I love negativity. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a negative person. Yet somehow, I always seem to be surrounded by negative energy. At first it bugged me and used to tear me down but when I realised that me getting depressed about it, didn't stop it, I found a way to turn all that energy into something amazing. Why are people so negative? I don't know. Maybe the emotion is a mixture of Jealousy and fear of the unknown. Maybe its not. What I do know is that, negative energy can give you your greatest push yet, if you let it. OR, it can push you off the edge, if you let it. Stay with me, I'll explain.
You see, negativity is a cue that you are doing something right or on your way to doing something great. You may say, but Dara, most people get negative energy so why aren't they all great? Well, I agree, most people or a large number of people receive a lot of negative energy but most of them do not or can't rise above it. Worse, they don't know how to convert this energy. I've grown to love negative energy. When I tell people I want to be a media mogul, I almost pray they don't believe it. I love it so much when someone says, "you can't" or "its not possible". Even better, "you're wasting your time". There is something so motivating about negative words. However, the mind has to be trained or turned into a converter. It won't be easy at all but you have to get to the point where you believe(with all your heart) that the greatest people have the fiercest battles. And, they are the greatest because they win. Many great people die without realising the greatness on the inside of them. As if all the battles aren't tough enough, other people's negativity then comes to kill the little hope they have left. Cruel? Absolutely. Yet somehow to win, you must learn to not only maintain that hope, but change it from little, to mighty. How? By converting the killer (negativity) into probably the strongest member of your army.
My point? Change the negative energy around you to positive energy and use it to propel you further!
Have a wonderful day!!
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes.
Thursday 27 June 2013
Wednesday 26 June 2013
Being beautiful.
What is beautiful? This word seems to be slowly consuming us. Everybody wants to be beautiful. The make-up and fashion industries are soaring. We spend precious time and money adorning ourselves just to be beautiful. Yet, somehow, millions of us do not still believe we deserve to be described with this word. I googled "beautiful?" and it came up with about 1,760,000,000 results. One word. So many meanings. I really don't want to add any more meanings to this word, so I'll go straight to the point.
Why is there an obsession with this word? Its a pity. It really is. Something so temporary. Why does something that ends the moment we die control our minds so much? As a little girl, I remember praying "Dear God, please just make my face beautiful and I'll be happy." I remember wishing people saw me and went "wow, Dara is beautiful." From as young as 6 years old, I knew being beautiful was a great thing. How? I'm not quite sure. Last night, as I tossed and turned in my bed unable to sleep, I couldn't help but say that prayer again. However, I said my "heart" instead of my face (afterall, I'd been praying about my face for so long, if God was going to answer that prayer, he'd have answered it a long time ago) so the prayer went thus "Dear God, please just give me a beautiful heart and I'll be happy." Yet after saying that prayer and with my 19th birthday barely 2 months away, I still felt like I didn't really know what a beautiful heart is. I mean, we all know what a beautiful face looks like. The media never fails to educate us on that but I can't help thinking what will happen if, the media fed us with what beautiful hearts look like, the way what beautiful faces look like, is constantly being shoved down our throats. Will we be just as obsessed with the word as we all seem now?
The more I pondered on this topic, the more restless I became. On my quest to found out more about this word, I turned to my buddy, youtube. Before I searched anything, I just scrolled down my home page looking for anything with the word beautiful, and right at the bottom of the page, was a Nollywood movie called "beautiful soul." Skeptical but relieved, I checked how long the movie was (part 1 and 2) and checked my time. It was 2:15am and both parts came to about 2 hours, 20 minutes or so. I let out a sigh and began watching.
At about half past four am, it ended. My mind in a completely different place from where it was when I began. I won't share the details because I honestly don't have the strength to tell the story but I can say that it was watching that movie that inspired this post. Yes, I was thinking about the word but I wasn't sure what it really meant and I didn't want to put up anything too cliche so I didn't think this post was going to happen. However, with a completely new perspective on this word, I can quite confidently define beautiful as selflessness. A truly beautiful person is a truly selfless person. Selfless acts are beautiful. Just imagine if we were 'programmed' to view our acts of pure undiluted love as beautiful instead of our faces or/and bodies. Maybe, just maybe, there'll be a few more selfless people in this world.
