Creative Writing

6 Steps to Start Your Content Writing Career

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Content Writing Career

Building a career in content writing is possible if you just decide that you want it and you’re willing to work hard to get there. While having great writing skills is a very good way to become a good content writer, it is not enough.                                                                                                                                                            You can become a good content writer and master it without knowing how to write well if you’re ready to stay dedicated and work hard for it.                                                                                                                      Content writing is the use of writing to pass information to inform, educate, and entertain your readers. It is done in varying formats from E-books, blogs, White paper, Product description, and also used as an important tool for social media marketing. Starting your content writing career may be confusing for you because you think you can write, and are curious as to what more there is to it. With content writing, whatever you write needs to have a purpose, and meaning to it.    The following steps will guide you on how to start your content writing career with ease:  Choose a Niche: Decide the specific space you want to write for and the things you want to write about. You can pick your niche based on: your interests, industry trend, and lucrative niche into consideration before deciding. The types of niches you can work on as a content writer include: Technical writing, Lifestyle content, Web content writer, Ghost writer, amongst many others.                        Hone your writing skills: To build your content writing career you have to learn how to write, and how to write with purpose. Most of your writings will be used to build authority for brands by informing, and educating their audience. This is why you cannot just write for writing’s sake; you have to learn the ropes and know how to structure your writing and the purpose the writing is for. You can polish your writing skills by writing continuously for a certain business, and testing how their audience reacts to it— then keep doing it over again.                                                                                                                                Know your Audience: Who are you writing for?  What do they want to hear? What type of tone do you have to use when writing for them? These are important questions that you need to answer. Your target audience are the people your writing will speak to, and those that will make use of your writings.        For example: If you’re writing for a women’s fashion blog, you know that most of its readers will be women, and your content should surround things that will appeal to them such as: the newest fashion trends, how to care for their nails, hair and female hacks that will help them in general. This will attract the specific people that you want, build your brand’s authority and reputation on that industry knowledge over time.                                                                                                                                                              Publish your Work: You need to let other people read what you have written, if you don’t do this, you won’t feel like you’ve started at all. It is easy to feel like you’re not good enough, publishing is what will boost your confidence in your work and make you want to do better as you go. When you publish your work, it positions you as an authority in that niche, and opens you to constructive criticisms; it also makes you better in the long haul.                                                                                                                  Build your Portfolio: Keep a record of every article, blog post, white paper you’ve done in your niche, and put them on platforms like; clippings, where you can share the link to your work with prospective clients. You can also do this by joining writing platforms that help you build a portfolio like The Ready Writers.                                                                                                  … Read more

The New: Multiple Talents and Balance

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Multiple Talents and Balance

Talents are great to have but balancing multiple talents goes a long way. ‏“Multipotentialite” is a modern professional word to describe a person with many talents. When someone has many intellectual skills, you can call them a “polymath.” An idiomatic phrase for a multi-talented person is “jack of all trades. Dearest Creative, I understand your struggle in trying to harness all your potential at the same time. The torment of not impacting the world with your gifts before you die keeps you awake, burdened, and busy. On the flip side, you don’t see how much you have done and you get cranky, sad, and defeated in your mind that you are not useful. But, hey! What to do when talents abound? Invest more in your interests, not in what everyone wants or does. READ ALSO: The psychology behind delayed action Be it singing, writing, dancing, acting, cooking, speaking, capturing moments, fashion designing- these are all great skill sets. The fact is, you are a human being with a limitless imagination. Your imagination is constantly generating new and extraordinary ideas. However, your imagination can also be a limitation. Start with one talent and focus on developing it. As you progress, you can expand your focus to include other talents. Select the talent that interests you most and work around it; as you expand, navigating becomes easy and satisfying. Your mind will play tricks on you- to feel that the rest of your talents will be buried if not used at an instance, but that’s not true. The best response to the mind games is to develop each talent, hone it, and be good at it. Most of all, forget those romantic myths that creativity is all about being artsy and gifted and not about hard work. They discourage us because we’re waiting for that one full-blown moment of inspiration. And while we’re waiting, we may never start working on what we might someday create. Creative, there are others just like you so don’t feel stuck. To thrive, you need the support of credible people. It will get overwhelming as you grow in it, but those credible people will hold your hands and constantly remind you of your awesomeness. Resources will be at your disposal as you develop. Remember you need believers in your gift. Those believers will provide the resources for you. These resources range from time, money, support, and a person’s credibility. Ensure not to abuse these resources by making judicious use of them. Creative, you have got this! You are not unfortunate to have been given multiple talents. There are so many other people who do not have the privilege to possess such potential needed to benefit themselves and the world. Enjoy the process. Most importantly, communicate with the giver of all talents- God. Cheers!

