

“First, what’s your name? I don’t even know you.”

“You can call me Vance.”

“Hmm. Okay, Vance,” she paused, “If you want to get things to be stable here, then you have to feel.”

“How?” I asked.

“You need to understand that your emotions are also information. What you feel affects the world around you.”

“I hear that every time in the real world…”

“What do you mean by real world?” Prim asked, interrupting me. “Do you mean to say that my world is any less real than yours.”

“That’s not what I mean, Prim. I just wanted to say that in the world of big things, emotions don’t really matter.”

Prim’s face grew dour.

“That’s sad,” she said. “Can you do this in your world?”

Before I could reply, Prim disappeared.

“What the? Prim, where are you?” I panicked.

I suddenly felt a nudge on my back. I turned back abruptly. I saw nothing.

“Prim, is that you? How are you even doing this?”

Next, I heard her voice all over the quantum space around me. It echoed. I turned round and round and still didn’t see her.

“Emotions,” she echoed.

“Okay, okay, I got you. Could you come back now?”

I felt another nudge on my back.

“Could you just stop doing that?”

I turned and there she was, grinning from ear to ear.

“Your turn,” she said.

“My turn, what? Do you expect me to do what you just did?”

“Just remember, Vance, nothing is impossible.”

“I hear that in my world all the time,” I replied.

“Just remember to be calm. You have to relax your frequency.”

“What does that even mean, my frequency?”

“Grandma explains it better, she taught me everything.”

“You have a grandma in this place? Wow!” I exclaimed, in apparent shock.

I was just in awe of everything. How is it even possible that a family can live here in the quantum world where everything is a billion times smaller? I was filled with anticipation, I just wanted to know as much I could about this world I’ve shrinked myself in.

“So how do we get to her? Do you guys have like cars or something?”

“Hold me,” Prim said.

I held her with questions on my mind.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready for what?”

“Aaaaah!” I screamed above my quantum lungs.

It was as if my body was leaving ghosts behind, like I was fading somehow. And we were whisking through this narrow-like tube. It was the scariest thing I had ever experienced.

“What was that?” I asked, panting.

“That, my friend, is quantum tunnelling. It’s how we travel here,” she grinned mischievously.

“And what was that thing happening to me? I felt like I was a ghost or something.”

“It’s called phasing. My goodness, how do you guys travel in your world?”


To be continued. Thanks for reading, guys. Quantum Prim is a story that metamorphosed from a previous story, Operation Get My Post Back. I’m as ecstatic as you are about where this is going. Thanks again for reading.

Operation Get My Post Back


I was writing a post I thought was saved, only for the page to refresh and bring me half of what I wrote.

“No. I can’t take this anymore,” I said.

I took the quantum shrink gun I bought on the dark web, pointed it to my head and pulled the trigger.

In no time, a beam of particles enveloped me and I could instantly feel myself shrinking. It felt uncomfortable at first, little everyday objects becoming bigger than me. But it’s something I had to do to get my post back.

My phone rang. It was Loveth.

“Hello, Loveth, I can’t speak right now, I’m shrinking.”

“Hello, did you say you’re shivering?”

“No, Loveth, shrinking.”

“Hello… hello…”

I couldn’t hear her. The quantum signal modulator was interfering with the cellular network.

By now I was so tiny, I could tell because I had started seeing the things I had never seen before, the things that only existed in biology textbooks.

What I saw next could swallow me effortlessly. It looked like an insect, but a micro insect. I thought of being eaten by a micro insect, where would they find me?

But it was a risk I was willing to take, to get to the world of 1s and 0s, to get my post back. I had written about a thousand words, and half of it just disappeared into nothingness. Google chrome, argh!

The shrinking stopped. I was now in the quantum world. A world that made no sense. Things just appeared and disappeared at will. It was a crazy world, a world without control.

But I wasn’t there to tour, I was there to find my missing post. Posts shouldn’t just disappear from text editors. In the real world, things shouldn’t disappear like this crazy quantum world I found myself in.

I saw a string of information dancing and blinking away. It was my missing post. I just knew it like some quantum instinct.

I made for it. But as soon as I grabbed it, it disappeared and appeared in a different place. I tried a couple more times and the same thing happened. I just couldn’t interact with this world I was in and it was getting me so angry.

“You’re doing it the wrong way.” A shrill voice said.

It was like the whole place became one big speaker.

“Argh!” I screamed in terror, “who are you and how are you even here?”

“Be calm, would you, you gonna mess up the whole place with your emotions.”