I've been fortunate to have quite a number of selfless people around me and believe you me, there's something about them I couldn't really describe before now. They glow far more beautifully than mac has ever made anyone glow. There really is nothing more beautiful than watching them give themselves and their resources away. Selflessly. So in a world where beauty products come out everyday either for "maintaining your beautiful youth" or "bringing out the beauty goddess in you" why not look for the beauty that never ever fades. Best part? Its free and it carries on long after we die! Try selflessness and you won't be disappointed. When your beautiful face and body are long gone, your selfless acts linger on.
Have a wonderful day beautiful people!
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes.
Why is there an obsession with this word? Its a pity. It really is. Something so temporary. Why does something that ends the moment we die control our minds so much? As a little girl, I remember praying "Dear God, please just make my face beautiful and I'll be happy." I remember wishing people saw me and went "wow, Dara is beautiful." From as young as 6 years old, I knew being beautiful was a great thing. How? I'm not quite sure. Last night, as I tossed and turned in my bed unable to sleep, I couldn't help but say that prayer again. However, I said my "heart" instead of my face (afterall, I'd been praying about my face for so long, if God was going to answer that prayer, he'd have answered it a long time ago) so the prayer went thus "Dear God, please just give me a beautiful heart and I'll be happy." Yet after saying that prayer and with my 19th birthday barely 2 months away, I still felt like I didn't really know what a beautiful heart is. I mean, we all know what a beautiful face looks like. The media never fails to educate us on that but I can't help thinking what will happen if, the media fed us with what beautiful hearts look like, the way what beautiful faces look like, is constantly being shoved down our throats. Will we be just as obsessed with the word as we all seem now?
The more I pondered on this topic, the more restless I became. On my quest to found out more about this word, I turned to my buddy, youtube. Before I searched anything, I just scrolled down my home page looking for anything with the word beautiful, and right at the bottom of the page, was a Nollywood movie called "beautiful soul." Skeptical but relieved, I checked how long the movie was (part 1 and 2) and checked my time. It was 2:15am and both parts came to about 2 hours, 20 minutes or so. I let out a sigh and began watching.
At about half past four am, it ended. My mind in a completely different place from where it was when I began. I won't share the details because I honestly don't have the strength to tell the story but I can say that it was watching that movie that inspired this post. Yes, I was thinking about the word but I wasn't sure what it really meant and I didn't want to put up anything too cliche so I didn't think this post was going to happen. However, with a completely new perspective on this word, I can quite confidently define beautiful as selflessness. A truly beautiful person is a truly selfless person. Selfless acts are beautiful. Just imagine if we were 'programmed' to view our acts of pure undiluted love as beautiful instead of our faces or/and bodies. Maybe, just maybe, there'll be a few more selfless people in this world.
I've been fortunate to have quite a number of selfless people around me and believe you me, there's something about them I couldn't really describe before now. They glow far more beautifully than mac has ever made anyone glow. There really is nothing more beautiful than watching them give themselves and their resources away. Selflessly. So in a world where beauty products come out everyday either for "maintaining your beautiful youth" or "bringing out the beauty goddess in you" why not look for the beauty that never ever fades. Best part? Its free and it carries on long after we die! Try selflessness and you won't be disappointed. When your beautiful face and body are long gone, your selfless acts linger on.
Have a wonderful day beautiful people!
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes.
Friday 21 June 2013
Upper class
Who are the real upper class? Are they the people that throw parties every weekend or the people that drive around in the most swanky cars? Are they the people that hoard obscene amounts of money in various accounts scattered around the world? Are they the people that live like kings and queens? Are they the people in government pocketing silly amounts of money?
I couldn't sleep last night. Those questions swam around my head. I know both my grandparents and parents are upper class but does that make me upper class by default? I also know that my parents do not hoard obscene amounts of money in accounts all over the world. "New money, upstarts and opportunists" are words I grew up hearing. My grandparents and parents used these words so freely to describe all the people mentioned in the first paragraph. I understand that upper class people own things instead of working for other people and its something you're born into. Does this mean if I buy a bookshop, I'm upper class? Or my children will be? Afterall, I own it. And they'll be born into it. Growing up, I remember my nannies being told off for me getting a bit of chocolate on my new dress. Was it really their fault?
Maybe that's why I'm constantly trying to defy this system. From infancy, I was my mother's most clumsy child and her only daughter that was a tomboy. Furthermore, I was a Yoruba child more interested in Igbo than Yoruba. Something my parents had not seen nor heard before. Of all their seven children, I stick out like a sore thump. People that meet me first and then meet any of my siblings always say "omg, I can't believe those are your siblings, they are so different from you Dara." Honestly, I see it as a compliment. Is it bad that there's something about being crass I love so much? Ofcourse I'd never ever be crass at a party. Especially not a family party. No, no, no. After, maybe. But during, I've got to be in form, displaying the highest level of sophistication. Afterall, the family are the stars of that show.
