And there they were in Barcelona, looking at the world-famous cathedral. The photographer told them not to look at the camera, but there was no need. The majestic building was mesmerising and it was impossible to look away. But the guests forgot about the architecture and were staring at them. And what about them? They were having a wedding. Just like in his fantasy, just like in her romantic dreams. They said, "I do" and exchanged rings. He stood behind her and the wind blew her hair into his face. She could feel his warm breath and they both felt good. It was the culmination - there were no two parts, just one whole. Incredible emotions from a rich wedding and a woman he could only dream of recently - for his ego and the sentimental part that was ecstatic for the guests and the woman he loved. There were family, friends and prominent industry professionals. It was a victory for him. He couldn't contain his emotions - his cold soul was melted by the great success. His voice trembled as he spoke and a tear of joy dropped from his eye. "I am incredibly grateful to everyone here today for supporting both of us before we met," he hugged his lover tightly, “and after. You are an incredible people. This success is yours too! To all those who told me it was impossible, but continued to support me – you were with me in your hearts, even when my head was against it. I would like to say a special thank you! My love, I'm still in awe of how things have turned out, so I thank the universe for every second of it. We have come a long way but we are here today. All of us together. This is a new phase of life, but it's definitely better than the last one! Salut mi familia!” And now what? I don't know - he went to talk to his best friend. Suddenly A realised that he had been chasing something all his life. It didn't matter if it was material or not, but it was a chase of passion. But why think about lost opportunities when everything turned out in a way he could not even imagine? - Do you remember...? –B asked softly as if addressing the wind, not A. - Yes..., – A breathed out a little sadly. - What's next? - I hope this is the beginning. - New York? – B looked seriously at his interlocutor. - New York... The wind blew strongly, bringing with it the scent of September. They were lost in their memories – looked thoughtfully into the distance and became nostalgic. There was a lot to remember. Those distant, carefree days, 15 years ago, when they were just making a name for themselves, trying to prove themselves in school tournaments and leaving it late – exhausted but happy after such events. And when go outside, nature heals. On a warm sunny day and the crisp September air was filled with the scent of their friend's perfume. The trees, dressed in colourful garments, seemed to absorb the sun's energy, creating a sense of harmonious unity in nature. Birds were singing, some flying south. They quietly contemplated this beauty and gradually merged with nature. September was more anticipated than the New Year: the start of the school year, the end of the holidays and the shorter days encouraged us to get more involved in our work. Maybe this is the year we will be successful or victorious? With their dreams supported by their daily work, the days fly by for them. So the beauty around them goes unnoticed. If only this moment could last a long, long time... Then there was the university. Thanks to the Internet the best relationships have been established and consolidated. Not without face-to-face meetings, of course. During the periods when the pandemic was waning, it was possible to attend classes in person. Unfortunately, the enthusiasm for the educational process disappeared quite quickly, but the fact of going to university was quite pleasant. Most of all, they looked forward to the September evenings. A walk after classes on a clear day – people are coming home from work, young people are having fun and making noise, the first lights are shining on the busy highway, where premium cars are speeding along, ignoring the speed limit. They looked up at the clear sky, only the sun is setting behind the horizon, its last rays filling the buildings with orange light. Once a missile hit the schoolyard, burning the perennial maples, destroying the patterns and damaging the building. It was rebuilt many years later. And they are still there. Just like now, in September, it happened again. But it's not the same. These trees need several decades to restore the overall atmosphere of natural grandeur. - Don't think about it too much, – said V, who was the first to recover from the wave of memories. - I have done everything for today anyway! - Come on, let's go, they're waiting for us. And so began his dream life. After the official part of the wedding, the newlyweds and their best friends went to the Costa Brava. The picturesque road along the Mediterranean coast and the Porsche – it was an unforgettable moment.