“I don’t even know you, who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Prim,” she replied.

“And how did you get a quantum shrinker?” I asked.

“Uh… let’s see. I didn’t!” She chuckled, “Though grandma has told me about it before, it was what–“

“Wait,” I interrupted, “You mean to say you were born here?”


“How’s that even possible? Are there like hospitals and stuff?”

“Dude, look around you, you’re literally in the land of possibilities.”

She was right, I had forgotten for a moment where I was.


Well, guys, just strutting my stuff here. Let me know what you think about the read. Have you ever lost a post while typing before? How did you feel? And should I keep this going?

3 things you can do to change your mood


Sometimes words tire you, and to stay alive you need to dig deeper. You need to understand there are moods and these moods could very much swing. In fact, it’s normal to have mood swings.

Some days you’re brimming with excitement at each word, renewed energy, and other days the words taste stale, sour, if you like. Is this normal? Hell yea! it’s normal.

It’s normal for you to feel fatigued. It’s normal for you to feel disconnected, once a while. Don’t be too hard on yourself, and don’t think you’re lazy either. You’re just tired, it’s okay to be tired.

And it’s also okay to spring back up to life.

Words matter. That’s the truth. Yea, they’re clicheric, yea they are onerous, but they matter. Words make sense. Words are powerful. Powerful enough to give birth to this platform (WordPress) we use in expressing ourselves through writing.

Here are a few things you can do when you feel sapped of creativity.

1. Take a break

Did you know it’s okay to take a break? Yea, don’t worry, you won’t come off as lazy.

Just know that it is okay to take a break. It is okay to say “enough”, shut the lid and just take a stroll.

Are you a writer or a painter or anything in fact? Then just know that when you’re tired of doing what you do over and over again, you can take a break.

It doesn’t mean you lack stamina. It doesn’t mean you’re not cut out for it. So don’t be too hard on yourself.

2. Do something totally unrelated

Let’s say you’re writing a book, and you get to this point where it doesn’t make sense to you anymore. Everything in you is telling you to give up. The better part of you is telling you that your work is crap and it’s not going to see the light of day.

But sometimes not listening to the inside you is the best thing you can do. Sometimes you just need to do something totally unrelated.

Yea, go skiing, go bowling. Do something unrelated to what’s depressing you.

3. Meditate

Did you know that meditation is the best cure for an anxious mind? Are you feeling anxious right now?

Good. Anxiety is a good thing, because it gives you a chance to calm your nerves.

So just take a seat. You don’t have to bend your legs yoga style, you just have to switch off the lights (don’t think of anything horror), and just breathe. It doesn’t get any easier than that.

Do you feel better now?

If you have any techniques you use when you’re feeling low and maxed out, please let others know by commenting.

Loads of love to you all reading. It’s takes love to read someone else’s writeup.

There Was This Burning Curiosity Alive in Me


Sometimes you look at this world and you’re like, yea, life is cool. And sometimes you look at this world and you’re like, what kind of hell is this?

©Victor Enesi

Growing up, I was philosophically hard on my parents. Why am I here? What am I doing here? What is here? I was always this child that would relentlessly ask questions. I wanted to know. There was this burning curiosity alive in me. It wasn’t enough to just go to church and swallow everything I was told, I wanted to know. How did the world come about? Well, that’s not your question to ask, they said. In fact, God abhors questions.

And now I’m thinking, the white man God or the universe God?

The thing about me is I don’t play politics. We die either way, so why do I have to please you? I’m going to speak the truth in black and white. Yea, slavery happened. Yea, it’s messed up. Yea, humans kinda have no clue.

For me, mostly, it’s all a dream. Trying to understand reality is progressively futile. Uncountable atoms work all day, not for you to try to understand them, but for you to imagine, to create.

Think about it, why atoms? Why electrons moving about a thing called nucleus? Why are there so many of them? Why all the clockwork? For us to dwell all our infinitesimal lifetimes figuring it out? All these existential industry for us to keep asking why it’s happening?

It’s intricately futile!

The storyteller would say, I know reality (existence) is complex, complex enough to make me, so why don’t I seek to connect the dots, creat my own reality?

Well, what will the philosopher say? What will you say?

The Rice Man 2


When Dave sighted the bags of rice heaved atop each other, four per column, he laughed like a witch flying on her broom across the moonlight. To say he was ecstatic was an understatement. He downright loved big bags of things. Oh, the things he would do to those swell bags.