My maternal grandpa's 70th was my major introduction. I was 8 years old. I remember it like it was yesterday. Preparations for that day started just before my 7th years old birthday. Two weeks to the day, my mother called me into her room and ran through all my manners, sternly reminding me I'm not a boy. God forbid I broke a glass or spilt my chapman down my beautiful dress. Thankfully, I didn't. But still, I left that venue with only one shoe and one earring. My mother couldn't care less about the shoe but my word, that earring. She told that story to anyone willing to listen. I titled it, "how Dara misplaced her silver swarovski earring." I was 8 for crying out loud.
By the time I turned 10, I had an amazing birthday party which in hindsight was probably my send off party because barely a month after that day I was whisked off to what my mother called a "boot camp training school" I remember crying myself to sleep for 2 months after I got there. It was hell. I was with people I didn't even know existed. In the middle of nowhere in Nigeria. It was the opposite of everything and anything I had known. I woke up crying everyday wondering how my parents could be so wicked. Previously, I had thought Lagos was Nigeria and Nigeria was Lagos. I mean I was taught the 36 states of Nigeria at school but it was just something I needed to know. It wasn't real. My parents took me from Lagos to England. From Lagos to America. From Lagos to Italy. From Lagos to France. And then back to Lagos. Travelling meant leaving the country. I couldn't believe you could travel to anywhere outside Lagos in Nigeria. I mean, I didn't believe there was anywhere outside Lagos in Nigeria. That is, until I got to this "boot camp training school". At age 10, the normal thing would have been for me to go to England to start prep school. However my mother said she sent me to Ogun state because I was so badly behaved. That was when and where my life changed.
The people at this school came from Warri, Edo, Portharcourt and all over Nigeria. I met people who had never been to Lagos and nearly collapsed. I had to wash my own clothes, make my own bed and get up at 5.20am everyday. There was no hot water or running water. I had to share my room with 3 other people. I wasn't allowed my phone, to bring food from my house nor any money. No laptop, no internet. I saw the other side of life. Everybody from my grandparents to my aunties and uncles begged my parents to remove me from that "jungle" but my very strong willed mother fought them off. My mother left Lagos to start prep school in England at 10 years old and my father left Lagos to go to a private boarding school in America at 12. How could they possibly understand how miserable I was? My 1st year there was horrible. I cried every single day and night. The other children noticed how weak I was and used that to torture me. My second year there was a tiny bit better. I cried every other day. My third (and last) year there was the best year. Still horrible but better than the first two. I cried twice every week. A lot of tears, I know but I definitely left there a changed Dara. Maybe my parents just got tired of my tears or maybe they actually started seeing some change, I don't know. But after my 3rd year there and at the age of 13, they finally moved me to England to start my school.
Ofcourse something had shifted in me. I wasn't the regular Nigerian upper class girl coming to England kind again. I was the Ogun state school-girl coming to England with all happiness and gratitude to God. At long last. It was literally heaven. There was running water, hot water. I had a room to myself at school. I woke up at 7.15am, everyone was so nice and polite. I had pocket money every weekend. I had my new phone, could eat anything I wanted and went to bed early. There was internet and I could go shopping every week. Heaven. A few of the people I went to primary school with in Lagos (the fellow "upper class kids") were just starting to come to England then too but I honestly couldn't care less. I saw the pictures of parties they had in London on facebook and I'd be lying if I said wasn't jealous however, something had changed in me. Was I still upper class, I think so. I mean, I was in the boot camp for only three years. My family was still my family and I was still a Lagos girl. But my friends had changed and my former friends, had become pictures at parties on facebook. Seeing I had lost all my "upper class" (many of which my parents described their parents as new money and upstarts) friends, I turned my energy into getting to know the people that were not upper class.
