DEINMA♠️

Realist||
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[MideOnly💜 @therealosungirl]

Update on my mum’s treatment.
My mum has completed 3 out of the 4 chemotherapy sessions the doctors asked her to do for now, and we’re grateful she has been able to come this far despite everything.
But at this point, our funds are almost exhausted, and we are struggling to keep up with the cost of treatment, medications, dressing materials, tests, and hospital visits.

[NDC National Structure @underworld_09]

PLEASE CIRCULATE THIS MESSAGE URGENT NOTICE: CITIZENS' ASSEMBLY

TO ALL YOUTH LEADERS AND CONCERNED CITIZENS, OF NIGERIAN ADC YOUTH ACROSS THE NATION.

In the interest of justice and the future of our nation, we are calling for a historic gathering. We aim to mobilize 1,000,000 youths to be present at the Court premises tomorrow.

Objective: To stand as witnesses to justice and ensure transparency in the legal process.

Time: 8:00 AM Prompt.

[MideOnly💜 @therealosungirl]

I spoke about my mum’s breast cancer battle here last year and then I went quiet.
Not because it got better. Not because the fight ended. But because I got tired physically, financially, and mentally. Tired of explaining. Tired of asking. Tired of trying to stay strong.
The truth is, the battle is still ongoing.

[Maxvayshia™ @maxvayshia]

One day, you’ll realize:

The people you were trying to impress weren’t even paying attention.

The pressure you felt was mostly in your head.

And the life you were delaying…was actually the one meant for you.

Don’t waste too much time trying to “get it right”.

Don’t waste your life.

[Toby @TomolaGroup]

If I had to start all over again, here are the 10 stocks I would buy for the long term:

1. Banking — ZENITH BANK. P/E of 2.4x. ₦1 trillion profit. Dividend yield above 6%. Cheapest tier-1 bank on the exchange relative to earnings.

2. Oil & Gas — SEPLAT. Revenue $2.73 billion. EBITDA $1.28 billion. Cash flow up 276%. Dual-listed on NGX and London. Targeting $1 billion in shareholder returns over 5 years.

3. Energy (Integrated) — ARADEL. ₦697 billion revenue. First vertically integrated energy company in Nigeria. Exploration to refining to distribution in one ticker.

4. Industrial Goods — DANGOTE CEMENT. ₦1 trillion net profit. 46% EBITDA margin. P/E of 9.4x. Operations in 10 African countries.

5. Consumer Goods — BUA FOODS. ₦1.8 trillion revenue. 97% ROE. Largest listed company by market cap. 220 million Nigerians eating more processed food every year is not a thesis. It’s math.

6. Insurance — NEM. P/E of 4.3x. ROE of 55.6%. Almost zero debt. Up 3,977% since 2015. Still undervalued.

7. Telecoms — MTN NIGERIA. ₦1.11 trillion profit after two years of losses. ₦20 per share total dividend. Revenue ₦5.2 trillion. Every data bundle sold in this country is revenue for this business.

8. Conglomerate — TRANSCORP. ₦544 billion revenue. ₦136 billion profit, up 44%. Power + hospitality + energy in one ticker. Over 20% of Nigeria’s installed power capacity. Just crossed ₦1 trillion in total assets for the first time. Gearing ratio of 13%. Diversified and still cheap.

9. Agriculture — PRESCO. ₦207.5 billion revenue. ₦76 billion profit. +135% earnings growth. Palm oil demand in Nigeria is structural.

10. Financial Infrastructure — NGXGROUP. Zero competition. Every stock transaction passes through them. ₦2 dividend plus 1-for-3 bonus issue. As market participation grows, this is the toll gate.

The one thing I’d add that most people miss, energy exposure. Oil and gas still funds 90% of Nigeria’s dollar earnings. A long-term portfolio without that sector is incomplete.

[Maxvayshia™ @maxvayshia]

In reality, the physical body of Jesus was removed from the tomb by GNOMES and GIANTS, both nature beings of the Animistic species, under the instruction of the Almighty. It didn’t ascend into “heaven” as told in the Bible for drought of logical explanations.

It is not possible for a material or physical matter to ascend into ethereal or spiritual realms.

Imagine if human beings had access to the physical body of Jesus which they knew quite well could work miracles. Imagine what they would have used it for, how many pieces it would have been cut into and handed down to generations of the elite at that time.

