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Goodmorning everyone, i miss our little chit-chat about LC, hope all is well? It is with heavy heart i announce the end of a productive Era and the beginning of a new one. Some of the rumours you have recently heard are sweet but true. The only way forward now is to keep bringing you good designs and clothes you’ll all L♥√ع to wear. And to end the old era, ill be compensating consistent customers/clients with the productions on ground and an intimate update of the new era.

PS: This is not a split or grudge btwn anyone, its a management/personal decision to which details would be released soon; come April and henceforth all products of used to be LC now M’ADE will be branded and delivered as M’ADE creations which is now a even wider and more ambitious brand. Be ready to be served even better.

The details in full;

On May 19, 2010 i had a fashion show in view, basically with the clothes i own, as i sew most of them and rarely bought; it was all AIESEC (story for another day) and i was asked; what will i like my clothing line to be called? I didn’t know or have any slightest idea of what fashion designing business would be like; but i was sure of the passion and readiness; my very good friend “Adeola Ajala” came up with several names and that night nothing made sense to me, i was there just thinking of the sweetest and cutiest name i had but none made sense. I didn’t want to have a name i can’t live up to or a name that would speak less of me but then we went to sleep. The next day was a very close friend’s birthday and i got her a cake and spelt her name with emphasis on the “H” she loved it.
In another corner i was still thinking what my clothing line would be called and my friend “Esho Babatunde” said call it anything with couture behind it; i agreed then we started the search and scout for meanings, samples and illustrations. We concluded it would be “LAHYOH couture” it was hard to get used to, the pronunciation sef nawa! But even with time, it got better as people shortened it and made it sweet LC.
LC has been my first baby since the, helped me grow and taken me places, i became a better daughter, sister, cousin, friend, colleague, student, Boss 😀 and ofcourse a better designer. Before iknew it people forgot me as Maryam and remembered me as LAHYOH. In 2011, i started a small charity programme and needed a name then i thought why let my father’s name just go since he has no official/legal hier then i thought Maryam Adebola foundation, it took a long path and i am always stylish and funky so i needed something short and tush, with no time wasting, my creative mind reminded me of my secondary school days, i was sometimes called made, i never liked it because it sounded like another name then and there i thought Maryam ADEbola (hmmm).
I have always sEen myself as a special creation but everyday God shows me even better and more deserving people, and why will i say i am not specially MADE considering all his mercies and favours, so instead of made i thought M’ade(made) – asin made by God, past tense of make….As many people have noticed and started reffered to me as M’ade i really do appreciate, donot under any circumstance be confused without the ‘ . Its a signature.
On the 19th of feburary 2012, just after months of contemplation and indecisiveness, i had a reason to change my brand name from LC but whatelse could fit in if not M’ade? since ihave something on it already. Big thanks to my crew and friends in person of Adeniyi Adeyemi (@kneeyie), Matemilola ADeola (@aeyeesadeedee), Mrs kogbe Bukola, Aunty Bisis Bawslady, Ohimai Atafo (@maiatafoinspired), Mrs Tope williams (@topewilliams), Mrs Eyiyemi Olivia, Akinwande Lakanu (@wandelakanu) and many more.

I would miss everything #LC but the truth is nothing is gone, just the name. You can still call me LAHYOH!
Welcome to my M’ADE creation World!

we are all well MADE.

My Story: Ogochukwu Onuchukwu – A woman shares her story from the grave



Ogochukwu Onuchukwu (Nee Onugu). 23/10/1976 – 27/2/2012

I don’t know how to introduce what you are about to read…it’s very chilling, quite disturbing, and extremely heart wrenching. If this doesn’t make you cry, nothing else will.