At this point I had left Ogun state, so the closest I got to the "middle or lower classes" were my parents staff. And I only saw them when I was on holidays in Lagos. Nonetheless, I spent most of my time in the kitchen with the cook or house keeper, learning how to cook and clean. My two younger sisters that went to England with me (at 11 and 9 years old) couldn't understand why I spent so much time with the staff. After dinner at the table every evening, I was the only child who thanked both parents for the food and washed my plate with the househelp. Did this mean I had become a middle or lower class girl? I don't know. However I do know, it grew compassion in my heart towards people less fortunate than I. Maybe, my mind is middle class, or maybe its upper class, I don't care. What I do care about is using all the privileges God has given me in life to help other people.
My family is made up of lawyers and doctors on my maternal and paternal side so it was only natural for me to gravitate towards law (I hated maths). Whenever people asked me why I wanted to do law, my reply was, I want to help people. Two years ago, I had an epiphany. My family has and had some very great lawyers however, this doesn't mean I'll be one. This was when I set out to find my 'own calling.' Now I'm doing Media and Communications and I LOVE every second of it. My grandpa is still quite weary of this decision even after my first year of uni has just ended. On seeing my obstinate drive and ambition, my parents have turned into my no 1 fans and I really am thankful to them.
When I set out writing this post, I had no idea who the upper class were except that my family are in that class and now, at the end, I still don't know who they are exactly. But I do know that, truly being upper class is a thing of the mind. Something that you don't fight to acquire. Its something that you just have and its something that can't be taken away from you. The how's and why's, still elude me.
Have a wonderful day!!
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes. X
I couldn't sleep last night. Those questions swam around my head. I know both my grandparents and parents are upper class but does that make me upper class by default? I also know that my parents do not hoard obscene amounts of money in accounts all over the world. "New money, upstarts and opportunists" are words I grew up hearing. My grandparents and parents used these words so freely to describe all the people mentioned in the first paragraph. I understand that upper class people own things instead of working for other people and its something you're born into. Does this mean if I buy a bookshop, I'm upper class? Or my children will be? Afterall, I own it. And they'll be born into it. Growing up, I remember my nannies being told off for me getting a bit of chocolate on my new dress. Was it really their fault?
Maybe that's why I'm constantly trying to defy this system. From infancy, I was my mother's most clumsy child and her only daughter that was a tomboy. Furthermore, I was a Yoruba child more interested in Igbo than Yoruba. Something my parents had not seen nor heard before. Of all their seven children, I stick out like a sore thump. People that meet me first and then meet any of my siblings always say "omg, I can't believe those are your siblings, they are so different from you Dara." Honestly, I see it as a compliment. Is it bad that there's something about being crass I love so much? Ofcourse I'd never ever be crass at a party. Especially not a family party. No, no, no. After, maybe. But during, I've got to be in form, displaying the highest level of sophistication. Afterall, the family are the stars of that show.
My maternal grandpa's 70th was my major introduction. I was 8 years old. I remember it like it was yesterday. Preparations for that day started just before my 7th years old birthday. Two weeks to the day, my mother called me into her room and ran through all my manners, sternly reminding me I'm not a boy. God forbid I broke a glass or spilt my chapman down my beautiful dress. Thankfully, I didn't. But still, I left that venue with only one shoe and one earring. My mother couldn't care less about the shoe but my word, that earring. She told that story to anyone willing to listen. I titled it, "how Dara misplaced her silver swarovski earring." I was 8 for crying out loud.
By the time I turned 10, I had an amazing birthday party which in hindsight was probably my send off party because barely a month after that day I was whisked off to what my mother called a "boot camp training school" I remember crying myself to sleep for 2 months after I got there. It was hell. I was with people I didn't even know existed. In the middle of nowhere in Nigeria. It was the opposite of everything and anything I had known. I woke up crying everyday wondering how my parents could be so wicked. Previously, I had thought Lagos was Nigeria and Nigeria was Lagos. I mean I was taught the 36 states of Nigeria at school but it was just something I needed to know. It wasn't real. My parents took me from Lagos to England. From Lagos to America. From Lagos to Italy. From Lagos to France. And then back to Lagos. Travelling meant leaving the country. I couldn't believe you could travel to anywhere outside Lagos in Nigeria. I mean, I didn't believe there was anywhere outside Lagos in Nigeria. That is, until I got to this "boot camp training school". At age 10, the normal thing would have been for me to go to England to start prep school. However my mother said she sent me to Ogun state because I was so badly behaved. That was when and where my life changed.