In the Wisdom of the Almighty, that was not allowed to happen. The body was moved away from the tomb, away from access to any human species and hidden away in a place that l, even of the entire earth were combed, no human species would find even today.

But as we speak, it is ACTUALLY still on earth. Preserved. Still as fresh as it was on that very day he was crucified. Guarded by elemental Servants of the Almighty in a place no human can get to, but still on earth.

Preserved till a time when this earth that man has made into a caricature of what was initially intended, will destroy itself and everything man in his intellectual arrogance has built up and a NEW earth is built, under a new and knowledgeable HUMANITY, totally different from how we know it now (some people from this existence will experience it. Very few).

Then, ONLY THEN, will His body be brought to the fore and given a PROPER burial BEFITTING of an Envoy of the Almighty. Not everyone will be permitted to experience this. It is going to be an experience like no other.

This is EXACTLY what will happen and only a few humans across the world are aware of this. A few more will be aware but for the rest who will think this is fable, even your reactions are all part of the natural course of events.

The Wisdom of the Lord rules the world.

[positivity moon @arrtnem]

I was sitting on her couch picking at a loose thread on my sleeve when I finally said it.

“I’m not planning anything. I’m not… that. I’m just starting to scare myself with how empty I feel.”

I half expected her to sit up straighter, grab a clipboard, change her tone like in those bad movies. She did not. She just shifted in her chair like someone adjusting a blanket and said, almost annoyingly calm:

“People usually feel that kind of emptiness when they have been carrying way more than one nervous system is built to carry alone.”

Something in my chest sagged. Not in a dramatic way. More like when you have been holding a grocery bag wrong and someone reminds you you can use your other hand.

Because that is what it feels like, right. Not “I want to disappear.” More like “I want one hour where existing is not an advanced level sport.” You do not want the lights off forever. You want them dimmed enough for your eyes to stop hurting.

You wake up, you do your little checklist. Shower. Clothes. Inbox. Family chat. Feed whoever depends on you. Pay whatever beeps the loudest. Answer the “how are you” with the version of the truth that does not make the room weird. By 14:30 you feel like a phone that has been on 1 percent for three days. People keep opening apps. You keep pretending it is fine. Then you sit on a bus or in a bathroom or on a therapist’s couch and realize you do not remember the last time you felt anything that was not tired or scared or vaguely irritated at nothing.

That is the emptiness. It is not nothingness. It is everything so stacked on top of everything else that no single feeling can reach the surface.

When I told her I was scared, it was not because I had a plan. It was because there were moments brushing my teeth where my brain went quiet in a way that felt wrong. Like it was testing sentences I did not want. I love people. I have plans. I make playlists. I save stupid videos. I still found myself thinking “if this is it forever, I do not know how long I can keep faking it.” That gap between “I know I want to be here” and “I do not know how to be here like this” is where the panic lives.

She did not argue. She did not slap a gratitude list on it. She did not tell me to “focus on the positives.” She just named what no one had named before.

“Overwhelmed is not the same as broken.”

It hit me in a stupid, physical way. My shoulders dropped half a centimeter. My eyes stung, not from a big sob, just from the shock of finally hearing a word that fit. Overwhelmed. Not defective. Not dramatic. Not ungrateful. Just a system running at 130 percent for too long.

I started seeing the inventory.

The text messages I answer like customer support. The secrets I hold that are not mine. The relatives I manage emotionally so they do not explode. The work that never really ends because my phone means my boss lives in my pocket. The news I absorb at 01:17 when I should have been asleep an hour ago. The history I never actually processed, just “moved on” from because life kept demanding the next task.

No wonder my brain started shutting lights off in the hallways. It was self defense, not moral failure.

The scariest part of emptiness is how quiet it looks from the outside. You are not the “crying in public” person anymore. You are the “oh, they seem fine, just busy” person. You still answer “I’m good, just tired.” You still show up. You still meet deadlines. Your life looks like a functioning apartment from the street. No one sees that inside most of the furniture is made of cardboard and held together with tape.

So you start wondering: if I vanished, would anyone have even seen the half of what I was juggling. Or would they just say “wow, they always seemed so strong” and move on. There is a special kind of loneliness in realizing you trained everyone around you to believe you never need help.