A dead woman, Ogochukwu Onuchukwu (she died last month) shares her story and writes a letter to her husband from the grave. I culled the letter from her WEBSITE and wanted to share it because it’s something we all need to read and hopefully someone will learn from it. Read it below…
 My mum is crying. I can see  her from here. She has aged since the last time I saw her. Why does she look so old and why is she so thin? Can someone console her? Can someone make her stop  crying?
I try to get up but I can’t. I try to reach for her, but I’m stuck where  I am. It is very dark in here, and very cold, so very cold.
What am I doing here? Where is everybody? Where are my children? I begin to panic, to struggle;  I want to get out of this dark room. 
I can hear Uzo calling. She’s calling my name. Then, I see mum again. And I hear Uzo again. I don’t see my children. Where are my children? I can’t see beyond the walls of this dark and cold room. 
This just messed with my head…I hope you fair better. Continue reading…

Uzo calls again. 

She sounds desperate to rouse me from my sleep. I am struggling  to wake but I can’t. I open my eyes and they shut of their own accord. 
I am powerless to keep them from shutting. And I find as soon as I stop struggling,  my sleep becomes sweet repose. Suddenly I don’t want to wake from it just yet. It is peaceful.

I see mum again, and I see Uzo. Uzo keeps calling. She won’t stop calling. She is crying too, just like mum.

Can someone bring Kamsi and Amanda to me? Can someone bring my babies to me? I need to hug them, Kamsi, especially. Is he crying too and calling out for me? Does he understand that I  am gone? Kamsi will miss me. 

He is a special child, you know; Kamsiyochukwu – my son and my first child. 

I prayed and longed for his birth. He was the blessing  from above that would seal Kevin’s love for me and give me some footing in his  home and some acceptance from his family. 

 Before Kamsi, I was a nobody in Kevin’s home. I was born the last of nine children, the baby of the family. I was used to love and affection. I was  everyone’s baby. I grew up knowing that everyone had my back, I grew up knowing  the safety and security of being the baby of the home. You may then understand  my shock when I stepped out of my home and into new territory with the man of my  dreams only to find that I was really not as special as I had been made to  believe. I look back to that day when Kevin took me home to introduce me to my new family. The cold and rude shock of the welcome his brother’s wife gave me  set off an alarm in my head.

These people didn’t think I was special. In fact,  her first words were, ”Kevin, ebe   kwa ka isi dute nka?” (Kevin, “Where on earth did you bring this one from?) That would be the first time I would be addressed as “this one” and from  then on, I grappled with the realization that I was not welcome in my new home.
I remember my first Christmas  at Ihiala as a new bride. My brother-in-law’s wife would sneer and clap and  refer to me as “Ndi ji ukwu azo akwu” (the people who process palm fruits with  their bare feet). I knew she meant my impoverished home town of Nsukka. She  would sing to me all day long telling me the only reason why their brother  married me was because of my beauty and complexion.
Now, I lie here and I wonder  if I was in my right mind to ignore the several other alarms over my 12- year  union with Kevin.

 I had to ignore them, I told  myself. I had already taken my vows to be with Kevin until death did us  part.

They never really wanted me, I  can now see. But I was too blinded by love to realize that. I needed to do  something to cement Kevin’s heart with mine. I needed to remain Kevin’s wife and  to prove to the world that indeed Love would conquer  all.

 When after one year of  marriage there were still no children, the painful journey that sent me to my  grave started. I went from specialist to specialist, ingested every kind of pill  that promised to boost my fertility. As my desperation grew, so did pressure  from Kevin’s family. My horror-movie life story started playing out; the  horror-movie life that has sent me to an early and cold grave from where I write  this letter to my husband.

My sweet Kevin,

We started to fight over  little things. The fights were worse after you visited home or attended any of  your numerous family meetings. You came home one evening and asked me to move  out of the bedroom we both shared and into the guestroom downstairs. The next  time you returned from the meeting, you tied me up with a rope and used your  belt on me. No one heard my screams.

I remember when you told me  that your family had asked you to remarry. You showed me documents of all your  numerous landed property including the house we lived in. Your brother was  listed as next of kin. When I asked you about it, your answer rocked the ground  I was standing on. You said, “What have you to show that entitles you to any  stake in this household?” You were referring to my  barreness.

