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Reflecting upon some of the most striking situations in my life, l have found the one that deserves to be shared. Before l begin , a quick disclaimer goes that the description will be conveyed in an objective fashion as much as possible, so do not be quick to judge that it is contrived in an exaggerated subjective manner. It was cold that day, and every school boy or girl was in the mood for discovering something new –it did not necessarily have to be academic knowledge. That was a 5-minute recess in which fellow students were engaged in different activities : some ,who are considered to be attached to the blackboard , were getting prepared to the next class; some, who are mostly boisterous gangs , were on the way to concoct another amusing prank ; the rest were outliers , being engrossed in rather unconvential actions. Among those aforementioned types, there was one type whose members were limited to one spoiled girl ,Safiya. She was the luckiest mass upon whom both wealth and beauty were bestowed by God. She had another special quality whereby she employed in manipulating people easily ; her unusual beauty , financial power ,and the canniness made all the mates in class be what she wanted them to be . Coming to the event itself , extensively described character Safiya entered the classroom , with some trivial yet kill-the-time delicacies in hand , and abruptly went into rage with Sara, one whose self-esteem would beg for strength . Safiya threw an invective of profane words at Sara without even giving her a chance to say a mere word. In that instant , the rest of the class were paralyzed doing nothing other than staring at the one-sided quarrel , which led Safiya to slap Sara in the face by availing herself of the meek prey's dormant state.( Well, you may say that 5- minute break can not tolerate such a thing to occur , but with the belated presence of the proceeding lesson's teacher , the conditions were conducive).Contrary to everybody's expectations, Sara did not even blink ; instead, she stood still and said, “l did not say anything about you”.Time gave the abuser to continue no longer when a sound of someone's foot stepping came to ear: perfect timing was it to sense the stepping for Safia to prepare to play a role of an abused martyr. The teacher came and yelled, “ who is so daring to break my rules by loudly betraying offensive words ?” Safiya instantaneously turned into a meek, feeble victim who feigned to have been slapped by Sara. The whole class, authentic witnesses of the case, were stuck and did not tell the truth about what actually happened.The teacher then gave Sara a punishment that was to mop all the floors at school .So humiliating and barbaric it was , no soul dared to say a word since students were equally afraid of Safiya as of the teacher. I was one of the eyewitnesses who could not do anything but waiting for someone else to speak up. Throughout the whole lesson, l could not concentrate because of that morally dismissive situation l happened to witness. For several days after the very day, l scolded myself inside for letting the innocent clean the entire floors of the school.One day, l even begged Sara's pardon for making all these happen to her: she forgave. Still ,l could not forgive myself since Safia is enjoying from her tricks and all-freely-dispensed wealth , even though she put someone else into a mired state. However , since then, l decided to garner confidence , and l started to reveal all the tricks she was playing with the kids .That revealing and standing up for honesty turned me into her enemy , but l genuinely embraced that. So the moral of the story is that becoming an onlooker can mean something , and telling the true record of the situation could even save someone's life ( in my case, it was more of a smaller punishment : mopping floors). From that horrible situation onwards, I have been striving to be honest , outspoken , and most importantly a good eyewitness . In the coming years, I hope not to be a reticent person and try to bolster my capability to be brutally honest towards people and not make any other innocent person be a victim of maliciously cunning masses.