“Here comes the sleepy head.” Some of the students giggled… But, I didn't care. I was used to it for a long time. Well, I was nicknamed “The Sleepy Head” in school since my childhood. That was not a lie since I would always doze off in my classes. Dozing off everywhere was a normal thing in my life. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't stop it. I tried sleeping early, waking up early, having power naps in the daytime, and so many things. But none of them would make any sense. Habitually, I knew I would fall asleep in almost every class except the ones we participated in super actively like doing some papers or group activities. But, it was not something to be happy or enjoy… IT WAS REAL DEPRESSION!!!!!!!!!!! I was very much frustrated in my life because of my condition. Later when I grew up, I searched about it on google and found out that my symptoms exactly matched the disease called “Narcolepsy”. But, a lot of people did not believe that excessive sleeping was a DISEASE!!!!!!!! Most of them told me that I was not attentive in classes or I was staying up too late. BUT, I knew from my experience that no matter how much I slept, it would not make any difference. My life was depressing. Inside, I was all torn up. I cried for hours and hours being unable to cope with it. WHY I WAS THIS UNLUCKY????? FROM ALL THE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, 1 IN 2000, WHY WOULD I GET THIS DISEASE?????? I wanted to be normal. I wanted to study till late at night like my friends... I wanted to sleep less during exam days to cover up my syllabus. But, I had to sleep, no matter how much was left to study… Also, mental stress would make my symptoms worse which made me sleepier when an exam was nearer. One day, I decided that I needed to change my life. I needed to rise from the ashes and face all the challenges like a phoenix bird. I found some youtube channels about narcolepsy. There were a lot of stories about people in the world who had the same condition as mine. It gave me a lot of confidence and made me believe that I was not alone. Some of them had worse experiences than mine. So I held up my nerve. I wanted to show them that I was not down. "HATERS" were my best motivation. So, I studied hard. My condition kept bothering me more and more. But, I didn't care. I had only one dream MY LIFETIME DREAM!!!!!!!!!! It was to become a DOCTOR. IT WAS STRONGER THAN NARCOLEPSY. I found various strategies myself to cope with it. Somehow I managed to study well and become a topper in my class. I passed my O/L s and A/L s with flying colours… Then I entered the best medical faculty in the country... There, I got to know more about my disease. Since I was independent, I went to a specialist myself and explained her about my condition. She immediately diagnosed my condition and gave me some medicine… I am still using them and I am happy to say that my condition is getting better now!!!!!!!!!!! Ah, I forgot to say, A few months ago, I graduated from university and got my appointment as a doctor….. CURRENTLY, I AM WORKING HAPPILY IN MY DREAM OCCUPATION…….. :) :) :) THANKS A LOT FOR READING MY STORY

It was a warm Saturday morning in late July 1996. I was 9; almost 10. The birds were chirping in excitement, the morning dew, fresh and still, dripping from the tree leaves. I had been prepped hard for this day. Daily memory “drills”, 6 hours of schoolwork and 2 hours of home tutorials 3 times a week, learning new words and watching for current affairs updates from the local TV news. Like an athlete, I was primed, ripped and ready for this day. No stone was left unturned. My teachers rated me so highly, my parents never expected any less. I had progressed quickly through the 1st chain link of the famous 6-3-3-4 National educational system, with a “double promotion” in Class 4. Time was a blur. I kept outdoing myself, excelling in my grades and beating the competition. The National Common Entrance examination that year had been a great success, I was the best in my examination center, though one of the youngest candidates. I scored 503/600, if I re-collect. I was sure to get admitted into both Federal high schools selected. However, I wanted a lot more. Parents/Guardians were told to drop off their kids/wards at the school gate, so I parted from my mum with last minute pep-talks, prayers and "pocket money" (the favorite part). With the accreditation and registration processes completed, I was allotted a classroom and seat number. The exams started right on time. The first part – Mathematics & Quantitative Reasoning - was a landslide victory – I crunch numbers in my sleep. I needed the Part B of the exam to go just as well – English Language, Current Affairs & Verbal Reasoning. I knew the pass mark needed to secure a place at the International School, University of Lagos, one of the most prestigious high schools in Nigeria. The Part B section started after the lunch break. It was all going well till I hit a roadblock. There was an essay question, which read, "write an essay, about 150 words on 'Nigeria of my Dreams' ". I read the question again. I read it a third time. “This must be a mistake”, I thought. It didn't sound right to me. I looked around the hall, with my naive, pearly eyes. No other candidate seemed bothered. The room roared on in the ambience of a properly invigilated exam. I felt I was in trouble. How was I supposed to react? Where do I start? Do I have to fall sleep to come up with this dream? Don't we all only dream at night while we sleep? What if the heavens refuse to give me this dream within the required time frame? How do I select a specific dream, dream that dream, wake up and write about it? Would I wake up on time? I just had about 2 hours to write this exam section. I gazed at this problem statement, flipped, twitched and steered. Finally, my guardian angel whispered in my ears. “Leave this section, write the other sections and come back here”. I scrambled through the other exam sections, filled and shaded answers as the clock ticked away. Just as I finished and moved to get back to the essay question, I heard those 2 magic words, “Pens Up”. I felt it was all over. I had let myself and many people down. What would I tell my parents? How do I explain that we were asked to dream and write about it, and I couldn't do either? How could this be happening to me? “My teachers must have left this out; they did not teach me”. That was my conclusion, with my tail firmly tucked between my legs, as I walked towards the school main gate. I squinted from a distance to see if my mother was there waiting. I knew she would ask how I fared and would try to assess my body language. I had learnt not to lie to her pretty early, I wasn't taking a chance this time. I only managed to get a few in till I flew out of her nest to build mine. I happily told her that Part A went well. She knew my capabilities, no surprises here, smiles all round. Then to the bad news, Part B. I told her what happened. She listened intently, laughed and told me what was expected by the examiners. The scales instantly fell off my eyes. How was I supposed to know? I wish they framed it clearer. Could I possibly go back and fill this section? Of course, only in my dreams. I was consoled with an ice cream cone and we drove back home. My father laughed and sympathized with me but was confident I would make the pass list. The next few weeks were a nervous wait, a heavy weight. The hours and days gently strolled by. I could not bear the thoughts of failing an entrance examination into a prestigious school. My mother had left her senior teaching position at a State Secondary school and took a few steps down the career ladder to accept a teaching role at this school, just to ensure that my father only paid discounted school fees for my siblings and I. How could I let her down? How could I let us down? Finally, the news broke. I passed the exams, went on to pass the interviews and was admitted into ISL, UNILAG. I was overjoyed and relieved that I had kept my own side of the bargain. My younger siblings also made the cut in their times.