 It is funny how to my family  and friends, I was the beautiful and loving Ogo, whilst to you and your family I  was a worthless piece of rag. You called me barren. I could have fled but your  love and acceptance was of more worth to me than the love and admiration of the  world outside our home. I desperately sought to be loved by you, Kevin.
In your  family’s presence I felt unworthy, unloved and unwanted. Yet, I stayed on. I  would make you love me one way or the other and I knew that one sure way would
be to produce a child, an heir for you. That was the most important thing to  you.

 I began the numerous  procedures, painful procedures, including surgery. I gave myself daily shots. At  some point the needles could no longer pierce my skin. My skin had toughened to  the piercing pain of needles.

After seven years of marriage,  our prayers were answered. God blessed us with our son Kamsiyochukwu, which  means ‘’Just as I asked of the Lord’’. God had intervened and miracles were  about to start happening because for the first time in seven years, my  mother-in-law called me. Finally I was home. I had been accepted. I was now a woman, a wife and a mother. Finally there was peace. Kamsi will be four in  November.

The miracles stayed with me  because 18 months later through another procedure, Chimamanda was born. Her  birth was bitter sweet for me. Sweet because you Kevin, my husband, and my  in-laws would love me more for bearing a second child, but bitter because this  particular birth almost cost me my life. The doctors had become very concerned.  You see, I had developed too many complications from all the different  procedures I had undergone in the journey to have children and these were beginning to get in the way of normal everyday living. I developed conditions  that had almost become life threatening.   So the doctors sent me off with my new bundle of joy and with a stern  warning not to try for another child as I may not be so lucky.

I chuckled,  almost gleefully. Why would I want to try for a third child? God had given me a  boy and a girl, what more could I ask for. I was only ever so thankful to God.
Kevin, you and I gave numerous and very generous donations to different churches  in thanksgiving to God. All was well. I was happy and fulfilled. Kevin, you  loved me again. Your family accepted me. Life was good. And all was quiet again.  …………………… For a while.

 Then fate struck me a blow. As  if to remind me that my stay in your house was temporary and was never really  going to be peaceful, Kamsi – our son, our first fruit, my pride and joy and the  child that gave me a place in my husband’s home, began to show signs of slowed  development; the visits to the doctors resumed, this time on account of Kamsi.
We started seeing therapists. After we’d been from one doctor to another I  decided I had to resort to prayer. I was frightened. I was terrified. I was threatened. I started to feel unwell. I had difficulty breathing. I needed to  see my doctors, Kamsi too. He wasn’t doing too well either. He had difficulty with his speech. He was slow to comprehend things. I did not know for sure what  was wrong with him but I knew all was not well. Not with him and not with me. We
were denied visas to the USA because we had overstayed on our last trip on  account of Kamsi’s treatments. So whilst we waited for a lawyer to help us clear up the immigration issues with America, I applied for a UK visa and sought help  in London. But by then, trouble had reared its head at home, again.

Kevin, you  had again become very impatient with me. My fears were fully alive again. The  battles it seemed I had won were again in full rage. My husband, in your irritable impatience and anger, you told me to my face that our son, my Kamsi,  was worthless to you. You said he was abnormal. You said that our daughter, my Amanda, was a girl and that you had no need for a girl child because she would  someday be married off. I remember, in pain, that you didn’t attend Amanda’s christening because you were upset with me. You told me your mother was more important to you than “THESE THINGS” I brought to your house. You were referring to our children, were you not? “THESE THINGS”.

My heart bled. I wept  bitterly. Then I quickly calmed my fears by telling myself that you were under a  lot of stress at work and that you were also probably reacting to all the money  that you had spent on my treatments. Surely, all that was getting to you?  Even when you threatened me with a  knife, twice you did that, I still felt unworthy of you and very deserving of  your hatred. Even when you would say: “I will kill you and nothing will happen  because you have no one to fight for you”, I kept on struggling to get you to  love me because, Kevin, your validation was important to  me

 You had refused to give me  money for my medical trip to London. I knew then it was because you had your  hands full with caring and catering for everybody who was dear to you. Your  finances were stretched. I thought then that in time you would come around.