Kochi, thought of as a can of storm clouds, synchronies with Govind's mood. With time the once lively canvasses of his dreams had faded away and all that was left were their shadows in a neglected diary. Surfing through social media at stormy nights, each photo a glorious post card from a life he was not living, Govind felt the heartbreak. Prompted by that overwhelming desire, he messaged Neha, a ray of sunshine in his college days. A reunion was arranged. The city, engulfed in gloom, acted as the setting for their meeting at a tiny café. Govind's heart surfaced, admitting the void that had consumed him. Neha was listening with a tear rolling on her face. "Life's a cruel joke, Govind," she confessed in a faint voice. "We run after dreams that vanish when we draw too close to them. Perhaps, after all, dreams aren't that much important in the larger picture of things." Govind looked outside and the buildings blurred.  Her words shattered the fragile hope clinging to him. Was this life the same as a storm, and then the return to normal routine? The café isolated him, the city lights laughing at him. It was hard to tell which day was which as they all ran into each other. Then, there was a resounding knock that broke the monotony. Here is Neha, an old photo album in her hand. It was their college album, an emblem of their dreams realized. They sat; the album a time bridge spanning years. Every old image is like a window to a time when something can be done. An image of festival, happiness glowing in the eyes of youngsters. Another, the arms slung around each other, a sign of the past closeness. Each image is like a shard of a broken mirror – reflecting joy and shattering the illusion of their imagined futures. It couldn't be the future they have been planning for. Silence was all around, only the wind mourning outside. Neha began to speak, her voice quavering. " I went back, Govind" she confessed. "Travelled, ticked things off a list. But..." That was how she saw it in Govind's eyes – the displeasure, the sense that there was no longer any magic in dreams. "It wasn't enough," she whispered. "The chasing never ends." The album fell open to a blank page – it was an abstract representation of their unfulfilled dreams. A bottomless sadness invaded Govind. They weren't only mourning their dreams; they were grieving the life they could have shared together. Neha put her hand on him, the gesture of united grief. They weren't just individuals, but rather the shattered image of what could have been. A rumble of thunder accentuated the silence. Neha stood up her chin raised and her face shining with sorrow and determination. "I am sorry, but I have to go," she said. "But Govind, perhaps life isn't about great gestures. Maybe it's these small, everyday moments, the people we meet and the love we share?" She finished and then she went but her words stayed, a small spark of hope set in the arctic of his warm heart. He gazed at the photo album and the white page before him a frightening sight. On the other hand, he was filled with gloom, but, as he tried to find it, he recalled their joint past – the laughter, the friendship, the tacit understanding that they had between them. Neha was right. Maybe life isn't about achieving the greatness. Perhaps it was about the bonds he had forged, the times he lived to the fullest, and the love he had for the people in his life. Govind was touched , a lone tear rolling down his cheek. He could no longer regain the past, but at least, he could decide to exist in the present. Maybe, yes, maybe indeed it was still possible to see beauty in the ordinary things. The rains came to an end, opening a narrow slit of moonlight. It wasn't a loud glare, but an enlightened glow, a hope for a brighter tomorrow. He approached the window, to his surprise, determination started to replace the despair. He wouldn't be a slave to his dreams but he wouldn't omit them either. He carried them with him like a memento, both a reminder of the past and a guide to the future. Kochi used to be in some sort of darken. Now, it sparkled under the pale moon. It was still alive with activity. He breathed deeply. He didn't know what would happen next, but it was the first time in a while that he felt the smallest glimpse of optimism. He might be at loose ends, but he wouldn't sink anyway. He will continue to search for meaning, for purpose, for connection and, who knows, perhaps he will find his own unique melody in the symphony of life.

I was in the computer science lesson, learning about speakers (devices responsible for amplifying sound) and microphones. When the teacher presented the features and components of the speaker, I had a brilliant and astonishing idea that we could generate electricity from sound. In reality, a speaker converts electricity to produce sound, while a microphone performs the opposite function. When we make a sound into a microphone, the diaphragm of the device vibrates and moves the coil inside, cutting the magnetic field within it. This process allows us to generate electricity, albeit in small amounts. Despite the low energy output, we discovered an almost unlimited source of energy. If we position the device in the middle of the walls of every room and connect them to a battery, we could obtain at least 480mW of energy. Although this amount of energy is relatively low, it can effectively recharge fitness trackers or smartwatches. Placing these devices in noisy streets, factories, or dance clubs could even allow us to recharge electric cars. Ultimately, we could generate electricity wherever it is needed. This highlights an advantage of sound energy over other sources like wind energy.