[Osaretin Victor Asemota @asemota]

I need to reiterate this part for the laggards ar the back:

//A friend who is particularly good at it is a BIG ladies' man as the women flock around him and get engaged in conversations at different levels. I used to wonder how he did it until I realized that it was a function of two things:

1. Knowing a lot of things about a lot of things.

2. Showing interest in knowing more, especially about people.

I see people say stupid things here sometimes, like "Big Chief has experienced everything," and YES, I have because I make it a point to learn and experience a lot of things, which makes it easy for me to have conversations on many topics. It is what they call "Range." You MUST build up Range to be good at small talk. One way to build it up is curiosity.//

[positivity moon @arrtnem]

It sounds funny until you realize that is a whole life philosophy in one sentence. You sit there with your giant emotional Stanley cup, refilling it all day, proud of yourself. You drink your 2 liters, 3 liters, you count your bottles like a good kid ticking boxes. On paper, you are doing everything right. And still your tongue feels like paper, your skin looks tired, your head hurts behind the eyes at 16:40, and you are one minor inconvenience away from wanting to lie face down on the floor. You keep thinking the answer is more of the same water.

Nobody tells you that sometimes you are not lacking volume. You are lacking minerals. You are lacking anything with weight.

Electrolytes sound like a gym word, but really they are just proof that the body does not run on purity. It runs on salt and mess and tiny charged things that hold the water in place. Think about how different it feels when you drink a glass of cold orange juice at 09:12 after a bad night of sleep compared to your fourth bottle of plain water at your desk. One hits like “oh, I exist again.” The other just runs straight through you, and twenty minutes later you are in the bathroom wondering why your organs still feel like dry towels.

A lot of people live like that. Drowning in content, in advice, in “healthy habits,” and still emotionally dehydrated. They scroll for three hours consuming wellness tips in bed, wake up at 7, drink water, do their 10 minutes of journaling, take 8000 steps before dinner, and still feel this static emptiness in their chest. They think, weird, maybe I need another habit tracker.

No one explained that habits are just water. Minerals are something else.

Minerals are the things that actually carry charge through your life. The phone call where you finally say what hurt you instead of being “chill” again. The ugly 23:37 breakdown in the shower where you admit you are not “fine, just tired,” you are lonely and scared you wasted three years on the wrong thing. The bowl of pasta you let yourself eat slowly without scrolling while your brain keeps trying to sprint ahead to the next problem and you keep dragging it back to the plate. The real rest day that is not secretly a productivity cosplay.

Of course plain water feels safer. It is neutral. It does not wake anything up. Electrolytes sting a little on the way in. Salt on a cracked lip, sugar in a starved system. Orange juice tastes so sweet after dehydration it almost hurts. It reminds your body of how long you have been ignoring it.

Same with life. You can drink twenty self help books and still be dehydrated if you never put in one real mineral: a boundary, a no, a goodbye, a yes that you actually want, not one that sounds impressive on Instagram. You can go to therapy and carefully avoid saying the one sentence that would actually change your blood pressure. You can talk about burnout like it is a scheduling issue instead of the fact that you do not believe you are allowed to be a human being who stops.

Everyone loves the aesthetic of “clean water.” No one posts “I added salt because my nervous system is fried from 10 years of people pleasing and pretending I’m chill with everything.” But that is what actually fixes things.

Sometimes the reason you feel so tired is not that you are underperforming. It is that everything you pour into yourself is frictionless. It does not cling to you. It does not bind. It slides right through and leaves you pee-clear and soul-empty.

The body tries to tell you. The headache at 17:23 that hits in the supermarket lighting. The way your vision gets grainy when you stand up too fast. The random heart flutters when you lie down, like your chest forgot its script. You drink more water, thinking you are being good, when what you need is to eat actual food, sprinkle some salt, sit down for fifteen minutes without being “useful.”

[Osaretin Victor Asemota @asemota]

In 2004, when I had the worst breakup in my life, three random men in Baltimore, Washington, DC, and New York came to my aid emotionally out of the blue. God is in people and works through them. I don't know their names anymore, as it was all a blur, but they were true "angels."

The first guy was a Nigerian off-duty taxi driver who took me to his house for lunch, then to the White House, Capitol, and other attractions for free. He refused to accept any money from me and did his best to cheer me up.

The second guy was the Pakistani taxi driver who took me all the way from DC to JFK without a meter. He counselled me for 4 hours and told me his life history of disappointments and how he overcame them. He made me realize that life was long and I would find happiness again.

The last guy was a random Nigerian guy at JFK who walked up to me and asked me if a woman was the cause of my sadness. He also told me of how he was dumped because he was poor and cheated on. He was later married and had two wonderful kids. He said that time was the only thing that would heal me, and I should be patient.