My dream of being a private detective is the fault of Nancy Drew and, a bit more indirectly, my mother. I come from an avid family of readers, and my mother decided to pass this trait on to her children. Thus, when I was about six, my mother decided to convince—force—me to read a series she had loved when she was my age: the Nancy Drew series. While I was quite reluctant at first, meaning I fought tooth and nail against my mother, I had eventually given in. Sometimes I wish I had ended up hating the books, simply to avoid giving her the smug satisfaction of being right; regardless, I fell in love with those books. Nancy Drew was a smart, resourceful, tough, resilient heroine, and I devoured her adventures. While most kids spent their Saturday mornings watching cartoons or sleeping, I was begging my parents to take me to the library. I simply could not get enough of the rich and vibrant life of Nancy Drew. My deep love for Nancy Drew and her adventures culminated in my wanting to be just like her. So, I decided to perfect my detective skills. For instance, I decided to improve my shadowing skills—i.e. stalking—and followed family members around while taking notes. Sadly for me, their behavior was fairly mundane. Even so, no matter how dull I found them, I knew that a good detective must persist. This resulted in my developing a strong drive and determination. I began to grow restless, which is when it finally happened—my first case. I was beyond ready. So, at the ripe old age of ten-years-old, I decided the student had become the master. When I informed my parents of this, I was met with fake enthusiasm. Sure, their words said to have fun and be careful, but their tone of voice conveyed the truth. They did not take me seriously. Who would not take the four-foot-seven kid with missing teeth seriously? Clearly, I was a hard-boiled detective ready for whatever twists or turns my case might throw at me. This particular case came from a neighborhood friend, Drew, who needed help finding her missing ginger cat. Naturally, she asked me for my assistance. Ever the eager detective, I jumped at the opportunity. So, we set out on our bikes to canvas the neighborhood. After a while, it became clear to me that searching for clues on other people's property, or trespassing as some might call it, was probably not the best way to find a lead. Instead, we questioned potential witnesses and started with her mother. We asked her when she had last seen the cat, if her neighbors had ever had any problems with the cat, and if she could remember anything suspicious. To everything she said she did not know; however, I noticed she would not meet our eyes and kept fidgeting with her jewelry during questioning. I may not have known much about psychology at the time, but even I could tell that our questions made her uneasy. Unfortunately, interviewing our neighbors did not yield much luck either. They either did not know anything about her cat or thought we were selling something. After hours of interviewing and searching the neighborhood, I ended up looking on my own. It was then that I had finally found my first lead. Another one of my neighborhood friends told me that he spotted something somewhat resembling ginger fur through a hole in his neighbor's fence. As I looked for myself, I realized the animal was a cat that had a distinctive patch of fur on its forehead, matching the description Drew had given. I had actually managed to find Drew's cat! Unfortunately, I did not find her cat alive. The neighbor, in whose backyard the cat was in, was the owner of a particularly volatile pit-bull. Even from my obstructed view, it was clear the dog had gotten to the cat. With this sad information in hand, I realized I now had to tell Drew. I contemplated lying to her, but I knew that if it were my cat, I would want to know the truth. So, I rode my bike over to her house and told her what I had found. I explained whose backyard the cat was found in and described the distinct patch of white and orange fur on the cat's forehead. After I had finished telling her what happened, she was pretty upset, so I let her grieve in peace and went home. It was not until months later that I learned that the cat I found was not Drew's cat at all. Apparently, her cat had accidentally consumed rat poison that one of her neighbors had set out. Her mother found the dead cat and decided to bury it in the woods near our houses. Instead of telling her daughter the truth, she simply told her the cat had run away in order to spare her feelings. Though my first and only case turned out to be a complete bust, I never forgot the impact that case and the Nancy Drew books had on my life. I still have the curiosity and determination I fostered in those days. I owe a large part of my childhood to that teen sleuth and I will always be grateful to her.