My health continued to get  worse. Eventually, I made it to London.   After extensive consultations and tests, I was given a definitive  diagnosis. My condition was life threatening. It was from this time, when it was  clear that I required surgery to save me life that I came face to face with a  different kind of war from our home.

Kevin, you stopped speaking with me. I was  in pain, in anguish and in tears. I didn’t understand what was happening. I had  stayed three weeks in London and Kevin, you never called, sent a text or  inquired how I was faring. You stopped taking my calls. Instead I got a call  from my cousin in whose care I had left my children. She was frantic with worry  because there was no food in the house for the children to eat; Kevin you had  refused to provide food for our children. Kevin, you had also refused to pay for  Kamsi’s home schooling.

Then Kevin, I received that e-mail from you. The only communication from you for the entire period I was in  London.
Do you remember? It was an angry email. You berated me for putting your  integrity at stake at your work place. Apparently your employers had called a  hospital in London to inquire about me and were told that no one by my name was  ever their patient. I  later found out that you had given the wrong  hospital name to your employers. Do you remember, Kevin?

For the first time in my 12  year marriage, the alarm bells in my head began to sound real. For the first  time in 12 years, I felt real anger stir up in my heart. Kevin, I was angry  because you paid no heed to the hospital where your wife was at in London. You  had no clue and cared little about what I was going through. Yet you would berate me for putting your INTEGRITY at work at stake. Your integrity was your  primary concern, not my health.

Then it hit me! All these  years I was trying to be all I could be for you, Kevin, to make you happy, to  please you, Kevin, ……… you actually hated me. You didn’t want me in your life. The signs were all there. Your family had showed me from day one that they  didn’t want me. I was the object of a hatred that I could not explain. I
couldn’t understand why.

Then I saw the hand writing on  the wall, all those many things that went on. You even sold my car whilst I was  still lying on a hospital bed in London, with no word to me. I was not to learn  of what you had done until I returned to Nigeria. The doctors had allowed me to  return to prepare for surgery.

Kevin, do you remember that on  my return I gave you a pair of shoes I had bought for you? Kevin, my husband, do  you remember hurling those shoes at me? Kevin, do you remember me breaking down  in tears? Kevin, do you remember me asking you that night, many times over, why  you hated me so much, what I had done to make you hate me as much as you did?

“You are disturbing me, and if you continue, I`ll move out and inform the  company that I no longer live in the house. Then they will come and drive you  away”. Kevin, my husband, that was your response to me. Did you know then I only  had days to live?  Is that why you  told me that would be the last time I would see you physically? Did you know it would only be a few more hours?

I still had a surgery to go  through. Kevin, since you wanted no part in it, I had contacted the medical  officer in your company directly for referrals. I left Eket for Lagos on Saturday. That same day I consulted with the specialist surgeon and surgery was  scheduled for Monday morning.

In those final hours, as I  prepared for my surgery, I was alone, my spirit was broken. I had lost all the  fight in me. Kevin, I knew that nothing I did or said would turn you heart  toward me, and I had nobody for whom you had any regards who would speak up for  me.

In those final hours, Kevin, I  called you. This was Sunday morning, less than 24 hours to my death. Do you  remember, Kevin? I called you to share what the specialist surgeon had said. I  was still shaking from your screams on the phone when I got in here. You did not  want me to bother you, you screamed. I should  go to my brothers and sisters,  you screamed. I should pay you back all the money you gave me for my treatment  in London, you screamed. Kevin, did you know that would be my last conversation  with you? My last conversation with you, my husband, my love, my life, ended  with you banging the phone on me.