I cannot believe it's already twenty years since I landed at the Newark airport and made my dream come true. As it was yesterday, I still remember the smells and sounds of New York City, a warm breeze blowing through its streets and avenues, dinning in a trattoria or grabbing French fries to go, rollerblading from the Battery Park all the way to the Central Park, enjoying watching friendly squirrels and the liveliness of Washington Square Park. A walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, browsing Manhattan skate shops, and subway rides to and from Jersey City. Buying T-shirts, books, a Tony Hawk baseball cap, a NYPD hoodie, and other souvenirs. Buying a novel in a WTC bookstore. And all that thanks to my friend Lidija. The day I visited New York City was September 11, 2000. The day I was supposed to celebrate my first anniversary never happened. Instead, the day of disbelief, shock and terror took its place on September 11, 2001. Fourteen years later, after that sad and heartbreaking day, I officially went online and launched my website. Through bernardjan.com I wanted to make everything I wrote in Croatian and English available to everyone, to bring my stories closer to you. And to share what I love with those of you who appreciate it, because there is no greater joy for me than that. I launched my website on September 11, 2015. A year after the launch of bernardjan.com, I opened my @BernardJanWorld Twitter account, and I haven't stopped tweeted since. Not a single day has passed without me being active on Twitter. That happened on September 11, 2016. On September 11 last year, I was removed from the register as the owner of my cottage in Tuhelj, which I had sold twenty days before. These are my 911 loves and memories. BJ Original post: https://www.bernardjan.com/post/911-loves-and-memories Photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash

It was about 12:30 in the afternoon, and I left my apartment to head to an appointment. It was my first apartment and I hadn't lived there for long; it was not a great place. It was below street level and on heavy rain days the water seeped under the door leading to the back of the building, and soaked the dreary brown carpeting in my new home. It was in a crummy building not far from downtown, but it was easy to get public transportation from there. That and my inexperience at apartment-hunting led me to jump at the chance to rent this place, thinking I wouldn't find much better. Another freezing day, it had to be about 30 degrees. The sky was the color of steel and it made a dramatic contrast to the skyscrapers lined up against it. I was walking beside my building toward the corner, where a guy in a thin leather jacket was already waiting at the bus stop. The sky darkened a bit. I was wondering how the guy could possibly be warm dressed like that when I noticed a flake whip past my face. And another. It couldn't be snowing. The weather reports hadn't mentioned any chance of it. When I finally turned the corner of the building, a thousand snowflakes rushed out and surrounded me, whirling around, blocking my view of the litter-filled sidewalks and turning the avenue into a snow-globe. In the midst of it, the man stood still. I felt the wet flakes on my hair and knew I needed to run back to my apartment for a hat, but I didn't move. Neither of us was willing to admit we were standing in the middle of a snowstorm. I looked in his direction again and saw that he was staring at me. We both smiled and began to laugh – this was really happening! I turned and trotted back around the corner to my apartment, giggling as I searched for my black beret. When I stepped back outside a few minutes later, hat on my head, the gray sky was gone and replaced with intense sunshine. The snow had disappeared and the slick, damp streets produced an uncomfortably bright glare. My bus was pulling up to the curb. The man in the leather jacket took a few steps toward the bus, waiting for the doors to open. I tried catching his eye, to acknowledge the bit of craziness we'd just shared. But he climbed aboard the bus the moment the doors slid open and after a second passenger entered, so did I.