How Stoicism Helped Me Overcome the Trauma of Losing My Father

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Stoicism

Stoicism is a philosophy that teaches you how to live a virtuous and meaningful life, regardless of external circumstances. But how can it help you cope with the trauma of losing a loved one? In this article, I will share my personal story of how stoicism helped me overcome the grief of losing my father and find my purpose in life. 24th October 2017 😪 Six years ago, I began to learn the ways of the Stoics as a second-year philosophy student. I was trying to find my path between the calling of the Catholic Priesthood or the rich vocation of Matrimony. I was searching for a solid foundation on which to stand. As they say, “Life doesn’t happen to you; it happens for you.” Back then, I hadn’t fully analyzed the meaning of this saying. Armed only with a rudimentary understanding of Stoic philosophy, I set sail on my journey of self-discovery, where I realized that while you can’t control what happens to you, you can control your reactions to life’s events. This newfound wisdom led me to ponder the teachings of Stoicism, a philosophy that produced prominent figures like the great Emperor and author of “Meditations,” Marcus Aurelius. However, reflecting on everything around the demise of my father, I sadly acknowledge that my knowledge of Stoic philosophy was still shallow. I became so entangled in incoherent thoughts that I lost my way. My response to this excruciating event was overwhelmingly negative. It took a toll on my academic performance, and my life felt out of alignment. I was unprepared to live the philosophy I professed and loved. Thus, I became traumatized. Experiencing trauma is a normal reaction, but it was as if my mind was haunted by the incessant knocking of death. I became desensitized to the illusion of the grim reaper and was no longer afraid of death itself. My sole fear revolved around the well-being of my family, hoping none of them would experience the same fate. The true pain of my death, I realized, lay in the fact that those who loved me would miss me terribly. This insight made me acutely aware of the agony my mother would endure if she were to grieve my loss. My mother began having dreams, which she interpreted as signals of death lurking around us. These dreams heightened the anxiety that resided within me, and each time my phone rang, and her name appeared on the screen, my heart would skip a beat. I hesitated to answer, but I knew it was my mother, the woman who gave me my heart. I needed to check on her. I also dreaded seeing my younger brother’s tears. I silently prayed that his thoughts did not mirror my own. From 2017 to 2020, I felt like I was in a state of perpetual darkness, chased by an unseen shadow. I was scared of being alone, even when surrounded by friends. I couldn’t share my premonitions with my friends; it was a personal battle that I had to confront alone. They couldn’t fully understand me, as they were dealing with their own challenges, and I didn’t want to burden them with my struggles. I gnashed my teeth in silence when they were not around. In the midst of my doubt, I found inspiration in an unreleased song by J. Cole, “Show Me Something.” I refused to let my tears fall and instead sought understanding to clear my mind. I was lost, and I even fell into a mild state of atheism, questioning the role of God in my life. Modern philosophical thinking made me more skeptical of the supremacy of the supernatural over the mundane. My philosophical journey became a quest to find myself. In my final year, the rapper I mentioned earlier became an inspiration. In the depths of my doubt, I found myself praying, asking God for a sign to show me something, anything. I began connecting the dots in the lives of those I considered heroes, individuals who had changed the world. I realized that their life journeys followed a pattern, and I discovered that faith played a significant role. Their faith was not rooted in the known but in an assurance and conviction confirmed by the Unmoved Mover. What ultimately restored me was the same question that guided a great monk who lived an austere life, St. Bernard: “Why am I here?” In philosophy, we were taught to ask more questions than seek answers; questions were the Rosetta stone to life. I found my question, my “Eureka” moment. To combat the taunting presence of the grim reaper, I began asking why great individuals lived to a ripe old age or died fulfilled. The only answer I could find, after questioning and re-questioning, was “Purpose.” While I haven’t fully discovered my own purpose, I am on a relentless quest to ensure I live my life in the spirit of Gandhi: as if I will die tomorrow and learn as if I will live forever. I am growing up, Dad, and I hope you’d be proud of me. 