Recalling the abusive words,  the spitting, the beating, the bruising, the knifing, and the promise that I  would not live long for daring to forget to buy garden eggs for your mother, an  insult you vowed I would pay for with my life ……., I knew then it was over for  me. There was no rationalizing needed any longer. Even the blind could see ………. You did not want me in your life.

 I went in for surgery on  Monday morning, February 27, 2012, and after battling for several hours, I  yielded my spirit.

Kevin, my husband, I lived my  promise to God. The promise I made on the day I wedded  you.

 For better ………………………… For  worse
 For richer …………………………. For poorer
 In Sickness ………………………. And in health
To love ………………………….. And to  cherish


And it  has.

 NOW I AM  DEAD!!!!!!!

 Just as your mum predicted …..  Her cold words follow me to morgue. She swore to me that I would leave her son’s  house dead or alive. I couldn’t leave whilst I still breathed. It had to be  through death, and death it has  become.

 Kevin, you are FREE! And, so am I.

Your freedom is temporary.  Mine is eternal.

Whilst you still have freedom, remember Kamsi and Chimamanda.

Lovingly yours until death,

I am gone. Gone forever. But  if one woman, just one woman will learn from my story, then maybe I would not  have gone in vain.

My heart weeps for my children, my mummy, my sisters and my brothers, my extended family. These ones,  I was a gift to. These ones, they loved me. These ones, they wanted me. These  ones, they needed me. These ones, they wish I had spoken out earlier.

Written by someone who was part of her life and witnessed her struggles. RIP Ogo.

we are all well MADE.

My personal witch…


Last sunday, the 18th of March 2012 was one i wish would last for 1week or even more as people showed there L♥√ع by pictures, display pictures, personal messages, tweets, facebook updates and so on to express themselves.
It was mother’s day and just like few weeks ago that everyone anticipated the valentines day, am sure most would also gladly celebrate the next mother’s day as they would be one (may be me teew *wink*).. And also a brodacast was circulated to celebrate the great mothers that have gone with time (May God receive them and bless the souls they left behind)

This is what you said about your mother;

She’s d best that culd happen tpo me,cos she culd die for me,I love her to my marrow<3<3…Happy Mother's Day :-yetnat

Shout out to all the great and amazing mothers♥ happy mothers day. Today is not just about your mother but to all GREAT MOTHERS out thereO:)-moblak

To the best Mum in d world -nature gurl

Happy moda's day mum's mi:Dmay u live longer 4 meO:) luv ya scarra<3<3 :*| -diddy holla

Happy Mother's day 2 d best I eva had,May d lord protect yu 4 mi nd may yu live long 2 enjoy d fruit of Ūя̲̅ labour…O:):* -valerie

She's a Queen & a mother to all, with the personality & character of an angel, she's so BEAUTIFUL & VERY HUMBLE & I'm so BLESSED to call her my MOTHER–Its hard growing up without a father, but its easy when you have a fantastic mother who plays both roles. Happy Mothers Day. -Woody

Even when scared for me, she chooses to believe in my ability to choose right! Faith & Trust in her son! #HappyMumDay. -EL

Orisa bi ya kosi, iya niwura iyebiye, luv u ma inestimable jewel. Apy Mothers Day to all d women dat r worthy of been called a MOTHER({}) -miss perry

She's eXtra Terrestrial! She's my mother! HMD ❤ || I go dance o, let noin trouble my mind o, leave all my worries behind o, its time to CELEBRATE!!! -Abdul abolore

Iya mi TOH sexy,Toh badt,toh classy,toh Sure…happy Mothers day!!:* wl make u pwoud.. -MOTEE

Thanks for everything,Mom! <3<3 ({}) -TDS

E bami kira fun maama mii<3<3 :* D̶̲̥̅̊ best mum i̶̲̥̅̊n̶̲̥̅̊ D̶̲̥̅̊ world luv u mum:* ({}), My Jewel, best friend and confidant. -Kareemat