The last time there was a bag as big was when Dave’s mum was to bake for an event. She bought a full bag of flour and put it in the basement.

Dave would spend hours in the basement, kicking, jumping and punching the bag of flour. He loved the white dust that came out each time he hit the bag.

One time, he jumped on the bag of flour only for the thing to pop. An avalanche poured out from the cut. Dave ran up and pretended nothing happened.

When Dave’s mum found out about the torn bag, Dave suggested it must have been a rat as there are always rats hiding in all the basements in the world.

As Dave was relishing his first kick at the rice bags, his sister, Agatha, barged into the basement.

“What are you doing here?” She quizzed.

“None of your business,” Dave retorted.

“Whatever,” she said, shooting him a suspicious look.

“Phew! Now she’s out. Let the games begin!” he gloated to himself.

Dave kicked the topmost bag closest to him.

“Ouch!” He groaned.

Little did he know that rice bags are actually stiffer than flour bags.

“Not fair,” Dave uttered, “I’ll have to teach you a lesson another way.”

He walked some paces back and ran full throttle at the heap of bags. He slammed into them and the topmost bag rolled over and hit the floor with a bang. He cried out in victory, beating his chest, King Kong style.

“Dave!” He heard his name, faintly.

Mum was calling, it was time for lunch.

Dave squinted at the heap.

“I’ll be back for you,” he said, before jetting out.

“Where have you been, Dave? Your mum has been calling you,” dad asked.

“I was in the…,” he fell silent, “the room, yes, the room,” he continued.

“You lie!” Agatha uttered.

“Shut up,” Dave responded.

“That’s enough,” said dad, “Dave, you will learn to talk to your sister with respect, she’s older than you. Now, apologise to her.”

“I’m sorry,” Dave said reluctantly.

“Dad, he crossed his fingers,” Agatha replied.

“Enough!” Dad uttered, “I will have no more of your squabbling.”

On cue, Mum came in with about a hundred things in her hands.

“Dinner time, boys,” she said as she arranged the dishes on the dining table.

“And lady?” Muttered Agatha.

“Of course, sweetheart, and lady.”

Mum cooked rice with curry sauce, and for some reason, it bemused Dave.

“Care to share with us, Dave?”

Dave tried so hard to swallow his chuckle, like a video suddenly playing backwards.

“Dad, he’s happy because of the bag–“

Dave poked Agatha just has she was about completing her statement.

“Hmm,” dad hummed, and lunch continued.

After lunch, Dave went back into the basement. He resumed kicking the rice bags and jumping on them. It was so much fun for him, to hit the things that couldn’t hit back.

The Rice Man


When Dave’s parents bought eight bags of rice, it was surely a reason to bring a wry smile to his face.

He watched from his room as two hefty men heaved up each bag from the trunk, holding it at the edges and trudging it through the terrace and into the house.

He counted studiously. One… two… three…

As soon as the men were done lifting all eight bags into the basement, Dave made for the basement with utter delight. He loved big bags of things, because he could chokeslam, kick, and punch them and not get punched back, very unlike his big-bagged bully, Bobby.

Bobby and Dave were classmates. Bobby was obviously ten times Dave’s size. They didn’t call him Fat Bob for no reason.

Dave had always fantasised chokeslaming Bobby ever since they became classmates.

“He’s just too fat. I could do so many painful moves to him,” Dave would tell his sister, Agatha.

“Look for someone your own size, Scrawny.” Agatha would reply.

But Dave wouldn’t go for anything less.

One bright Teusday, Dave decided to sting Bobby. His plan was to pin Bobby to a corner of the classroom, run to the opposite corner, and then charge at Bobby with full speed. He just wanted to make Fat Bob yelp.

After classes, as everyone was eagerly heading out of the classroom, someone cried.

“Fat Bob, today you go down!”

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks. Then they turned back in unison. Dave was at one corner of the classroom beside the bookshelf, and Bobby was about packing his bag.

All eyes were on Bobby, hungry for his reply. He disliked being called Fat Bob. The class knew this one was going to be interesting. They hadn’t seen a callout like that in eons. In fact, the last time there was a callout, it was the same Dave dishing the threats. That time, his target, Julio, was a bit slimmer than him. Dave knocked Julio out and ended up serving detention for a week.

“Go home,” Bobby replied.

The whole class went berserk, jeering at Dave to teach Fat Bob a big lesson.

“Go Dave, go dave…” they sang.

Dave made like he wanted to charge, then he remembered, Bobby had to be at the opposite corner of the classroom for the move to work. He walked up to Bobby and whispered something into his ears.