In terms of Spiritual Awakening & Spirituality, many people are still confused and do not know about this definition while they exist naturally and randomly in the Mother Nature law & the Universe, including our Earth for the souls to experience and learn their Divine spiritual meaningful lessons from this lifetime to another lifetime, depends on Divine plan and each soul's uniqueness. My spiritual awakening journey marked the biggest shift last year when I hit my bottom of this lifetime for the first time - my first biggest traumatic experiences on all levels at the same time including broken pieces in relationships with other people, relationships with myself - my own beliefs about myself and my world, my future plan about career and studying, etc. Everything was broken at the same time last year, exactly August 2019 in a sudden way that I thought I could not handle them all, but I'm glad that I'm sitting here safely in my home, and writing this to share I had passed my first life spiritual challenge gracefully and beyond my imagination. And you know what? All of those traumatic experiences led me to who am I today and helped me to move closer to things and people I desired in my dreams before. But, however, I would love to share with all of you about spiritual awakening and soul lessons rather than trying to impress all of you about my own happy stories afterward. I want all of you will receive some meaningful things after you read my story for yourself and your upcoming journey or your loved one - people you care for. Let's begin with the Spiritual Awakening journey! What's Spiritual Awakening Journey and how experiencing Spiritual Awakening journey can benefit you and your life in a sudden way and beyond your imagination? Let me tell you this one firstly, Spirituality is not a mysterious world or out of the box - they are one with our physical world and our body. Yes, spirituality is within you and within your heart, your soul, your body, and your mind - all of yours are spirituality. If you often see 11:11, 3:33, 2:22, or numbers like that on your clock, your bill, etc. It's meant you are experiencing or nearing to your spiritual awakening journey, very soon. Yes, I say very soon and you can claim it to receive it. Believe it and it will come to you. The Spiritual Awakening journey is a lifelong journey and from this lifetime to another lifetime as we had known from the beginning of my story. It's not happened for you or your family or even your community, but it happened for your soul and for the balance of the Universe - the law of Mother Nature on this Universe and this Earth. When a soul is awakened, they see this world from a 5D level- a higher level of light and shadow, the reality of this world. The Spiritual Awakening journey is becoming closer and steps into your authentic self. You will say "I'm living with my authentic self every day" because you are an honest person, right? But, hell no. That's not spiritual awakening journey or showing that you are fully awakened. Many people are still living with their false identities and fake personalities for their whole life because they haven't awakened. Now, I want to ask you one question: How many beliefs that you are believing in is from you and how many beliefs that are not from you living in your mind and body? If you don't know/ not sure about the answer, you are not fully awakened and healed from your past life patterns or past experiences traumas. But how to be fully awakened and healed from those uncomfortable things inside you? The answer is, first of all, let's choose to heal and receive your Divine lesson, you should feel that you need to do that and learn that Divine lessons for your soul from within before you can truly experience a spiritual awakening journey. " When a student is ready, a teacher appear and when a student is fully ready, a teacher disappears." I don't know what are your spiritual gifts in this lifetime, but after experiencing my spiritual awakening journey for a year, now I can predict my future and read through some people's intentions naturally by my psychic abilities sometimes. However, spiritual awakening journey is not easy at all, you also have to pay something, not money but your time and energies for every big spiritual shift. Your physical body will be affected at the same time by Ascension Symptoms that you can find in some Astrology/Spiritual pages. I know some of you might not believe it until its happened to you- like me before. However, the spiritual awakening journey will help you live a happy life with your authentic self after Tower moments - beyond your imagination. Are you ready? Contact me if you have any questions about this. My Gmail is: ldtdali@gmail.com or direct me via IG account: @lilimimihehe - no fee at all.