The people at this school came from Warri, Edo, Portharcourt and all over Nigeria. I met people who had never been to Lagos and nearly collapsed. I had to wash my own clothes, make my own bed and get up at 5.20am everyday. There was no hot water or running water. I had to share my room with 3 other people. I wasn't allowed my phone, to bring food from my house nor any money. No laptop, no internet. I saw the other side of life. Everybody from my grandparents to my aunties and uncles begged my parents to remove me from that "jungle" but my very strong willed mother fought them off. My mother left Lagos to start prep school in England at 10 years old and my father left Lagos to go to a private boarding school in America at 12. How could they possibly understand how miserable I was? My 1st year there was horrible. I cried every single day and night. The other children noticed how weak I was and used that to torture me. My second year there was a tiny bit better. I cried every other day. My third (and last) year there was the best year. Still horrible but better than the first two. I cried twice every week. A lot of tears, I know but I definitely left there a changed Dara. Maybe my parents just got tired of my tears or maybe they actually started seeing some change, I don't know. But after my 3rd year there and at the age of 13, they finally moved me to England to start my school.
Ofcourse something had shifted in me. I wasn't the regular Nigerian upper class girl coming to England kind again. I was the Ogun state school-girl coming to England with all happiness and gratitude to God. At long last. It was literally heaven. There was running water, hot water. I had a room to myself at school. I woke up at 7.15am, everyone was so nice and polite. I had pocket money every weekend. I had my new phone, could eat anything I wanted and went to bed early. There was internet and I could go shopping every week. Heaven. A few of the people I went to primary school with in Lagos (the fellow "upper class kids") were just starting to come to England then too but I honestly couldn't care less. I saw the pictures of parties they had in London on facebook and I'd be lying if I said wasn't jealous however, something had changed in me. Was I still upper class, I think so. I mean, I was in the boot camp for only three years. My family was still my family and I was still a Lagos girl. But my friends had changed and my former friends, had become pictures at parties on facebook. Seeing I had lost all my "upper class" (many of which my parents described their parents as new money and upstarts) friends, I turned my energy into getting to know the people that were not upper class.
At this point I had left Ogun state, so the closest I got to the "middle or lower classes" were my parents staff. And I only saw them when I was on holidays in Lagos. Nonetheless, I spent most of my time in the kitchen with the cook or house keeper, learning how to cook and clean. My two younger sisters that went to England with me (at 11 and 9 years old) couldn't understand why I spent so much time with the staff. After dinner at the table every evening, I was the only child who thanked both parents for the food and washed my plate with the househelp. Did this mean I had become a middle or lower class girl? I don't know. However I do know, it grew compassion in my heart towards people less fortunate than I. Maybe, my mind is middle class, or maybe its upper class, I don't care. What I do care about is using all the privileges God has given me in life to help other people.
My family is made up of lawyers and doctors on my maternal and paternal side so it was only natural for me to gravitate towards law (I hated maths). Whenever people asked me why I wanted to do law, my reply was, I want to help people. Two years ago, I had an epiphany. My family has and had some very great lawyers however, this doesn't mean I'll be one. This was when I set out to find my 'own calling.' Now I'm doing Media and Communications and I LOVE every second of it. My grandpa is still quite weary of this decision even after my first year of uni has just ended. On seeing my obstinate drive and ambition, my parents have turned into my no 1 fans and I really am thankful to them.
When I set out writing this post, I had no idea who the upper class were except that my family are in that class and now, at the end, I still don't know who they are exactly. But I do know that, truly being upper class is a thing of the mind. Something that you don't fight to acquire. Its something that you just have and its something that can't be taken away from you. The how's and why's, still elude me.
Have a wonderful day!!
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes. X
Thursday 20 June 2013
Waiting
I hate waiting. I mean, why should we still have to wait in this our generation? We are the NOW generation, aren't we? We shouldn't and yes we are. However, I don't think life got the memo. It still forces that bitter pill called waiting, down our throats. As a child, I kicked and fussed and threw tantrums but the older I've gotten, the more I've realised how important and critical it is to take that wait pill. Its still bitter and I still hate it, but I have definitely found that most times, greatness/success can only come after an intensive period of waiting.
Waiting for the kettle to boil, (or for my train to arrive, or for the plane to take off) still annoys the hell out of me and probably will till the day I leave this earth. Nonetheless, I really do believe that there are certain moves/decisions that we take, that can ONLY prosper after we have waited. Please stay with me. You see, waiting helps us put things in perspective. It also forces you to think that next move through, thoroughly. One reason I believe so many people failed is because, they thought of something, great idea, planned it, and jumped into it.