I am happy to announce that my official website http://www.aerikvon.com will be online very soon!

Fear and I are no strangers. Growing up with abusive parents and marrying an abusive man at the age of nineteen; you become accustomed to being afraid. Nightmares have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember; but the fear that grips me now is like none I have known before. I am a Christian, so I should not be afraid of dying. I should be happy that if I die, I will go to heaven, right? No. I am afraid. I am afraid because although my soul is ready, my mind and body are not. I am afraid of never seeing my children and grandchildren again. I am afraid of dying on this God forsaken island when there this so much I want to do. I am afraid to go back into the classroom because what if I get the coronavirus and give it to my students? The guilt would eat me alive! Physically, I have trouble sleeping. I can't fall asleep until at midnight or later and when I do, I have nightmares. I have chest pains. Heart conditions run in my family. I can't tell anyone. I don't want to burden them with my fears. I have little appetite. I have to force myself to eat something every day. I used to love food. I am an old-fashioned cook. I bake from scratch. Growing up all my kids' birthday cakes were homemade. Add to that, I am a stress baker. My daughter used to give me a hard time when she came home from school and caught me baking. She'd ask, “What's the matter, Mom?” Food was a big deal. I have often been told I needed to open my own restaurant or bakery. I almost did once. Now, the kitchen brings little solace. Emotionally it's like an alien has taken over my body. I have had some pretty traumatic things happen in my life; but I handled them with relative calm and that lack of a habit of panicking has gotten through them all. I take a deep breath. I tackle the most urgent thing first. I make a list of what I need to do or what I need and mark them off as I go. Over the years I have managed to show a brave front; but I can't anymore. I cry a lot. I am anxious going out in public. My heart races when I do. For five months, I have gotten out to go to the grocery store and that is all. I live on a tropical island and I can't even enjoy it. I am calm one minute and hysterical the next. I'm moody and volatile and it has caused serious strain on my relationship with my fiance. Who can blame him? It doesn't help that I am a redhead and have the trademark temperament. So, how afraid am I? Pretty damn afraid! I have begun to write my will. I have written my daughter a six-page “goodbye” letter. I have written my son a letter. I have always prayed, and I know I am saved; but now I pray every night the traditional children's prayer, just in case… Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray Dear Lord, my soul you take. God bless Quinton and Little Jack. God bless my daughter Christina and her husband Clifton. God bless my granddaughter's Zoey, Malia, and Alice. God bless my son, Monty. God bless Bree (my son's soon-to-be ex-wife), Alaynah, Kaden, and Alex. God bless all of my friends and family and loved ones. God, please watch over all of them and keep them safe from harm. Please God, put a hedge of protection around my family and don't let them die. In Jesus' name, Amen. There are times that fear chokes me and I am unable to get out of bed or do; but don't want to. I force myself to get up and face each day. Going through the motions of fixing my fiance's breakfast (he works nights). I force myself to walk our dog and do the laundry. I force myself to cook supper each night; and then I have to force myself to eat. I look out the window and long for the beauty of the island around me but am too terrified to go out and see it. I have always written a journal, but now I am writing four to six-page entries. I have gone through four ink pens in the last two weeks alone. I have days that all I can do is “depression sleep.” Even this rest is plagued with nightmares. I'm aging fast. Dark circles under my eyes and wrinkles appearing daily around my eyes, mouth, and hands. I am just 49 years old, but I look and feel sixty. With all of this, you would think that it was impossible to look forward at all. You would think that it is impossible to dream about tomorrow, next week, or next year. Even I am surprised that I can, that I have. My fiancé and I have a dream of buying a live-a-board sailboat and sailing around the world. Planning for this dream consumes our days and nights. We have made lists. We watch sailing videos. We talk and discuss what we need to do and what we need to buy. We've laid out all of the steps to follow and have it all worked out. Yet, all the while a shadow lingers behind the surface fueled by the fear that this dream will never come true. That one or both of us will die before it becomes a reality. A voice whispers in our minds, This will never happen. Why do you bother to dream at all? I answer back, “I don't know, but I do.”