SCARS

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scars

Jeff jumped from the truck, dressed in Bunker Gear; regulated station wear, made from weightless, breathable, and flame-retardant fabrics. The bulkiness of the fabrics made him look extra large. His hands were safeguarded by large gloves, and he wore sturdy boots to protect his feet. His perfectly fit yellow helmet looks like a shield to preserve his head. He wears a mask over his face that provides clean breathing air that is kept in a tank he wears on his back. Just like his teammate, he looked ready to combat the fire and save the victims in the engulfed building. But before him was a replica of what had happened years ago, and he presumed the world was at a standstill, so he allowed his mind to travel down memory lane.  He was only 15 years old. He had come back from school with his mother’s driver. Mr. Funny, as fondly called, had picked him up from school late. Jeff had watched in complete anguish as the house burned. His mother’s multi-million house was consumed by fire from all sides. The roof, doors, and windows erupted in yellow-blue flames that instantly turned orange. The untamable smoke had dimmed his vision, and all he wanted to do was find his way to the crumbling building to save nothing but his family. He recalled the passersby he never knew existed alighted from their cars, not minding the stormy night sky. He had felt some strong hands deter him from taking another inch                    “Don’t go any further” The sympathy in the stranger’s voice was not mistaken                     “Why is the fire department not here?” Mr. Funny had yelled at someone The 15-year-old boy is now a reclusive firefighter driven by that one ordeal. After that afternoon, he became stoical; with a high level of pain tolerance, he became indifferent to suffering. But today, he allowed the walls of his heart to crumble at the sight of the burning house before him. The fire department he worked for was called minutes ago; they had driven fast here on a rescue mission. They were never late. Then what happened 15 years ago? When his single mother and little sister needed to be saved. Why did the fire department arrive when everything was already in ruins? His family was burnt beyond recognition. He recalled that was the day he decided to prevent a recurrence of such a disaster. He was going to be a firefighter and never would he be late. The state of his helplessness provoked him more. His ambition was almost impossible when he had terrifying nightmares of his burnt family for years. He not only lost his home in a fire, but his sense of security was also lost, and it significantly disrupted the normality of his daily life. The emotional distress made him withdraw from everything. The sight of fire, no matter how little, traumatized him, and he was subjected to sessions with a therapist.                             “Let’s move” he felt his colleagues nudge him.                   “Can they put out the fire in my heart too?” he asked incoherently, his eyes distant. He had lived in denial that he was fine. Free from every torment related to that day. He wished someone would eavesdrop on the conversations in his heart. He wouldn’t mind, at least this once. But everyone was scampering trying to put out the fire, just like that tragic day.                        “Save my mother. Please, save my sister” was the only thing he could mutter. Somehow, all he could see was his 15-year-old boy crying for help. Standing on his feet, he could still pick conversations. All efforts to respond or move failed him “Jeff, we need to move now. We have to be in a position”“ We need him in his area.”“ What’s wrong with him?” “ Where are the rest of the team?” “ They are still at the other breakout.”“How many victims are we talking about here?”“Six, sir.” “Charles and Andrew are putting out the fire”“We are short of staff. What do we do?”“Snap out Jeff. These people need us.” “Ralph is on the way, sir.” The distraction was palpable. Boom. A loud cracking noise. Everyone ran for cover as the whole building collapsed. That was it. Jeff snapped out of his reverie, shedding the tears that refused to drop 15 years ago. A boy tugged at his feet and gave him the saddest glare, like the one he shot the firefighters that day. A fierce stare that held so much meaning; one that pointed accusing fingers at him. “Nothing would have been done if the firefighters had entered”“ What delayed them?”“ They could have died”“The delay was a blessing disguised”Somewhere beside him “We failed. We should have at least tried” “The house was already a mess before we came. There was no way we’d have come out alive”“We knew our lives were at stake when we signed up for this. Maybe the five minutes wasted was all we needed to save a soul”“You think so? It’s a risk calculation. Do we lose the firefighters in a suicidal attempt to rescue people who are probably dead?”Jeff heard all the surrounding discussion. He wasn’t late today, but it didn’t matter. He was punctual, but he let the victims down.Today, he knew his career as a firefighter was over; he failed. He watched helplessly again; doing nothing until another family was burnt to death. “There are numerous ways you can save lives. It doesn’t have to necessarily be through this. Even though it’s your strength, it could be your weakness as well. It might get you stuck in a situation you’d regret.”His doctor had cleared him all the same. With clearance from … Read more