Like the oven bakes the cake, so do our minds need time to bake our next moves. Most times, many of us are forced into the waiting room by life and we have absolutely no option but to wait in there. What you do in that waiting room will determine whether you step out into greatness or mediocrity. I walked into a hospital waiting room and sat down. I like to observe people so it didn't take long before I discovered something. Everybody in the room was waiting for something, but waited very different. Some people(myself included) sat down, looking very bored. Some people were flicking through the old magazines put there by the hospital, mainly to pass the time. Some people were doing what I suppose is their work. Some were reading books they brought along and finally some people were pacing the room.
Me in that waiting room that day, really did help me picture life's waiting room in my head. Life WILL put you into that room at one point or another and what you do in that room determines how you come out or what happens when you come out. The wisest people or the group of people I wish I was amongst in that waiting room were the people doing work or reading. The people pacing represent the people who hate waiting. They just want to be out of that room. Whether they are stepping out to hear good news or bad news. Success or failure. They hope its success, but waste their time in the waiting room, pacing. Instead of praying and working.
Here's another perspective. Most times, that waiting room is not a room but an awning. Still exposing us to the harsh winds. In waiting places like this, the people are all forced to stand and find better shelter. Waiting places like this represent strong adversities that beset some people while they wait. Maybe that's why these people from this waiting place tend to be the most successful. Afterall, adversity really is the foundation of success. Successful and inwardly beautiful people do not just happen. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross told us in,
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
Back to my example of the oven. That's another waiting place and its hot. Very hot. Here, you just have to go through that painful process but when you come out, you will be complete and ready.
"Sometimes things have to go wrong in order to go right.”-Sherrilyn Kenyon
In conclusion, If your waiting room is a nice room like the hospital, it is still a waiting place, so get to work. If your waiting place is an awning, stand. If your waiting place is the oven, persevere. I'm sure there are thousands of other types of waiting places, however, whatever place you're in, instead of kicking and fussing, allow life put that pill in your mouth and although its bitter, swallow it. It'll make you better.
Yours sincerely,
Dárà Rhodes. X
Waiting for the kettle to boil, (or for my train to arrive, or for the plane to take off) still annoys the hell out of me and probably will till the day I leave this earth. Nonetheless, I really do believe that there are certain moves/decisions that we take, that can ONLY prosper after we have waited. Please stay with me. You see, waiting helps us put things in perspective. It also forces you to think that next move through, thoroughly. One reason I believe so many people failed is because, they thought of something, great idea, planned it, and jumped into it.
Like the oven bakes the cake, so do our minds need time to bake our next moves. Most times, many of us are forced into the waiting room by life and we have absolutely no option but to wait in there. What you do in that waiting room will determine whether you step out into greatness or mediocrity. I walked into a hospital waiting room and sat down. I like to observe people so it didn't take long before I discovered something. Everybody in the room was waiting for something, but waited very different. Some people(myself included) sat down, looking very bored. Some people were flicking through the old magazines put there by the hospital, mainly to pass the time. Some people were doing what I suppose is their work. Some were reading books they brought along and finally some people were pacing the room.
Me in that waiting room that day, really did help me picture life's waiting room in my head. Life WILL put you into that room at one point or another and what you do in that room determines how you come out or what happens when you come out. The wisest people or the group of people I wish I was amongst in that waiting room were the people doing work or reading. The people pacing represent the people who hate waiting. They just want to be out of that room. Whether they are stepping out to hear good news or bad news. Success or failure. They hope its success, but waste their time in the waiting room, pacing. Instead of praying and working.
Here's another perspective. Most times, that waiting room is not a room but an awning. Still exposing us to the harsh winds. In waiting places like this, the people are all forced to stand and find better shelter. Waiting places like this represent strong adversities that beset some people while they wait. Maybe that's why these people from this waiting place tend to be the most successful. Afterall, adversity really is the foundation of success. Successful and inwardly beautiful people do not just happen. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross told us in,
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
Back to my example of the oven. That's another waiting place and its hot. Very hot. Here, you just have to go through that painful process but when you come out, you will be complete and ready.
"Sometimes things have to go wrong in order to go right.”-Sherrilyn Kenyon
In conclusion, If your waiting room is a nice room like the hospital, it is still a waiting place, so get to work. If your waiting place is an awning, stand. If your waiting place is the oven, persevere. I'm sure there are thousands of other types of waiting places, however, whatever place you're in, instead of kicking and fussing, allow life put that pill in your mouth and although its bitter, swallow it. It'll make you better.