Iya mi aduke, oni wura owan oshey bibi to bi mi, oshey tito to tomi, emi gigun nimo toro fun e lati jeun omoO:) – LC

Iya ni iya adisa i luv u baje baje happy mother's day mum({}):- alican

…..Peace n Blessing 2 ma Mama….n all mothers-oyinameen

Iya ni wura,tnks so mch for evryfyn uve done in my lyfe,I ll always cherish u,ede ma jehun omo,lov u gannnnn<3<3without er dres no me(confirm) -tyty

Sometimes I wonder where do mothers come 4m, always lovin,carin etc but Girls of Nowadays are totally opposite *sigh*are dey d future modas?-Torba

Shez simply the Best – feranmi

What do i think about my mother? Well that's a story for another day; because she's just a maxi me, she's a hand full of different good things and of course, she can be interestingly annoying. You know, that awkward moment when your mum still gets angry at the fact that you not having dinner, its just so (i can't think of a word to use) or is it the time she calls me once in every 2hours to know how am doing, oh maybe on Wednesdays when its my Cds and she keeps forgetting and still disturbs my peaceful sleep. Its annoying but sweet that she still looks out for me.
She just won't agree that am no more that little girl she used to tell everything, but i just L♥√ع her so much, her prayers keeps me going, her wishes are just superb. I call her " my personal witch" she seems to know things before they happen or even when i don't tell her about it, i am a loner in my house but then she makes me talk.
She's also an olofofo, she can like to gbeborun when am having a conversation but best of all she's not just my mum, she's a mother!

Can't really say much but i can assure you "she's the best of the best" and she's a mother to all.

Happy Mother's Day… Mothers should be celebrated everyday, they the true drivers of life!

we are all well MADE.

Bloody Friday….


I woke up to my messy self, as always whenever am having my red days of the month, had to change 2wice in the office and its just 12noon, was wondering if the remaining saver I had would last me till 5pm but yea like i was advised “be hopeful” i was and it failed, only for me to get up and my yellow well trimmed M’ADE gown was all bottom red, i was furious and concluded i just have to go home, got a scalf and with my 3bags i headed to the bustop, i was there for over 30mins and no taxi, then i started getting frustrated (as usual, the impatient me) but you can save your judgements, i was in δ middle of a mess with the linen of my womb pinching me and squeezing like a skinned cow. At last one came.
I was home in 6minutes, re-directing my customers to meet me at city mall since i left work early.
I showered and off i go again, like always. Am on the road 12hours/day other hours i barely sleep, brainstorming and having to do all my work ALONE! In the recent days of my life, i feel very alone, not cause i don’t have people around me but i just don’t get what i give and that hurts, well most people think its cause am single but that hurts more that after years and years they still don’t know me, well am more productive as a single lady and I’ll like to keep that pace for a longer while.
After over an hour of waiting i finally meet princess Barbie and yeah she turned out sweet and welcoming so as earlier planned i couldn’t vex at her for keeping me waiting. I left the mall after trying like 4bikes and they said NO. Then my black angel came and he decided to take me home, we were halfway home when i remembered that i was hungry and told him to take me back to the mall to get my food. He clearly wasn’t a rough rider and all of sudden a lady was going to cross, the bike man in front of us tried to avoid her and he ran into our own lane, i know the bike man tried so hard but our bike fell to δ left side and i rolled off, i was very dizzy and as i was about standing up because cars were coming behind us, it was like a vision and i just said “lahi lah ilalahu” i thought that was the end, and i turned away, the car stopped but on my back and my jaw hit the bike.
For a moment i was wondering what happened but i was on my feet, my blackberry was held tight and my cash too, and all i know is blood was gushing (you know like those yoruba movie when a lady loses her pregnancy) i tried to walk and i couldn’t, passer bys came rushing to us as the foolish bike men argued which was just annoying and the useless prado owner kept on with his phone call and drove off and the only thing i kept saying was “Alhamdulilah” i sat on the pavement for consciousness and was ready to leave. You know they say “person wey motor jam, na motor go carry am commot” i had to call another bike to take me to an hospital. Right there and then i saw the deep cut on my ankle, then i started feeling cold and dizzy, i was strong (i had to be) getting to the hospital i had to deposit 15k before anything (ontop wetin na) i was forced to leave to go to my family hospital on the mainland, but darn, that ride was long, i had to scream at the taxi man to hurry not minding my phobia for 3rd mainland bridge.
I got there safe, my ankle was stitched (i made a video), my butt was stitched and my knee was bandaged. Only to wakeup to realise my whole back hurts and my mum is out to get us a living because i made them believe i was fine.