Breaking Free from Philophobia: A Guide to Overcoming Your Fear of Love

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As a person, I personally have a great admiration for people falling in love and wish to be a lover, too. It has been three years now, and I have not been in a relationship. Even, after multiple talking stages, I come out alone. My fear and anxiety come from thought of if my partner, will be able to cope with my flaws and incapabilities, and this uncertainty, makes me give up. If you have a similar experience, you have Philophobia. The term “Philophobia” can be viewed as “an irrational fear of love.” A person with philophobia has an intense fear of love and relationships. This fear is complex and challenging. And there are ways to overcome it. People with Philophobia tend to experience a range of symptoms such as: Anxiety or panic attacks when thinking about or being in a relationship Avoidance of situations that may lead to a relationship, such as social events or dating Having difficulty expressing feelings of love or affection Fear of intimacy, vulnerability, or commitment Fear of being rejected or abandoned Fear of the unknown Low self-esteem or a negative view of oneself Difficulty forming or maintaining close relationships Difficulty trusting others Ghosting love interest or emotional unavailability during romantic relationships. Feeling trapped or suffocated in a romantic relationship Inconsistencies in calling or hanging out during relationships A history of failed or abusive relationships. Philophobia has a negative impact on a person’s life, and they find it difficult to difficult to find a job, succeed in school, or achieve other life goals. And it will be advisable to seek professional help. A therapist can help you understand your fear and develop coping mechanisms to manage it. The cause of Philophobia can be as a result of variety of factors, which include: Negative experiences in past relationships Low self-esteem Anxiety or depression Childhood trauma Cultural or religious beliefs Mental health conditions such as obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) or social anxiety disorder Philophobia can be overcome. Here are reliable tips to help: Talk to a therapist or counsellor. They can help you to understand your fear and develop coping mechanisms to manage it. Join a support group for people with philophobia. This can be a great way to connect with others who understand what you are going through. Identify situations that trigger your fear and tackle head-on. Challenging your negative thoughts and beliefs and replacing them with positive ones. Practice self-care to build your self-esteem. This includes getting enough sleep, visualization, eating healthy foods, and exercising regularly. Conclusion Philophobia is a complex and challenging fear, and there are ways to tackle it. Through expert’s aid, support groups, identification of triggers, positive thinking, and self-care, you will be able to overcome it. You are not alone, as many people understand what you are going through, and they are ready and available to help.