Last night, I felt impressed to write a letter to the President of the United States of America to share with him three points I needed to get off of my chest. The first point was to thank him and his family for putting our country first. Regardless of political beliefs, President Trump has convinced me that he and his family really do want America to be the greatest country in the world, which is something I can support. The second point was to ask why are there reports stating dead people received COVID-19 stimulus money? How come there is not some sort of regulation in place with the government that cross references social security numbers of those just written on a death certificate to the government agencies that send money? Obviously grieving families do not always tell the IRS or Social Security Administration that their loved one just died. And, let's face it, there are a lot of crooks in the world who do not want these agencies to know a person is dead. The third point I felt like I needed to share with the President of the United States was to ask for his prayers. He and his family appear to be the kind of people who pray to the Christian God, and since that is the same type of faith that I share, I hope he will take the time and utter a quick prayer asking for God's favor to finally shine on my life, so that I, too, will recover from this pandemic. I honestly do not know what else I am going to do if I do not find a job. I know people think that "white privilege" is a real thing. And maybe it is for some, but not for me. Reputable jobs want to check credit. Okay, fine. Just only use my recent North Carolina credit history and ignore everything in Georgia. I barely escaped my home state with my life and the clothes on my back. My former husband knows my social security number and when I left, he made sure to ruin my credit in hopes of forcing me to stay with him. When that did not work and I left anyway, he tried killing me by making it look like an accident (See photo. That story will be told at a later time). If I do not get a job, I do not know what I am going to do. I have worked everyday since I was fifteen years old. I do not know anything but working. I have never even filed for unemployment before now. All of my life, the people in it have told me that I would never amount to anything and would accomplish nothing...I do not want to think that they are right. That the decisions I have made in my short forty-four years on this planet were all for naught, especially on that first day when I wake up with zero dollars in my bank account, has made them be able to say, "I told you so". With a future so uncertain, where does one go from here? How does one recover? Hopefully, I will get a job before I need the unemployment benefits. If I cannot finally establish a career because I am discriminated against due to my lack of color, disability, or credit report, then, my back-up plan is that maybe I will receive unemployment benefits which will help supplement my income until I begin the local community college in August and find a part time job on campus. Even though I have over twenty years of experience in the office administrative and legal assistance industry, apparently employers are looking for education as well, which is why I will be getting my degree in Paralegal Technology so that I can pass the State and Federal exams. In the meantime, I plan on writing to help pass my time and keep my mind occupied. And maybe, just maybe, something else will come out of this experience and I will wake up one morning in the near future to realize that I am finally living my America Dream.

I look myself in the mirror, I can discern the decay of my face. There is no smile anymore. The stasis of my lips offers satisfactorily lust in my thoughts that torment my mind with Medieval methods. I touch my idol in the mirror and I hurt. I try to close his eyes, but I cannot. They stay open and still and they look morbidly. Chainsaws echo from the overlooked cemetery, tear into pieces mercilessly the marble crosses. What have I done to myself so he looks at me like this? Why my sharpened teeth do not appear on the glass surface with sole purpose to bite her? Sorrow hallowing my forehead with sorrow. Indestructible thorns jab more deeper in the flesh of my skull. Bloody tears sparkling in my hands' palms. If I scream I will die. If I die I will have to kill. If I kill I am obliged to leave. If I leave, I will return. God, why, the sorrows of people transmute into ebony coffins that are buried within my heart? If only I could soothe my consciousness for seven days… I feel something to choke me. My throat is asphyxiating while my glass idol laughs horrendously. I can't stand the howling. No, yell at me no more. Reigns powerful silence, and then spasms commence recalling me in my starting position, before abyssal darkness arrogates my senses. Maybe fate leads me in a deathly destiny, which in case it happens, will become the salvation which is the highest virtue for a tormented soul like mine. No, I don't murmur. The existing circumstances of life have tired me insurmountably, because as I try to open a way out to the future, it ricochets me to the past. Death is the physical continuation of life, and I will be delighted if it happens to the days of my youth, for the simplest reason, that I cannot avoid him. To speak the truth, I don't want to avoid him. I want desperately to remain alive and to feel whatever joy I can, but they don't let me. In which attempt I give or trying to be present, they find ways to chain me and isolate me. The only thing that will never succeed in accomplishing is to handcuff my mind. A free spirit clearly suffering, but in no way it can be imprisoned. A free spirit prefers death so not to lose innocence, insight, respect and prestige. I have thought many times while I stroll in the city, how life would continue if I committed suicide… For sure there will be consequences and repercussions to people who they love me , however they would continue to exist without me, and with the flow of time the rift of pain would heal in desired spots. The verb “die” does not fit here, so, reasonably I use the verb “suicide”. Suicide is not an act of cowardice as some falsely believe. Because nobody knows how much pain a single human has within his soul. Nobody knows the spiritual boundaries and the stamina in a daily routine that open wounds that cannot be healed. How many people we see daily that smile whilst inside them are literally devastated… How many people we see daily that seek a kind word, a