Then, i realised i wasn’t fine but who cared enough to realise my staus updates and even though all i can think of was how i won’t disappoint my clients and how i won’t stress my mum at the end of saturday i realised nobody really cares, they only want updates, no one came to check me, had to go to the hospital alone again? Yes. All my friends were busy, atleast the once i told, and the rest just didn’t notice, its saturday, everyone is grooving( i can’t really blame them). I have jumped bikes, rode miles just to see a friend down with flu but then i can barely walk and i can’t even get someone to get me lunch? Pathetic, had to wait for my mum. I might not call people but i secretly look out for them. During the course of my lamentation; a friend said no matter what 3people care about you. And i said i know, my mum, and my 2 sisters who are not around.

Am glad you were not obligated to write RIP or come to my house by force to pay homage but now that am forced to live by the book that says “no one really cares if they not getting something, its all the struggles of life- survival of the fittest”. I hope the true friends can finally find there way into my life….

And am grateful to the few that cared so much but can’t make it down. And am sad i can’t make “Encomium’s WHITE GIG” but you know what? Am still very much around to flood your updates , make a name and keep blogging about my life and yours :p

we are all well MADE.



Many people say that maturity in relationship means not getting angry when he does not call, she does not text and no one beeps the other. They say it is immature to argue but I posit that how else can misunderstandings be resolved? You try to make excuses for lapses as ‘little’ as she missing a date without saying why and you feel that that is maturity. You try to reason out why she has not so much has beeped you in days instead of just going the easy way and calling him to know why.
‘He will understand’ or ‘she understands me’ has become the safe way to lie, cheat and do all sorts on the other party. We have sacrificed the necessary feistiness between couples that bring their relationship alive and make them ever more close to each other on this altar of ‘maturity’.
I strongly believe that there is just too much of ‘understanding’ that a relationship can and should take. A damsel should be comfortable with asking her dude why he did not take her out as he promised without the dude going “oh, she is starting to become jealous” and he begins his explanation with “baby, you need to understand that…” and the list goes on.
I do realize the fact that there are immature people but the problem starts when we begin to explain every action away on that premise. So I say, fight when necessary, argue things out, stop making excuses for each other because by God that is what love is about!

BY: Timothy Olawale @lestat058

blue balls..