FOOTPRINTS

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footprints

To Ada, nature seemed to be the only thing life could not mess with, as it does with humans. At 16, the sea had become her favorite. It was like a balm to her soul, easing her pain. The recent experience with Papa began to replay in her mind, gaining passage into her thoughts. She wished she could stop them, she wished her brain would delete the traumatizing encounters with Papa, instead of hitting replay anytime her mind wandered. She had done more than wishing. On many occasions, she always tried to stop thinking about the traumatic life with Papa but somehow, it was always a futile effort.It was market day, Papa had given her money to purchase foodstuffs but unfortunately, robbers attacked her on the way. Papa’s wrathful shouting and cussing filled her ears and pierced her heart. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as his words came back to taunt her.‘Do you want to kill me like you killed my wife? Eh, joy killer!” He shouted, landing quick successive slaps on her right cheek before using his belt on her scarred body. She had outgrown physical pain but the emotional assault would always sting, no matter how many times he repeated the same phrase without mincing a word.The constant reminder that her mother died while giving her life, was a pain she couldn’t express with words. The pain was deeper than the jagged, ugly scars riddling her body. She would have cared less if her father’s hatred wasn’t inclusive. He didn’t even make any efforts to disguise his hatred, he made it obvious for everyone to see, even the blind.To him, she killed his loving wife and caused his wretchedness. She wished her father would accept that it was not her fault Mama kicked the bucket the instant she ‘pushed’ her into the world. She desired her father would open his eyes and see she was not an evil child. Who wouldn’t want to be showered with motherly affection? Just as he craved a wife’s love, she too craved a mother’s love! Why wouldn’t he see that?Sometimes, she earnestly hoped he would realize she was just as unlucky as he was. After all, she lost a mother, his acceptance, and his love.Her phone vibrated, jolting her out of her reverie, and confirming it was time to leave. Just like every other footprint staring at her, she stared back, noting the size and imprint of each one.She stood up, shook out her flowing skirt, and took a final glance at the different sizes etched on the sand. It spoke of the different souls with diverse situations, who had also walked across the white sands of the seashore.She wondered if people’s life torments were measured by foot sizes as well. Has someone who lost everything, treaded here? Has someone with mild physical pain sought the peace only serenity can give?There was no way she would know for sure, but she was grateful for the footprints, it was a reminder that she wasn’t alone in her struggles.“A footprint holds the story of an overcomer.” She murmured to herself. The strength to continue living, and the courage to dream and hope for a better life, came from these footprints. These soldiers who had gone before her didn’t give up.“I won’t give up.” She said into the chill air, “One day, my story will change. I will come here again, press my feet deep into the sand, and leave a story of hope.”Wiping a lone tear that escaped her eyes, she pulled her foot from her worn rubber slippers and pressed it into the cool sand.“One day, this sand will bear testimony of my story.” She said as she turned to leave for home; a building that reeked of sorrow, anger, and bitterness, and a family she never got to know.