velvet touch, an understanding breath, and the only thing that get is disdain… How many people daily we place of the beam of desperation without remorse…Here is a key word which provokes pathogenic causes with fatal results. Suicide as a meaning and as an act certainly is the ultimate hybris against God, though requires determination and courage to turn yourself against yourself and violently remove the coveted life in that way. How many of you have done this macabre thought at least once… In this theater of paradox we daily live, the incarnation of life to life seems like an unreachable dream. Loneliness, disappointment, sorrow, wrong choices, guilt, remorse, unemployment, compulsion, hatred, unfairy tax policies, lies, eradication, violation of human rights, greed, selfishness, stab democracy that all people worship. The rule of law which could be, turns into a cradle of powerful coldness where everything collapse upon the enormous steel walls of human separation. Undead people wander everywhere aimlessly. They stamp upon dead bodies, seeking comprehensible sunrays of justice and transparent water to wash away their sins. How would it seem to the violators of this planet, who have elevated the obedient lobotomy to a profitable enterprise, a universal peace, which it would dismiss forever the wars for interest and people would live happily? A universal peace will destroy forever the human funnel grinders of annihilation. Only by thinking of it, my heart shivers from hope and expectation. A universal peace would give meaning in words and prestige in actions of future generations in a planet which agonizes… The only thing that is needed is an incision of kindness into the hearts of men… An incision that will bring back long-forgotten feelings, good deeds, smiles, hope… Hope for a palatable future life. We need love to live, not pain. Tears drop from my eyes as my words breath on the paper. What I wish for, what I want is, my words breathe inside your psychic dreams…

Four years ago, I was in class three of junior secondary school, precisely in Bright Stars Model Secondary School, Uyo, Akwa Ibom State, Nigeria. We had just finished taking our junior West African Examinations, and were preparing to go on an excursion to the swanky, five star Le Meridien hotels and suites. We were told it was the 'creme de la creme' of the state, one that housed men of elite status, coming from far and wide. We savoured the thought of being treated to such an epitome of elegance. Arriving at its premises, it took me a while to fully absorb the aura that announced the hotel. Right from the classy furnished hotel rooms, to the evergreen, tranquil golf course - not to mention the state of the art shopping mall, embedded within its meticulously designed walls - the hotel was in one word, astonishing. The impeccable designs and structuring of the edifice was what keenly caught my interest. It was from then that I began to feel great awe for civil engineering. About three weeks after my encounter at the hotel, I began to take deep analysis of my intended course of study. I began to ask the older ones around me for any insight I might get on the course. My passion for civil engineering was further skyrocketed, when I discovered the enticingly wide range of places to offer my expertise. A mere thinking about it, emboldened me to put in my very best in any and everything that relates to my course. It made me envision myself in the blue overall and white helmet, working fervently for the good of my country. Some years after, in my last class of senior secondary, when I heard the tragic news of a church that collapsed here in Akwa Ibom State - one that nearly claimed the life of the Governor and several other top officials - due to poor planning and lack of technical-know-how, I was literally saddened. Why should all those lives have to go, just because of inadequate skilled manpower and knowledge of the job? Why do we produce substandard buildings despite sometimes, adequate funding? These questions occasionally pop into my mind every now and then, inspiring me to be outstanding. To plunge into the deepest recesses of civil engineering to know more than my peers and predecessors. Engineering as a whole, is currently one of the most lucrative professions worldwide. The job of a civil engineer, is primarily to plan, design and oversee construction and maintenance of building structures and infrastructure, such as roads, railways, airports, bridges, harbours, dams, and power plants to mention a few. There are two major types of civil engineers namely, the consulting engineers and the contracting engineers. The consulting engineers are solely responsible for the design work and blueprints of building projects, and they work predominantly in an office. The contracting engineers on the other hand, take the finished designs and blueprints, and implement them during construction. They work on construction sites and oversee the construction process. Sometimes the duties of the two types of engineers can be interwoven in areas like resolving design and development problems, scheduling material and equipment purchases and deliveries, etc. The skills generally required for civil engineering, and indeed all engineering professions include, strong numeracy and IT skills, excellent communication and teamworking skills, and of course, knowledge of relevant building legislation to mention a few. Graduates searching for employment, will need a degree in civil engineering, accredited by the Institution of Civil Engineers, (ICE). Graduates who have completed a bachelor of engineering programme (BEng), can gain the status of an Incorporated engineer. Those that have completed either a Master of engineering programme(MEng), or a BEng programme plus a masters, can acquire chartered engineer (CEng) status. The status of a chartered engineer is the highest level of engineering, and is the most highly sought level of qualification by employers in various establishments ranging from rail companies, utility companies, to the dominant civil engineering based companies, construction companies. I am currently in my 100 level in the University of Uyo, Nigeria, studying of course, civil engineering. I hope to revolutionize civil engineering in Nigeria. To turn the tide to an era where civil engineering is by and large digitalized. To usher in a new age, where the practice of civil engineering in Nigeria would not only be flawless, but also would become the prodigy of the engineering world. Civil engineering is my passion, and this is my dream for Nigeria. Thank you.