As I am writing this, a church behind my fence is playing Don Moen's "Still/Be Still"

Life will throw everything at you. It wasn't going to be easy, but you get stronger if you stay still and survive.

"Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you
I've called you by name, you are mine."
When you go through the deep waters
They will not overwhelm you
You will not drown " - Isaiah 43

[Osaretin Victor Asemota @asemota]

What do men want?

When I was in my 20s, I was a different type of young man. Others were drinking beer and chasing girls, but I was building a business and not drinking, but still chasing girls.

As I grew older and became more stable in my career, I wanted a family. However, I went through many failed relationships before finally realizing that it wasn't about them, but about me. I looked inward and changed myself to a more patient, more generous, and less impulsive person.

I also found religion again, and it made all the difference. I got the best life partner I could have ever imagined. A blessing. It was given to me by the grace of God. I didn't create it. I learned a great deal from that process about what is truly important in life and how to achieve it.

We believe too much that everything we do is why we get what we want and that we deserve it. The best things you have today are likely things you didn't deserve but got anyway. We should not become conceited or arrogant as it could have been much worse.

Grace isn't about NOT hustling and waiting for miracles, but knowing that even while hustling, you could be a tool for blessing others while you are being blessed. I discovered that doing good to others in relationships and avoiding a transactional approach compounds blessings.

I was having a conversation with my cousin in his mid-30s this morning about career and settling down to build a family and realized that it wasn't going to be about anything he did right but about what God determined was right.

A good friend who had ticked all the right boxes in her life, got a first class degree and a PhD before 24, called me three days to her wedding and wanted me to tell her something to make her know if she was right about going forward. I sent her Psalm 127 v 1.

“Unless the LORD builds the house, the builders labor in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the guards stand watch in vain”

This post wasn't meant to be all religious and “preachy” but it is International Men’s Day and I believe that what makes you a man is Grace and not bravado or hype. Real men pray and do good things. They are also blessed abundantly when they are blessings to others. Help a fellow human today.

[Maxvayshia™ @maxvayshia]

To know the value of a year, ask the student who failed their exams.

To know the value of a month, ask that mother whose baby arrived too soon.

To know the value of a day, ask the couple about the night before their wedding.

A minute? Ask the bettor who played under 3.5 in a match with scoreline 2-1 in the 93rd minute.

A second? Ask the driver who literally just avoided a crash.

Value of a split second? Ask the athlete who missed the medal.

Time is precious. Appreciate every second for what it is, use it wisely and live it to the fullest.

[Lukas Not Podolski @OtitoNosike]

There is something life does to a man before it breaks him. It takes away the illusion of importance, the sweet lie that you are in control, that your small plans and your careful intentions can hold back the tide. It shows you how laughably fragile you are. How despite your prayers, your calculations, your guarded optimism, it will still find a way to scatter your dignity like dust in Harmattan.

This week, I lost things I can’t yet name; some too sacred, others too shameful. These losses have forced me to sit with my mortality, face to face, asking it questions that only echoed back in silence. I have stared at the ceiling and wondered what any of this means; why I am even here. On some days, purpose feels tangible, almost close enough to hold. On others, it feels like smoke: something I thought I saw until I reached out to touch it.

I have written many things, small rebellions against meaninglessness, but most of them are just well-arranged nothings. Words that sound profound but heal nothing. Sometimes I sit under the sun and let it scorch my doubts, wondering if its heat might burn away the ache. But the sun does not care. It shines on both the wounded and the wicked.

Yesterday, I went to see a dear friend, one of those rare souls who know how to sit with your silence without trying to fix it. I let her see my struggles, unclothed and unedited, and she received them with a warmth that felt like therapy. For a moment, I thought the heaviness had eased. But when I got home, loss was waiting for me again. It’s as though it has learned my scent, following me like a stray that believes its continued existence is somehow my responsibility.

There are moments I listen to music and feel something close to peace. Other times I try to cry, but nothing comes. The tears sit stubbornly in my throat, as if ashamed of their own weakness. My father would be disgusted by this confession. But grief is a private country; even pride dressed as masculinity cannot police its borders forever.

I try to laugh through it sometimes, to make jokes of my bruises, to dress my despair in humor so it doesn’t frighten anyone; doesn’t frighten me. A friend once told me not to do that, not to turn my pain into performance. I blocked her. Then I remembered she’s busty, so I unblocked her. It’s a small mercy; to still be capable of foolishness in the middle of grief.