4 Proven Strategies to Prevent Writer’s Block.

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Writer’s block is every writer’s worst nightmare. Are you battling writer’s block or tired of constantly running out of creative ideas when you’re writing? It’s a common challenge for many writers, and I’ve been there too. Here are 4 proven strategies to prevent writer’s block and fuel your creative writing. Read, Observe, and Listen: Stimulate your creativity by immersing yourself in different sources of inspiration. Reading not only provides valuable information but also generates mental images that can fuel your creative writing. Watching movies and visuals related to your niche, as well as observing your surroundings, can spark fresh ideas. Additionally, listening to various forms of content can stimulate your brain in unique ways. By combining these activities, you’ll find your pen flowing effortlessly. Keep a Digital Notebook:  Taking the previous tip a step further, it’s crucial to capture those fleeting moments of inspiration. Our minds can get overwhelmed with daily activities, making it easy to forget brilliant ideas and experience writer’s block. Thankfully, we now have electronic notepads that allow us to jot down thoughts on the go. With a simple press of a button, you can record your ideas, ensuring you never miss an opportunity to nurture your creative content. With this, you can say farewell to writer’s block! Write, Write, Write: Once you’ve gathered your creative ideas in their raw form, it’s time to refine them through writing. Remember, these ideas won’t refine themselves. Consistency is key. Commit to writing regularly, as creative content thrives when you nurture it consistently. Consider embarking on a writing challenge, whether it’s for 10, 20, or even 100 days. Don’t worry about the length; focus on maintaining a steady writing routine. The more you write, the more your creative well will deepen and overflow with fresh ideas. Writer’s block worst enemy is consistent writing.   4.  Ask for feedback: Working with other authors and getting input from your peers is one of the best methods to keep your original work flowing. Working with others in your niche might provide you new insights and concepts that you might not have thought of on your own. It’s a fantastic way to stretch your imagination and broaden your perspectives. Don’t be afraid to share your work for helpful feedback, participate in writing clubs, or join writing forums. Accepting comments and participation might act as a catalyst for your creative content writing and bid writer’s block farewell. By implementing these three strategies, you’ll not only avoid the frustration of writer’s block or of running out of creative content but also enhance your writing skills and productivity. So, grab your pen and start creating the magic your audience is waiting for. Happy writing!   Evelyn Temitayo Ajimuda is a versatile creative writer, content creator, poet, and captivating storyteller. With her words, she weaves narratives that inspire hope and spread boundless joy to her readers.

Dear Diary: House Men

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Dear diary

Dear Diary, Today marks the 15th year of suffering with a man I thought I loved. I’ve seen you haven’t gotten wary of my complaints. That’s the reason I take solace in you. I have no happy memories to record now, and I don’t think I would ever have to record one in you. I have made you become a compendium of my tales of marital woes. I thought my husband would be loving like he was when we courted, but it turned out to be a deception. I have wondered why I couldn’t detect these obscene characters when we were in courtship, but it turned out that I had the blindfold of love on my eyes, and couldn’t see well. Would I say I didn’t notice? I did, but I thought my love for him would make him change. Well, who became a liar in the long run? Me. If not for the resounding words of Pastor Sam ” …till death do you part”, and for my piousness, Kunle would be wifeless by now. Ah, Kunle..what have you done to me? If not for the two children God has blessed me with, and for the new life in me, what would I be grateful for after 15 years of horrible marriage? Anyways, Diary, as usual, I have ranted, and my secrets remain with you. Be good till I come your way again with more woes. Hopefully, they’re not as many as I have imagined”. Adaku dropped her pen. It was obvious that the diary had absorbed a copious amount of her tears. It was wet with both serous and mucous secretions from her lacrimal and salivary glands. She closed the diary. It had a pink-coloured cover with a bold inscription of “To you, my only love”. Those inscriptions sent her travelling down memory lane. Who knows maybe she could find the person that wrote that, because this person lying beside her, and snoring like a knocked engine with reckless abandon doesn’t look like the person that inscribed those words. It was on the 15th of June (what a coincidence, she thought) when Kunle came to her apartment to pay her a surprise visit. He came along with some friends, according to the standards of the church.Pastor Timothy always ensured he emphasized group visitation during relationship seminars. He said he wouldn’t tolerate stories of “it was a mistake” any longer because his ears were filled. “I don’t want to know whether you are a strong brother, who is mighty in the scriptures and a firebrand, anytime you’re going to visit a Sister, you must go with your fellow brothers. Same applies to the ladies too.” She remembered his words vividly. He wore a red suit that day. It was a valentine service, and he stated he had come for war. It was obvious as he spoke with all the seriousness he could muster. There was graveyard silence in the church that day during his sermon, which was unlike his previous sermons. “Many of you have blindfolded yourself deliberately because of the so-called love you proclaimed to have. Do you even know what love is? ” That time, he had walked away from the pulpit. He walked on the narrow aisle that separated the two rows in the church and looked everyone in the eyes as he preached. The guilty ones evaded his gaze stylishly, the innocent ones( which happened to be a mixed multitude)held his gaze and even jotted every single word he said diligently. She didn’t forget the spot where she sat that day. It was close to the aisle, and the pastor looked at her like she was the only guilty person in the congregation. It took all the courage in her to maintain a calm disposition. Why would he look at her that way? Probably God was trying to pass a message of danger to her, but she waved it off. Her Spirit also troubled her within. However, she counted everything to be a coincidence. She was pretty after all, and that could be a reason for the gaze. How foolish she was to have thought that. Her eyes were blindfolded to see that Pastor Timothy’s face was very stern. It had all the wrinkled lines his frown could produce. He was damn serious with every word he spoke. Who would look at a pretty lady that way? Only if she knew the danger that lurked ahead in her ” smooth ride” affair with Kunle, she would have backed out. But, despite the warning the pastor passed to everyone (especially her, because why would he look at her the way he did?)She was blindfolded ( the pastor was right). Kunle was just the perfect guy she had dreamt of, and nothing, not even the pastor’s gaze nor the message of warning could dissuade her. She loved Kunle, and he loved her too (perhaps). After that soul-captivating sermon preached by Pastor Timothy, there was a change. Every brother, both strong and weak, would go in a group of 3 or 4 to visit any sister. Some very strong brothers would make their group number to be 5 or more. Unfortunately for her, Kunle was in this league. When he came with his friends, one would think they were going for a men’s hangout, if only they knew it was a Sister that they were going to visit. No one wants to commit any “mistake” and earn the terror and discipline of Pastor Timothy. It was that serious then. The last one that happened, Pastor Timothy made sure he called out the defaulters and solicited the church to pray for God to have mercy on them. The duo involved were so embarrassed that they left the church afterwards, and no one could tell their whereabouts. It was a few weeks later the pastor announced that the lady involved had been impregnated, but the guy had vanished into thin air. “Whatever I do and preach here is for your … Read more