A couple months ago I started gathering research on whether or not people actually liked the jobs they were working. I only asked people in their 20s because I wanted to understand better if they actually were working their dream jobs yet, or not. My first research subject was a guy who worked at Subway. Did he like his job? Was it his dream job? The answer is no. He was only working their to pay for what he really wanted to do. And that was to work at a hospital. The second worker I asked was a young woman who worked for Wegmans. She didn't seemed thrilled at all to be working there. She did say her bosses were nice, but that's about it. I then asked another young woman at Wegmans. She was only working their to pay for collegee. I really think its kind of sad that your already over 20 and you still arent working where you want. So there you have it. Working for retail or food services as Sandwhich maker, or even a cashier are not dream jobs. Their not even career jobs. They are jobs you get to pay for the job you want. This is how our system is set up and it sucks. So prepaid your children or yourself if your not 20 yet to not have your dream job just yet.

A Fantasy Conversation Between Kenneth Branagh and I Justine Heart July 11, 2019 I wake up to the doorbell ringing. I wonder who it could be because I am not expecting visitors. Cautiously, I put on a tee shirt as I was sleeping in only a bra and sleep shorts. The nights have been fairly warm, despite the windows being open and all fans going. I also spray a mild dose of deodorant on. I look through the peep hole and gasp at the sight of my visitor. It's HIM! I can't believe it! My absolute favorite actor: Kenneth Branagh! I hear a knock. I creep towards the handle and slowly open it. I am shaking slightly. I take a deep breath as I look into his deep eyes. I am falling into them, hypnotized for the moment. Paralyzed. Seeing him in person is so surreal. Why would he be here? I haven't sent my pictures or anything yet. How would he know where I lived?? I can't help but think I am still dreaming. Is this some kind of joke? Why pick my apartment? Who would know to send him here? “Miss?” I hear from a thousand million miles away. I am trying to pull myself together, but I feel like I am failing dreadfully. I take another deep breath. “I say miss, are you quite alright. You look like you've seen a ghost.” His voice is deep and warm. It runs over me, soothing me. I realize how long I have been staring and try to shake it off. “Please, excuse my staring,” stammer out, “its just you have no idea how much I have imagined meeting you. I mean... wow!” “I take it you recognize me,” his smooth British accent causing a very feminine reaction. I want to just hug him. Ken is here, and I am staring at him, bug-eyed. Shit I am staring. Wow, I am rude. “Mr. Branagh, you have no idea,” I explain. “But where are my manners? Won't you come in please. Let me get you a chair. Please, sit, won't you?” He walks slowly into my apartment, luckily its fairly clean in the front area. Clean enough for the parents to drop in and not feel embarrased at least. After bringing in a chair to the TV area, I motion for him to take a seat. I feel like I could faint, my head is so light. I try to maintain some composure as I get a bottle of water from the kitchen to offer him. I laugh nervously as I hand him the not so fancy beverage. I sit on the futon lounge chair so I am not staring at him, but he is still in my eye line. His hair has slightly changed over the years from blonde to a reddish mix. His trimmed beard and mustache are well maintained. He wears a yellow windbreaker, with a black shirt underneath. His blue jeans are well fitted but not too tight. He is so handsome, and yet so casual. I gulp hard again. My reaction does not go unnoticed. “So do you have a name?” he queries, his tone almost sarcastic. I want to die right now, but only because this is my happiest I will ever be. Ken Branagh, here, talking to me. For what reason, I have no clue. I am enchanted beyond belief. I want time to freeze, to let this moment last forever. “Jen,” I almost whisper and realize its not the name I want him to call me. “Oh no, I mean Justine.” He gives me a look so I continue. “Its both actually,” I answer, meekly. “I go by Justine online as it is the name I use in my writing.” He seems to want to know more, so I continue. “Jennifer is my legal name, but I like being called Jen. I only go by Jennifer at work or when my parents yell at me.” “Then what do you want me to call you?” The question is genuinely curious. “Whatever you want,” I say. I can't believe that's my answer. It sounds slightly slutty, and also like I have no clue what is going on. Come on, girl snap out of it. You may be a fan, but you have some self respect. I back pedal. “I mean, you have your choice of a casual version, formal, or professional.” “Let's go with the professional version then,” he says, smiling brightly. Oh what that smile does to me in person. I close my eye and take a deep breath. “So you're a writer?” he asked, trying to change my preoccupation. I smile, noticing that got his attention. “Amature at most, but yes,” I say shyly, smiling.“Published?” I wince. “So that's a yes?” I nod, grimacing. “I wouldn't call that amaturish.” “Considering its not really my novel,” I added. He looks at me, confused. I want to laugh because its the look I always get when I tell people that, plus its adorable. I want to hug him again. I want someone to pinch me still. I am still in awe, but his levity seems to be bringing me back to earth again. “Long story short, its my ex-boyfriend's novel. We decided not to use his name for personal reasons,” I finally say. He seems to accept that. “What's the name of the book?” Ken asks. “My Destiny. Why shopping for your next movie?” “Maybe,” he answers, slyly. He looks at me, an evil twinkle in his eyes that make me shiver a bit. I gulp again.