Yes it's so nice when you're trying to get a new life together and you've got a million things running through your mind like; how to market yourself in a diverse market and how to fund myself for this new change in career focus that I'm embarking on, when the flu hit me and sent me straight to the toilet. It's never fun! lol So here we are now a few days later and I still feel crummy. I didn't get a wink of sleep and all I can do is sit and write which is a good thing right now. For 15 years it has taken me to strengthen my back and get myself to where I can sit up and write for awhile without too much pain providing I sit up a straight as possible. That gets hurt some too at times and then I take a good break. Good thing I get up frequently to stretch my limbs! But in all honestly the flu has me writing. I'd love to be helping someone right now. I wish I could offer my services in support work. I loved my PSW position with Paramed Oakville. But that was 18.5 years ago now. Wonderful people to work for and my job was fulfilling and my patients delightful. Last night, I laid in bed and thought about many things and the one question came to mind was, "How many people have a version of the flu right now?" I guesstimated that probably in my city at least 300 people. Thank goodness I'm not in need of the ER. I feel for the people who do. Well, I just needed to say Good Morning to you and I hope you're feeling well! LOL Thanks for the chat! :)

My beloved and I cannot be together–or so they say. But why? I still don't really understand, but they say we are not the same–or so his mother claims. We are not the same? Like how? I'm confused. On the day my beloved and I go to visit his mother for the first time, she makes it clear to me that ‘we' can never happen. I sit there like a log, speechless, as if my tongue is tied but really, it is because I find no words to express my bafflement. He asks me to excuse them–‘Wait for me in the car Emefa, I'll be with you shortly.' He appears to be quite stunned by his mother's mien himself. I obey and leave the room, but I stand by the door and eavesdrop. I need to hear something, at least to help me comprehend why the woman who sounded so sweet and welcoming over the phone, is being so indifferent to me now that we finally meet. ‘Mom, what is the meaning of all this? Why are you being like this?' I hear him say. ‘I'm not being indifferent Akwasi, I'm telling you the reality.' ‘Which is…?' ‘That you cannot marry her, no son of mine is ever marrying from that tribe or any other!' ‘But mom why? She's the one I love.' ‘No way...Never! Then find someone else to love because I am not accepting this one. Not today nor tomorrow! There are equally good Ashanti women around you can choose from, maybe even better.' ‘But she's the one I like. I don't want anyone else. Why can't it be her?' ‘Mm-mm. Impossible!, I will not accept an Ewe as my daughter-in-law.' ‘You know you're being irrational mom. You're much too educated to be speaking like this. You of all people should know better!' ‘Me? You dare call me irrational? Call it whatever Akwasi!, I've said my own. See? She hasn't even married you yet, and she's already turn you against me, your own mother. That is all they are good at!' ‘Mom! Emefa has done nothing wrong. She deserves to be given a chance please.' ‘It's either her or me then. Let me know when you've made your choice. I have nothing left to say.' ‘Ah-ah mom, this is too much. You can't just…' Door opens and bangs. Soon afterwards, dead silence. Bitterly, I turn away, my heavy heart pregnant with words my lips may never utter. I head calmly in the direction of the car. Another door bangs, I know it's him coming out. I sit in the car and watch him tread over, shoulders slumped, his eyes drooped the way they do when he is fatigued. My own eyes sting from the struggle to hold back tears that threaten to trickle down any time soon. He joins me in the car, I stare in the opposite direction into direct nothingness. ‘I know you heard everything. Right?' It was not so much of a question as it was a statement. I nod. Hmm. ‘I'm sorry you had to hear all that Emefa. My mother is not a bad person. I promise to sort everything out. Don't worry dear, we'll be fine.' I smile, a painfully forced smile. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it gently, a feeble attempt made to comfort me when he himself needed it the more. I am not convinced. How can I not be worried? He doesn't sound confident like the Akwasi I know; I can tell he's scared, that he isn't so sure anymore. I stare out the window at the house one more time. Who knows? It could be my last. As we leave, I close my eyes and allow the tears to trickle, caressing my cheeks as they make their way slowly down my chin. I bite my lower lip and wonder, 'Why must it come to this?'. Due to circumstances beyond our control, families we didn't ask to be born in, identities we had no choice but to embrace, because of this division called tribe; my beloved and I can never be–or so they say. A short story on tribalism and ethnicity.