Bobby dropped his bag and walked to the opposite corner of the classroom, facing Dave.

Dave’s face became sinister. He pushed the wall behind him and ran for Bobby in full might.

The whole class watched with rapt attention.

Dave hit Bobby with freight force.

The whole class went silent.

There was one man standing, it wasn’t Dave, it was Bobby. Dave was on the floor trying to catch his breath while Bobby was standing tall and proud.

“Go home,” Bobby said, before walking through the crowd in raucous roar.


The thing with writing


What does it mean to write? What does it mean to express yourself? Where is the best place to express yourself?

For me, writing should be a normal thing. It should be as normal as breathing, like another way to live; take a pen or face a white screen and just scribble. It shouldn’t be any harder than that. It’s not exactly rocket science. You got something to say, then type it away.

So what really discourages writer? I think writers are often discouraged by that picture in their head. They want to be the next J. K. Rowling or the next Stephen King or be like John Greeen. Well, ambition itself doesn’t kill but trying to lift a 11k kg truck by all means could.

It’s pointless trying to lift a 11k kg truck right? I mean, what do you want to show, that you’re the strongest? Those names up there, the big shots, they are 11k kg trucks that lift other heavy things. They didn’t become heavyweights out of a spell from some magic wand, but piece by piece. First the tires, the engine, the bodywork, and bit by bit the whole thing comes together.

I like to think that in anything you’re doing in life, discipline matters a whole lot. You got to suffer to smile later. You simply can’t have your cake and eat it. You got to get down to work, be you a writer, an engineer, a doctor, you gotta do the work. Most people don’t wanna do the work, that’s the problem, they just wanna look into some magic mirror and fantasise about that future self; famous, rich, celebrated. But sadly for most dreamers, reality doesn’t work that way, at least in 99.999% of cases.

Just look at JK Rowling, she wrote about the magic wand and the magical Mirror of Eriseld. Look where she is today.

The thing with likes


Likes aren’t easy to come by. You could do a lot of writing for a long while and get little more than scraps of reactions. It hurts when this happens, because on many levels we all want to be acknowledged, we all want to be liked.

Some creative writers might try to pretend that likes don’t really matter and that what matters is expressing yourself truthfully and adequately. But deep down we know that’s not exactly true.

We are social beings that get a chemical hit of encouragement anytime we or our work is being liked. That’s the way our brain works, it shoots itself with some dopamine to tell us that what we are doing is dope.

Personally, I don’t feel good when what I write isn’t like so much. In fact, I’m thinking day and night how my writeups here would get liked by hundreds and thousands of people. I bet everyone with a blog or site is thinking about this.

It’s not easy though, for your work to get the attention you think it deserves. You have to work out your strategy. And you also have to be consistent in what you do, and persistent too. Simply put, you have to not give up.


My lappy crashed today

My lappy crashed today. It’s all white screen and nothing else, so annoying. I’ve done everything in a bid to bring the machine back to life, but no’in is working. It’s just so annoying. I got a bunch of information on the drive too.

Phew! Fucking ones and zeros. 1s and 0s. Damn! The dude just had to go crash. I’ve got age-old pictures in there for crying out loud! Damn, how do I get those stuffs back? Gosh!

Truth is I’m not even feeling gingered to go anywhere repairing stuff right now. This bunch of icing metals just picked a wrong time to go haywire. Fuck. Yea, I know the swear word, but fuck it nonetheless.

I don’t even know what to do right now. I opened the back cover and did all em removing of appendages, waiting a minute, but still no show. Let’s just say I’ve done everything in the book.

Well, here I am using my phone to write this post. So, nothing can stop me. Yup, nothing.


Kiss me

Hug me Press me inside you I want to be in your beating heart I want to swim in your veins Against the flow of your love Kiss me Tattoo my name on your lips I want to be your sound waves Wrap me with your curly tongue Wet me with desire Hold me Lock your fingers in mine Pass me the current of your love Pass me your heart’s desires Make us one

Shiites and Police Clash in Abuja, Nigeria


I feel a little bit here and there today. Dreamy eyes, sleepy legs.

I woke up to intensified news about a clash in the capital, Abuja, between Shiites and the Nigerian Police. A Deputy Police Commissioner was killed in the clash and a youth corper anchoring for a TV station was also killed.

DPC Usman Umar killed in the clash between Shiites and the Nigerian Police Force

The Shiites are a Muslim sect who want the Islamatization of Nigeria. Their leader, El-Zakzaky, is allegedly in the custody of the Nigerian Government. Various courts have ordered his immediate release, but the government has resisted the order.