Well, sitting on this couch i wish my mum would just change or i get a raise to atleast change, its so old and freaking uncomfortable but guess what, am always sitting on it and my boyfriend(ouch my ex) like us cuddling on it, guess that’s why I still sit on it. Sad me, by the way, at the moment am so sad and angry, I think am more of angry than sad. Cause generally am a sad little puppy. That takes me back to blue balls, i would really L♥√ع to explain what i learnt in biology and human behaviour (my grandma just interrupted-now am more angry) dnt ask.. Anyways as i was saying, where was i sef(checking) yeah science; it says that ‘blue balls’ is this testicular pain that happens due to prolonged and unsatisfied sexual satisfaction sometimes could be ojukokoro or irresistance of a particular brand of gal e.g ME(yeah dnt change face, am very sexy! Ask my bedmates)..
I don’t quite know how to describe the face but I’ll try…. It’s the puppy dog face …that sad pity face….meets desperation meets frustration..its all of them all rolled into one and it’s a not so pleasant looking face.
And at that moment, especially, if you are alone with the guy, he would go on his knees and start begging, i for one don’t enjoy that episode of my series with such guy cos i pity people a lot but not when am not in the mood. Then he goes, baby, why are you doing this to me, don’t you L♥√ع me anymore; wow! Sex is so cheap its now compared or used to express L♥√ع. Anyways, he starts getting aggressive unknown to him thou, and you like dele you’re hurting me, he snaps off and begs you with all sincerity saying am sorry. He’s at the verge of almost crying( i just wonder if its as much pain as menstral pain-i doubt). Anyways you look down at him on his knees and you just in fear stand up as Junior is already up, you wanna go but he’s begging.They look like they are in pain and are gonna pass out ….how u have to give them several blows to the head sometimes after shouting NO for them to come to their senses…..why they have to, need to come up with hilarious fibs to get a piece of the action…….
Seriouzly, why beg, you L♥√ع someone and wana make L♥√ع to em, make em want you. Don’t beg, as a temperamental asshole like me, i won’t give in, if i don’t want to. Cos begging stirrs up my anger. I remmebr one dude like that i got really close to, asin very close (stop thinking- yet) we jammed on bbm and we started chatting and all, we did some really nasty stuffs and we then agreed to meet, seeing him, he’s cute( ion deal with the ugly ones) and i just wanted to kiss his soft lips, iwas praying he doesn’t touch me cos am defeated by soft palms, you know they make me go gaga. So after a while i noticed he was staring too much and the look on his face was asif he wanted me to look at something and i did, his peninsula was saying hi to me and ion like that kind of Hi (same annoying hi i get from one of my co-workers i just hate- okay dislike) iwas trying to be nice and said “oh sweet, this isn’t happening” and he started the whole beg( ouch u got it wrong) he starts the whole am not going in, just want to rub the tip, okay suck me, please just touch me (hian, WTF) i had to spill it- am on my period dude! Oh don’t worry, ill use a condom(gross) with great surprise on my face i was like u weren’t gonna use 1 b4? Wow! Am out! Well he tried to stop me nd i hit my shoe on hs head, that was the last time i saw him but we still talk, am just a nice gurl- sure he’s reading this (just incase someone tried to rape me, ya’ll lawyers, soldiers, razzoferian friends ihave be at alert!
That’s just the height, most guys go as far as raping their girlfriends/fiancee all due to this stupid urge of urs. Am nt saying girls don’t get it, but i trust those homosapiens we knw our way around, we talj dirty, send pictures etc (thou stupid but we don’t have to beg) you come right at our feets.
Guys need to learn to stay ontop of there games and be romantic…ur blue balls time is as disgusting as our PMS time is to you!

What’s δ craziest fin u’ve heard frm sum1 wu thinks he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get laid?

we are all well MADE.


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After a long slow start week, the 2012 Arise Magazine Fashion Week is over!
The climax of the fashion week is the annual Arise Magazine Fashion Week Awards. The winners were literally announced moments ago and as always.

2012 Arise Magazine Fashion Week Awards – The Winners
Designer(s) of the Year: Maki Oh | KLuK CGDT
Style Icon of the Year: Oluchi Onweagba-Orlandi
Male Model of the Year: Dudley O’Shaughnessy
Female Model of the Year: Georgie Badiel
Womenswear Designer of the Year: Tsemaye Binitie
Menswear Designer of the Year: PETROU\MAN
Fashion Brand of the Year: Temple Muse
Innovative Designer(s) of the Year: Odio Mimonet | David David

Young Designer of the Year: LaQuan Smith
Emerging Designer of the Year: Loza Maléombho

Lifetime Achievement Award: Ozwald Boateng

Designers heading to New York for the ARISE Show at the Spring/Summer Mercedes Benz Fashion Week in September 2012

Tiffany Amber
Maki Oh
Ozwald Boateng
Tsemaye Binitie
Gavin Rajah


conratulations to you all, cant wait to be called too *grin*

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