My beloved and I cannot be together–or so they say. But why? I still don't really understand, but they say we are not the same–or so his mother claims. ‘We are not the same? Like how?' I'm confused. On the day my beloved and I go to visit his mother for the first time, she makes it clear to me that ‘we' can never happen. I sit there like a log, speechless, as if my tongue is tied but really, it is because I find no words to express my bafflement. He asks me to excuse them–‘Wait for me in the car Emefa, I'll be with you shortly.' He appears to be quite stunned by his mother's mien himself. I obey and leave the room, but I stand by the door and eavesdrop. I need to hear something, at least to help me comprehend why the woman who sounded so sweet and welcoming over the phone, is being so indifferent to me now that we finally meet. ‘Mom, what is the meaning of all this? Why are you being like this?' I hear him say. ‘I'm not being indifferent Akwasi, I'm telling you the reality,' ‘Which is…?' ‘That you cannot marry her, no son of mine is ever marrying from that tribe or any other!' ‘But mom why? She's the one I love.' ‘No way,...Never! Then find someone else to love because I am not accepting this one. Not today nor tomorrow!. There are equally good Ashanti women around you can choose from, maybe even better.' ‘But she's the one I like. I don't want anyone else, why can't it be her?' ‘Mm-mm, impossible my son, I will not accept an Ewe daughter-in-law.' ‘You know you're being irrational mom. You're much too educated to be speaking like this. You of all people should know better!' ‘Me?, you dare call me irrational, call it whatever Akwasi, I've said my own. See?, she hasn't even married you yet, and she's already turn you against me, your own mother.' ‘Mom, Emefa has done nothing wrong, she deserves a chance.' ‘It's either her or me then, let me know when you've made your choice. I have nothing left to say.' ‘Ah-ah, this is too much, you can't just…' Door opens and bangs. Soon afterwards, dead silence. Bitterly, I turn away, my heavy heart pregnant with words my lips may never utter. I head calmly in the direction of the car. Another door bangs, I know it's him coming out. I sit in the car and watch him tread over, shoulders slumped, his eyes drooped the way they do when he is fatigued. My own eyes sting from the struggle to hold back tears that threaten to trickle down any time soon. He joins me in the car, I stare in the opposite direction into direct nothingness. ‘I know you heard everything. Right?' It was not so much of a question. I nod. Hmm. ‘I'm sorry you had to hear all that Emefa, my mother is not a bad person. I promise to sort everything out. Don't worry dear, we'll be fine.' I smile, a painful smile, when he takes my hand in his and squeezes it gently, an attempt made to comfort. I am not convinced. How can I not be worried? He doesn't sound confident like the Akwasi I know; I can tell he isn't so sure anymore. I stare out the window at the house one more time. Who knows? It could be my last. As we leave, I close my eyes and allow the tears to trickle down, caressing my cheeks as they make their way down to my chin. I bite my lower lip and wonder why it has to come to this. Due to circumstances beyond our control, families we didn't ask to be born in, identities we had no choice but to embrace, because of this division called tribe, my beloved and I can never be–or so they say. A short story on tribalism and ethnicity based on a true experience.

I'd usually refer Dalat as a ville, rather than a city. I call it ville with the whole of my innocent heart and girliest love. Every time I think about la ville, I always picture a large expense of blue sky dotted with cotton-candy clouds, vast greenery of forestry and streets masked with a thin layer of highland fog. I also think about him and myself when we sat on top of the hill on that chilly afternoon, looking down on the calm and lively city. There are so many emotions associated with la ville - from loneliness as the winds comfort me that day when he mistreated my heart, happiness when he held me tight under the soft sunbeam, to eagerness as the butterflies flutter in sync with the butterflies in my tummy that morning when I was waiting for him to pick me up or enormous sadness as the chills surrounded us when he told me he moved on. A multitude of nature imaginaries accompanied me throughout that lovely experience with my first love. I hold the city deep in my heart, as how we all would hold our first loves. But unlike how I connote him, I feel at peace whenever I imagine la ville. La ville has been genuinely kind to me. La ville is like an elegant mistress who possesses everyone's minds. Her every step emphasizes her gracefulness and sophistication. Her winds are soft, rains are gentle, even her silk-thin sunbeams are comforting as they cast upon the city-wide dewy branches. Just like him, la ville's inhabitants are kind. They are careful with their soft-spoken words, always politely start their sentences with a "dạ". La ville's residents treat each other with a type of authentic love that I would rarely find in the southern region and treat foreign visitors with tremendous hospitality. La ville even has a charm in her daily events. At night, she gracefully lays a light layer of fog to signal curfew hours. When morning arrives, her beams slowly pull away the layer to reveal the rustic lines of the French-styled streets soon followed with steady gusts of the gentle breeze. When it rains, la ville awakens the large mountainous branches to protect its equally thoughtful inhabitants - they greet each other with gentle smiles, friendly embraces, and frequent cups of warm tea. It's obvious to note that la ville is wholly verdant - you'll see an endless expanse of greens. La ville is famous for her romantic forests of pine trees, attracting couples for generations seeking for that rare feeling of bareness and unity with nature. I've seen all the seasons of la ville's: from rows of pink blossoms in the spring to green patches dotted with summertime, lavender transitioned to fresh daffodils, all transformed to glittering fairy lights during festive seasons (la ville also notoriously hosts a large population of Christians). All year-round, though, are the lovely rows of colorful hydrangea grown outside the houses' short fences, wild roses in street pots, open coffee fields, and flower valleys. Essentially, every house embraces a French atmosphere with antique architecture and a generous area for greeneries. Personally, I reunite with la ville every year for her chilling aura... Taking a break from the bustling metropolitan cities and enjoying a stay at la ville always feel luxurious. However, the heartwarming people inhabiting at la ville are gems - interacting with them or merely enjoying hot cocoa as they go along their daily errands are the most enjoyable pastimes. The stress-free behavior relaxes even the tensest visitors. And of course, with so many tourists visiting each season, it embraces new trends and styles through the years. Despite this, the soul of the city remains - it's still the same ville I'd call home and the host to so many nostalgic memories and strong feelings.