His followers often stage protests in the Capital asking for the release of their leader, but this time, things went violently. Various government properties were set ablaze. Shots were fired, and unfortunately, bodies followed.

It’s really a sad time. The youth corper that died in the clash, Precious Owolabi, was serving his mandatory one-year youth service with a popular TV station in the country. It’s just sad that youths have to go this way. I feel for his parents and loved ones.

Precious Owolabi was reporting the event when he was hit and killed by a bullet.

I just hope for peace in this multicultural country.

Every life is important, both victim and protestor. I just hope there comes a time in this world where one life is more precious than everything in the world.

Life is potential, and potential is everything.


I like to discover blogs. I like to read and search for interesting blogs. Anytime I happen on someone’s blog, I’m half hoping it’d be interesting.

Today I searched on writing, and I got a plethora of results; posts and sites alike. They interestingly had so many likes. And I thought, people are really psyched about writing; the art of writing itself. Everybody wants to talk about it, everybody has an angle, a perspective.

One post caught my eye, by Mae Clair, Story Empire. She talked about the writing gene and whether it could be inherited. She talked about the Bronte sisters. She talked about the brothers, Alex and Evelyn Waugh. She talked about Steven King, his sons, Joe Hill and Owen King, and his wife, Tabitha.

I think that writing is not a gene thing. It is just an expression thing. The human brain is monkey see monkey do kind of organ. We learn by what we see, listen and feel. We learn through our senses.

I had a brother that wrote a lot, his name was Leo. He’s late, but let’s not go into the nitty gritty of it all. God bless his soul. Leo opened me to a whole new world. He was a poet, he was a writer, he was a thinker, he was a curious mind. And it hurts why he went at such an early age of 18. It didn’t make sense to me, and it still doesn’t make sense to me now. Why do people even die? Must people die?

Anyway, he taught me to type fast, and it’s helping me a lot. He installed the Mavis Beacon Typing Tutor software on our Windows 95 desktop that dad brought from India and created profiles for us all. Each time I type, like now, I just remember him, the memories come trickling back. I’ve always had this innate curiosity in me, so I really wanted to learn how to type so fast like the guys in the movies. I started with the letters and I moved to the punctuations and then numbers.

My point is, there is an element of curiosity in every human being, and one person’s expression could rub off on another person. So, writing is not a gene thing, it’s just a human thing. Everybody is curious, everybody asks why on some level, maybe different levels, some more pronounced than others.

Yea, so that’s it, writing is just an expression stuff, not a gene or a blood stuff.


My stats are coming up. It’s a good feeling to see my stats come up after a very long time of inactivity. For some time now my site was low on views, though it still registered trickles of views and visitors. Recently it has been very high with me posting a lot of stuff, interesting stuff, I hope.

I got up from bed not too long ago and I’m just surfing around my tab, just before prepping for work. My eye has caught some news on Channels Television. So I’m just scrolling on Channels TV twitter handle @channelstv and I’m seeing some headlines, some catchy, some not so catchy.

Military, Insurgents Lock Horns In Jakana, Borno State

*Sigh* you know most times I wonder, some years past, the northern part of Nigeria used to be this peaceful vast place; vast lands where you could just travel and have fun. But these days, about eight years counting, it’s been just insurgents, terrorism, bandits, the list goes on. It forces you to ask, who’s behind this uprising? Is it a person, or persons, or movement?

Borno State indicated by red arrows

A fierce gun battle between operatives of the Nigerian military and insurgents in Jakana village of Borno State has thrown villagers and travellers into a panic…

channels Television

Borno State is the farthest North-eastern state in Nigeria, sharing border with Yobe State on the left, Adamawa State below, and Gombe State on the bottom left.

It’s crazy, you know. Every day I read the news and it’s like this insurgency just never stops. It appears that right now in Nigeria, only the South is functioning, and that’s because the South has made it clear, “Look, don’t bring that shit to us cos we not going to take it.” That’s why the southern parts of Nigeria are relatively more peaceful. Though there are a few attacks steaming up in the South-West these days, but they are being curtailed drastically.

Pray for Nigeria, guys, we need the whole of Nigeria to be peaceful and not just some parts.


Thursday, 18, July 23:05


I’m outside. The air feels a bit cool. I see a few faces, I also see a tanker driving by accosted by a patient car. I’m faking making a phone call when actually I’m recording this post.