Yours sincerely,
Dárà Rhodes. X
Monday 17 June 2013
Omawumi Megbele
I love Omawumi. I started wrong. Omawumi Megbele is a star. Simply known as Omawumi. A true star. The best part? She's Nigerian. Please DO NOT google her YET. If you don't know, I'm Nigerian and even if I wasn't, Omawumi would still be a star to me. It just so happens we both are. I have been studying this woman closely since summer last year and my conclusion is; Omawumi Megbele is grossly underrated. For those of you who have read my previous posts, you'll know I like to think of myself as 'deep' even though the closest I've been to deep is the demarcation line used to indicate the end of the shallow line in a swimming pool. You'll also know that I write about only things, people and topics I feel quite strongly about. Therefore, Omawumi must be one. Omawumi is definitely my favourite in the Nigerian entertainment industry and maybe its because she's the best. Or maybe, just maybe its because she's the realest star.
I want to tell this story but I have to tell it from the start. I believe there is a big difference between stars and celebrities and I definitely believe Omawumi is a star. You see, celebrities need the media industry and the media needs the stars. Stay with me. Celebrities are created by the media for the media, stars are created by art and talent for humanity. Clearer? Better. Now, the Nigerian entertainment industry is one I'm quite weary of, as a process of celebrification (the 'factory' the media uses to create the celebrities) hasn't been put it place yet. Hence, celebrities are easily mistaken as stars. Even by the media. Upsetting? Yes. Nonetheless, art and talent still wins. Weak and tired at the end? Absolutely. But it still wins. Omawumi is the perfect example of this my theory. She is art and talent and yet this woman has had to fight with everything she has to be heard. Now she's heard, she's grossly underrated. Fair? Of course not. But the people that DO know talent and art (as few as they seem) know her and appreciate her. Still don't google her. Please. Not yet.
While her vocals are unmatched, Omawumi definitely has the 'it' factor that screams "STAR". Some call it charisma, I prefer to simply call it, "it" Maybe, its the wow factor actually. Whatever it is, Omawumi has it. I have seen the "biggest Nigerian stars" perform. All of them. And on the grandest stages/platforms too. However the performance that struck me the most till this day was by Ms Omawumi at a wedding. Simple, beautiful and powerful. What about her interviews? Striking. She has this instant likeablility. I was drawn to her minutes after watching a random interview of her on T.V last year. I have never been drawn to any 'Nigerian star' that way. If the industry is the ocean, Omawumi is quite literally the only fish of her kind. Kinda like the "loneliest whale in the world" (you can google that one). Like the 52- Hertz whale, its impossible to capture her style and voice. Please don't google her yet.
Omawumi isn't just a Nigerian singer or an African singer. She is a world-class star that deserves to be acknowledged as one. She is a powerhouse that simply needs to experienced by the whole world. I have never spoken to her nor did she know about this post a second before I published it. Omawumi, I'm sure your fans have used every beautiful word to describe you and your music however if you ever read this, I just want you to know that; you are the best. Not because of what you did or what you did not do but simply because God gave you a voice that he didn't give anyone else. (Like the loneliest whale) You are indeed a star. This post wasn't written for any other motive other than to acknowledge a star. My beautiful people please go on youtube, listen to "what a bang bang"- Omawumi ft Tuface and "If you ask me- Omawumi. THEN and only THEN are you free to google her. :) Sue me if I lied about her.
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes.
I want to tell this story but I have to tell it from the start. I believe there is a big difference between stars and celebrities and I definitely believe Omawumi is a star. You see, celebrities need the media industry and the media needs the stars. Stay with me. Celebrities are created by the media for the media, stars are created by art and talent for humanity. Clearer? Better. Now, the Nigerian entertainment industry is one I'm quite weary of, as a process of celebrification (the 'factory' the media uses to create the celebrities) hasn't been put it place yet. Hence, celebrities are easily mistaken as stars. Even by the media. Upsetting? Yes. Nonetheless, art and talent still wins. Weak and tired at the end? Absolutely. But it still wins. Omawumi is the perfect example of this my theory. She is art and talent and yet this woman has had to fight with everything she has to be heard. Now she's heard, she's grossly underrated. Fair? Of course not. But the people that DO know talent and art (as few as they seem) know her and appreciate her. Still don't google her. Please. Not yet.