I'd usually refer Dalat as a ville, rather than a city. I call it ville with the whole of my innocent heart and girliest love. Every time I think about la ville, I always picture a large expense of blue sky dotted with cotton-candy clouds, vast greenery of forestry and streets masked with a thin layer of highland fog. I also think about him and myself when we sat on top of the hill on that chilly afternoon, looking down on the calm and lively city. There are so many emotions associated with la ville - from loneliness as the winds comfort me that day when he mistreated my heart, happiness when he held me tight under the soft sunbeam, to eagerness as the butterflies flutter in sync with the butterflies in my tummy that morning when I was waiting for him to pick me up or enormous sadness as the chills surrounded us when he told me he moved on. A multitude of nature imaginaries accompanied me throughout that lovely experience with my first love. I hold the city deep in my heart, as how we all would hold our first loves. But unlike how I connote him, I feel at peace whenever I imagine la ville. La ville has been genuinely kind to me. La ville is like an elegant mistress who possesses everyone's minds. Her every step emphasizes her gracefulness and sophistication. Her winds are soft, rains are gentle, even her silk-thin sunbeams are comforting as they cast upon the city-wide dewy branches. Just like him, la ville's inhabitants are kind. They are careful with their soft-spoken words, always politely start their sentences with a "dạ". La ville's residents treat each other with a type of authentic love that I would rarely find in the southern region and treat foreign visitors with tremendous hospitality. La ville even has a charm in her daily events. At night, she gracefully lays a light layer of fog to signal curfew hours. When morning arrives, her beams slowly pull away the layer to reveal the rustic lines of the French-styled streets soon followed with steady gusts of the gentle breeze. When it rains, la ville awakens the large mountainous branches to protect its equally thoughtful inhabitants - they greet each other with gentle smiles, friendly embraces, and frequent cups of warm tea. It's obvious to note that la ville is wholly verdant - you'll see an endless expanse of greens. La ville is famous for her romantic forests of pine trees, attracting couples for generations seeking for that rare feeling of bareness and unity with nature. I've seen all the seasons of la ville's: from rows of pink blossoms in the spring to green patches dotted with summertime lavender transitioned to fresh daffodils, all transformed to glittering fairy lights during festive seasons (la ville also notoriously hosts a large population of Christians). All year-round, though, are the lovely rows of colorful hydrangea grown outside the houses' short fences, wild roses in street pots, open coffee fields, and flower valleys. Essentially, every house embraces a French atmosphere with antique architecture and a generous area for greeneries. Personally, I reunite with la ville every year for her chilling aura... Taking a break from the bustling metropolitian cities and enjoying a stay at la ville always feel luxurious. However, the heartwarming people inhabiting at la ville are gems - interacting with them or merely enjoying hot cocoa as they go along their daily errands are the most enjoyable passtimes. The stress-free behavior relaxes even the most tense visitors. And of course, with so many tourists visiting each season, it embraces new trends and styles through the years. Despite this, the soul of the city remains - it's still the same ville I'd call home and the host to so many nostalgic memories and strong feelings. Although we'd normally atatch emotions with events and locations, la ville is different in the fact that my love for her and my former love are separate.