I am still young, still learning that loss is not the enemy; it is a kind of teacher. Maybe one day I’ll understand what these ruins are trying to rebuild in me. Maybe you will too; you, who have read this far, who have your own quiet catalog of things gone missing. Perhaps one day we will both find that the meaning was not in what we lost, but in what the losing made of us.

Perhaps.

[👑S.A.L.A.K.O🕊 @UnkleAyo]

The mind is such a strange place.

Two days ago, I had a 6 hour streak where I felt this sudden cloud of unhappiness beset me.

Happy in the morning. Late afternoon, ununderstandably sad. I couldn't figure it out.

Then, I did a quick mind bing.

"Where is this from?"

[Lukas Not Podolski @OtitoNosike]

This reminds me of a scene I witnessed at the bar I regularly frequent.

That evening, I sat at my usual corner, nursing the ghost of a thought, and, of course, a mortuary-standard bottle of Orijin, when she walked in. This dark skinned young lady, no taller than five foot eight, wrapped in black: black pants hugging her hips, black sleeveless top catching the soft glare of the bulbs that hung like dying stars. She moved with the unstudied ease of someone who had long made peace with being watched.

She ordered a bottle of Smirnoff, and took a seat directly across from me. Our eyes met, once, twice, the kind of glance that lingers just long enough to become a question. I considered walking over, but then I remembered the weight of my wallet, and the heavier truth that her eyes had been dancing more toward the man at the grill than toward me. So I returned to my phone, to a half-read article on Quora, pretending to be absorbed while secretly listening to the night unravel.

Minutes later, a man entered, mid-thirties perhaps, round-bellied and brimming with the noisy confidence of someone who has never had to beg life for attention. His car key flashed in his hand where his wedding band was supposed to. Without hesitation, he walked straight to her table.

“Can I join you?” he asked, his voice dipped in baritone arrogance.

“Sure, you can,” she said.

Soon they were giggling, that kind of easy laughter that erases all need for introductions. The man at the grill was summoned. Orders were made. The air thickened with the scent of pepper and roasting fish. Another Smirnoff arrived. The man belched softly for more Heineken, and the waiter, trained by habit, obeyed before the words fully left his lips.

I tried to read, but my eyes betrayed me. Every few sentences, they wandered back to the table where desire had begun its small, public dance. Her hand, once hidden in her pocket, was now exploring the lushness of his beard. His fingers had found her thigh, tracing it like Bartimeus reading Braille in the dark. They leaned into each other, whispering things meant only for their ears but echoing in mine.

Something in me tightened, a quiet irritation, or perhaps envy masquerading as moral outrage.
Yes, desire cannot be hidden; it spills, uninvited, like light through the slats of a window. And yet, wasn’t this too soon? Too raw? Or maybe the hypocrisy was mine.

For I too have met women and done far more in far less time. If that were my story, what moral right did I have to raise a brow at their own performance of desire? Perhaps all judgment is memory in disguise, a man recognizing his former sins dressed in another’s skin.

When I had seen enough of their love expressions, however too soon, I gathered what remained of my composure, closed the article I had been pretending to read, and rose to leave. The bar had grown louder, the laughter thicker, the smoke heavier. I stepped out into the night, where the air smelt of rain and roasted fish, and for a brief, flickering moment, I felt the quiet triumph of escape, the kind that is neither moral nor pure, only human.

And as I walked away, their laughter trailed behind me, soft, persistent, like the echo of something I once believed in but no longer had the courage to name. As I walked home, a truth that had been tugging at my chest all evening, a truth I had tried to suppress, yet one that refused to lie, finally rose and laid itself bare: I wasn’t angry at the woman for her performance of desire; I was only unsettled that I wasn’t the one she performed it with.

[Maxvayshia™ @maxvayshia]

📌📌📌

[Maxvayshia™ @maxvayshia]

Frame this and put on your walls, let your sons and daughters read it everyday while growing up and let it shape their attitude.

[Maxvayshia™ @maxvayshia]

You have been a blessing to many a hopelessness and downtrodden on here, male and female alike. Weldone and a salute of respect to you @Wizarab10 and @the_beardedsina .

May the light emanations from your good deeds guide your paths and brighten up your way.

[Omoalhaja @omoalhajaabiola]

Would you attend a free bootcamp on Asana as a project management tool?

[DEINMA♠️ @daniel_lorki]

@omoalhajaabiola Yesss please