Between war, negative life circumstances, depression and my dreams which one will win? You will be an important person, an American soldier told me. Alone in the jungle, I am freezing, I am hungry, I am afraid. There is a lot of blood. Let me hide. There are dead bodies. What's going on? I do not know where I am. I am lost, I am afraid of Dracula. The Bush is moving, it might be a lion, not maybe a tiger or cheetah. Oh my God, I am too young to die. Anyway, I am not ready to die. Come on, dying at this age. I just totalized 11 years old one week ago. “I am screaming mom, dad, where are you? Like ten times”. My parents are not responding. I am hearing some noise, it is a roar. How did I get in a jungle? All these thoughts in my head, let me take a nap and maybe tomorrow will be a better day. I remembered Mama once said to me “jo never ever forget to pray before sleeping" in my prayer I thought God to bring back my parents and help me remember what happened? I found a tree where there was a little bit moon shadow far away from those dead bodies. I decided to force myself to sleep despite it was cold. In my dream, my mom and dad calling my name I am alone in the jungle. It was all dark. ''They found me and mom asked me why am I alone and crying?" "I told them I am lost, and I was looking for you". "'My dad told me don't cry any more, my son". "You are the son of a leader who will be a leader". "He said son remembered you have my blood." "I gave you everything u need". "Life is going to be difficult but if you are keeping working hard and praying". "One day you will be successful and make us proud". "Life took us away from you, but we are watching over you and just know we love you". After that, I saw a person with a bright shadow appearing and tell them the time is up. My mom and dad hugged me for the last time, and they disappeared. Directly I woke up in the jungle early in the morning, I thought about my dream, but I realised what happened yesterday was a bad dream. instead, it is a reality; I am a child turned a man. So, I decided to find a way out or find where people are. I started walking, walking without resting and I didn't eat. I kept walking until I saw a river. I was thirsty so I decided to drink water from the river, and it tastes like salt, but I had no choice. Then I had a pen and a small paper in my pocket, but I don't know where it was from. the pen I had in my pocket just felt down in the river. It started flowing and I decided to follow the pen as I followed the pen, I saw a girl running so I decided to follow her. By following her, I saw there was a kind of armed soldiers I never saw before after her, so I decided to run smartly behind them to discover what is going on? Then I saw one of the soldiers getting out of the car and took her by force, so I was behind the remaining soldiers. I saw the soldier who was before her, trying to take off her clothes so she is shouting leave me alone and I thought they want to rape her.

Four years ago. I remember this feeling. Tired, empty, solemnly cupping my shins in a bathtub stained with blood rivered from my wrists. Although I'm not self harming, I completely remember the pain and emptiness inside. That need for purpose. I honestly assumed that by virtue of following my passion and carving out my dreams into reality, I would get rid of this feeling I find myself in. While 2014 became a turning point in my life, making the decision to live for myself and not for the joys of everyone else around me, I'm back at in the same space, just a different context. Early 2018, and my emptiness comes from giving my career for everyone but me, to take responsibility. Owning my autonomy comes with owning my responsibility. Right now, I am where I am career wise based on my actions. Many things that inform where I am not, is based on me not acting on my talent or my goals. Things based on fear to starting. All of this is my fault - which is honestly the best news for me. Seeing that I am the cause of my unhappiness, I can also be the cause of my own fulfillment. I just need to own my responsibility in owning my space. This is what both makes me powerful as a human, and vulnerable. My responsibility in self is me determining that I am the master of my own destiny. I am the sole person that I get angry or frustrated with - and I find myself mirroring that with other people due to my lack of ownership. However, now I know. My inner self was only asking for me to stop creating mirrors out of others and face an actual mirror and see power within me. I fully understand why I moved from the space I was in to where I am now, and how my feeling of emptiness is not translating into a bloodied bathtub but rather a moment of stillness and self introspection in my journal. I am aware that I have transitioned into more healthier practices of mental healthcare, but the larger picture is being fully accountable of my life. This is the only currency to realizing your dreams.