Blythe Heart, a very normal name for a very normal girl, living on a very normal street in a very normal town. But she wasn't going to be a normal girl for long. When the vampire prince and his fellow best friends pop up into town, everything will go in a chaotic turn. But it seems it's more chaotic for Blyths who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people.

1.0. INTRODUCTION Huge debt profiles, non-willingness to pay and the vice of electricity theft are prevalent components in the Nigerian Electricity Supply Industry (NESI). The aforementioned factors contribute to the huge liquidity gap in the NESI. The negative effect of energy theft cannot be overemphasized as the huge liquidity gap in the NESI affects all aspects of the value chain from generation to distribution. This, in turn diminishes the quantity and quality of electricity service delivery. In recent times, to curb the menace of energy theft, efforts have been intensified by the Distribution Companies (DisCos) in collaboration with the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). However, an aspect of this vice often left out is the issue of inaccurate customer enumeration of some residential maximum demand, commercial and industrial customers by the DisCos. 1.1 PROBLEM STATEMENT Electricity customers in Nigeria are classified into diverse broad categories which are: Residential (R1, R2, R3 & R4), Commercial (C1, C2 & C3), Industrial (D1, D2 & D3), Special (A1, A2 & A3) and Street lighting (S1) by the Nigerian Electricity Regulatory Commission (NERC) as contained in the amended 2015 Multi-Year Tariff Order (MYTO) 2.1. However, it is important to note that the eleven (11) DisCos have peculiar rates per kWh of electricity. The purpose of this study is to evaluate the commercial losses borne by the DisCos as a function of improper billing methods as opposed to the specified structures as set out in the MYTO 2.1 schedule. This is especially true for maximum demand, commercial and industrial customers who are billed on the inappropriate customer class category. The implication of this is that electricity is ineffectively priced. This further leads to huge commercial losses experienced by the DisCos. 1.2 SCENARIO ANALYSIS Example 1: Suppose an Industrial Firm in Lagos consumes 10kW/h for 10 hours daily in June 2017 but is billed based on R2 like most residential customers. It means that commercial losses to IKEJA DISCO for June 2017 is: Billing based on R2 Customer Classification: 30 days * 10 hours * N21.30/kWh * 10kWh = N63,900/Month Billing based on D2 Customer Classification: 30 days * 10 hours * N37.54/kWh * 10kWh = N112,620/Month Therefore, commercial loss to IKEJA DISCO is N112,620 – N63,900 = N48,720/Month. Example 2: Suppose a Commercial Hub in Abuja FCT consumes 4kW/h of electricity for 8 hours daily in June 2017 but is billed based on R2 like most residential customers. Commercial losses to ABUJA DISCO for June 2017 is: Billing based on R2 Customer Classification: 30 days * 8 hours * N24.30/kWh * 4kWh = N23,328/Month Billing based on C3 Customer Classification: 30 days * 8 hours * N47.09/kWh * 4kWh = N45,206.4/Month Therefore, commercial loss to ABUJA DISCO is N45,206.4 – N23,328 = N21,878/Month. The scenarios above show the monetary enumerations lost by the DisCos on a monthly basis as a function of incorrect electricity customer billing categories. To reduce the liquidity challenges encumbering the DisCos, this issue needs to be looked into and proper actions taken to reduce these commercial losses which are subsequently passed on to the residential electricity consumers. 1.3 RECOMMENDATIONS It is therefore recommended that the DisCos should: 1. Inspect and conduct energy audits for electricity customers under their jurisdiction to ensure proper customers classification. 2. Ensure customers use their buildings for the ab initio stated purposes and sanction those who default. 3. DisCo metering officials should be given incentives to reduce improper customer billing methodologies and corrupt practices. They should also be trained and re-trained on proper customer categorization. 4. Regularly monitor their electricity customers. 5. Reconcile their records and claw back lost funds from erring maximum demand, industrial and commercial customers. 6. Come up with an Energy Theft Whistle-blower policy.