I’m walking on a curved road on the sidewalk. I see coconut trees. A car is approaching, its headlights too bright to make out its model. There are streetlights as high as coconut trees. I see cell towers stretching into the night sky.

Have you noticed that when you place your phone to your ears, people just assume you’re making a phone call? But that’s not always the case. I mean, my phone has been at my ear and I’m not really making a phone call or anything, but I bet everyone that has walked past me thinks I am, when actually I’m just recording a post. *giggles*

One common challenge most writers need to overcome is shyness; your perception of what people think of you.

Really, I put the phone to my ear just not to draw attention. I really believe in speaking. I believe that’s the true strength of your writing, that’s your voice. Writing is just a technique to put down your voice; symbols and hieroglyphs.

Writers try so hard to look “normal”, when actually there’s nothing normal per se.

One common challenge most writers need to overcome is shyness; your perception of what people think of you. Imagine all the stress I have to go through putting my phone to my ear and I’m without my earpiece. Even if I was with my earpiece, I still would have a reservation talking out to the air (mic). People actually think you’re mad when you just talk out without a phone on your ear. Even when you have the headset on, people will still pay you a second glance, like “Oh, okay, this dude is well.” Hahahahaha!

Writers try so hard to look “normal”, when actually there’s nothing normal per se. We go through all that stress to appear normal, to not draw attention. Well, it’s understandable, because when people look at you too much, it’s a kind of distraction to your creative flow. That’s why most times you just lock yourself in a room and you write and write and write, because that’s where no one else is but you. That’s where your creative juices really stir up.


Writing could be hard. There are a million ways to write, so which do you chose? Which is more YOU? Which is more your style?

You see, there are a million questions associated with writing. It’s not just that simple. It’s not just punching keys or spilling ink. It’s way more than that.

Writing is like a lifestyle. It’s deep. It’s confusing. It’s somewhat dangerous.

The places you have to go when you write. The battles you have to fight. The mindset. The changes in mindset. It’s simply maddening.


I’ve actually forgotten how to start a post. I mean, when did writing become so hard? I’d be like,

“Say what first comes to mind.”

Then I’d be like, “Nah, that’s bullshit.”

Then I’d just keep regurgitating writing techniques.

I think what we’re most scared of is where the writing is taking us. There are just some places we don’t want to go even in the bid of expressing ourselves. Scary places, maybe, or very uncomfortable places.

But the deal is, you have to embrace a level of discomfort if you’re going to express yourself in any meaningful way.


It’s a Saturday, one of those days to relax and think about a lot of things; the things you can’t change and the things you can.

Life has always been mysterious. Like why are we even here? Is there somewhere from here? Some of the questions that keep the brain firing. I think it’s a good thing that not all questions have answers. Just imagine that we could answer all the questions in the universe, would it make for an interesting existence? Or a rather boring one.

Hi, I am a book


Phew! It’s been a while I posted here last. Mehn, it’s been up and down since I last posted here, but I gotta say it feels good. It feels good to be back, writing, expressing myself. It’s not an easy feat, but it has been in the books for a while now. The question kept panicking my mind, “When would you go back and what would you write?”

So here I am, writing, trying to make sense of things. What I can tell you right off the block is that some things have definitely changed. For one, the site title has changed from whatever it was to I AM A BOOK. Yea-yea, I know what you’re thinking right now, “I am a book… what could that even mean?” Well, it means literally. It’s a new thought, a new perspective. It’s a new attempt at trying to be more consistent in expressing myself.

I did cook something up not too long ago; a site, a question-and-answer site. I could swear the plan was crystal clear. Right now I don’t even know what I was thinking, but I did register the site’s domain on Hostgator, hosted it and all, only to ask for a refund after days of working on the site. I got a refund minus domain registration fee. Well, I couldn’t complain, for what it’s worth I got my money back.

It’s kinda discouraging when you start something new and it doesn’t work out. You kinda start losing hope in yourself, like “What the hell was I even thinking?” But the intriguing thing is that at the point of inception of your wonderful idea, it made so much sense! You could swear it had already started yielding fruit in your head, then you try it out and it’s all downhill from there.

But one idea that doesn’t fade easy is self-expression. Yea, you could get tired of expressing yourself, but it’s something you’re always hungry for. That inner peace you get when you start scripting things from nowhere. It’s almost therapeutic.

Well, guys, I’m happy to be here, to be back, to feed my meagre but growing followership my sprouts of self-expression. So, guys, hang on, read on, and till the next one. Ciao!