While her vocals are unmatched, Omawumi definitely has the 'it' factor that screams "STAR". Some call it charisma, I prefer to simply call it, "it" Maybe, its the wow factor actually. Whatever it is, Omawumi has it. I have seen the "biggest Nigerian stars" perform. All of them. And on the grandest stages/platforms too. However the performance that struck me the most till this day was by Ms Omawumi at a wedding. Simple, beautiful and powerful. What about her interviews? Striking. She has this instant likeablility. I was drawn to her minutes after watching a random interview of her on T.V last year. I have never been drawn to any 'Nigerian star' that way. If the industry is the ocean, Omawumi is quite literally the only fish of her kind. Kinda like the "loneliest whale in the world" (you can google that one). Like the 52- Hertz whale, its impossible to capture her style and voice. Please don't google her yet.
Omawumi isn't just a Nigerian singer or an African singer. She is a world-class star that deserves to be acknowledged as one. She is a powerhouse that simply needs to experienced by the whole world. I have never spoken to her nor did she know about this post a second before I published it. Omawumi, I'm sure your fans have used every beautiful word to describe you and your music however if you ever read this, I just want you to know that; you are the best. Not because of what you did or what you did not do but simply because God gave you a voice that he didn't give anyone else. (Like the loneliest whale) You are indeed a star. This post wasn't written for any other motive other than to acknowledge a star. My beautiful people please go on youtube, listen to "what a bang bang"- Omawumi ft Tuface and "If you ask me- Omawumi. THEN and only THEN are you free to google her. :) Sue me if I lied about her.
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes.
Friday 14 June 2013
Murdoch
Hey beautiful people,
Rupert Murdoch has filed for divorce from Wendi Deng. To some of you, this is probably old news and to others, you honestly couldn't care less. I mean, how does Rupert Murdoch's life affect anything? Especially his decision to divorce his wife.
First of all, introduction; I love Rupert Murdoch. His guts, strength and ambition inspire me on the daily. For those of you who don't know him and have still not googled him at this point, Murdoch is an Australian-American Media Mogul in one sentence. The most fearless media mogul ever if I dare say. A man of vision. For those that do know of him, before you fire me with all Murdoch's atrocious acts, hear me out. I hope I have somehow been able to show that nothing is quite straightforward on this blog so far and that whilst every good thing has its bad side, every bad thing also has its good side. And well, if I haven't, I'm telling you now.
Don't get it twisted, I'm very much aware of the fact that Murdoch has committed his fair share of sins however, at the very core of that man, is a man of obstinate drive. Afterall, not everybody can go from owning an inherited little australian newsagent into owning a billion dollar media empire right? Right.
My point? The man is 82 years old and was married to a 44 years old woman. He is a very calculated man and I am very sure he could have lived with Wendi for his last few years on this earth. So therefore, with the little sense in my head, this divorce seems to be coming from a very calculated place also. Who knows? Maybe he may have just wanted to die a divorcé. I still love you Rupert!! Have a wonderful day guys!!
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes.
Rupert Murdoch has filed for divorce from Wendi Deng. To some of you, this is probably old news and to others, you honestly couldn't care less. I mean, how does Rupert Murdoch's life affect anything? Especially his decision to divorce his wife.
First of all, introduction; I love Rupert Murdoch. His guts, strength and ambition inspire me on the daily. For those of you who don't know him and have still not googled him at this point, Murdoch is an Australian-American Media Mogul in one sentence. The most fearless media mogul ever if I dare say. A man of vision. For those that do know of him, before you fire me with all Murdoch's atrocious acts, hear me out. I hope I have somehow been able to show that nothing is quite straightforward on this blog so far and that whilst every good thing has its bad side, every bad thing also has its good side. And well, if I haven't, I'm telling you now.
Don't get it twisted, I'm very much aware of the fact that Murdoch has committed his fair share of sins however, at the very core of that man, is a man of obstinate drive. Afterall, not everybody can go from owning an inherited little australian newsagent into owning a billion dollar media empire right? Right.
My point? The man is 82 years old and was married to a 44 years old woman. He is a very calculated man and I am very sure he could have lived with Wendi for his last few years on this earth. So therefore, with the little sense in my head, this divorce seems to be coming from a very calculated place also. Who knows? Maybe he may have just wanted to die a divorcé. I still love you Rupert!! Have a wonderful day guys!!
With all my love,
Dárà Rhodes.
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