The Interview

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The Interview

She walked into the reception’s office and greeted the receptionist who welcomed her with a friendly smile, “Good afternoon, I’m here for the interview.” She spoke slowly. “Okay, write your name here seat over there. You’ll be attended to shortly.” “Alright, thank you.” As she moved towards the seats provided, she noticed a man who had arrived earlier sitting at the far end of the phone. He had not looked up since the time she arrived as he kept scrolling through his phone.  She made an attempt to exchange pleasantries with him, but she soon discovered that he wasn’t in the mood for such. She sat down and began to brood over her life’s problems. From the moment she left her house, fear had overpowered her. This was the first she would be going for a job interview since she graduated. She had no idea on what to expect, and she wasn’t sure her internship experience would be enough to grant her a job. She only hoped that she would get the job. Her friend had messaged her about the job opening, and she seized the opportunity and applied for it. A month after her service, she was beginning to get tired of her parent’s continuous ranting about her lazing around at home while her mates were getting jobs in reputable companies. Although they seemed to be saying the truth, she had hoped they would be more careful with their words when addressing her. Before she finished her service year, she had already begun to apply for various jobs. She wished she got one in the state she served so she wouldn’t need to travel home. She received no positive response from them, and in frustration, she returned. At home, she decided she was going to take some time to recuperate before launching out again. Before she knew what was happening, her parent had started to ask questions and demanded some changes. She was frustrated and tired of life all together, and their bickering wasn’t helping her in anyway. Just then, another interviewee walked in, but her thoughts were only on her personal problems. He greeted her, and all she could do was respond with a smile. At this point, she was able to understand why the man sitting behind wasn’t responsive to her own greeting. To her greatest surprise, when the new man hollered at him, he responded with a loud voice. This action made her to intentionally turn around to look at him, just to be certain his mouth was actually moving. Before their eyes could meet, the man was back on his phone again. She chose not to react to his bizarre actions as her thoughts quickly snapped back at her. She had always fantasized about how she was going to act once she got a job. There will be no more sitting around at home, and thinking of ways to get busy all day long. She would have to wake up early; dress formally while she’s leaving the house, in her work shoes and a good bag to fit. She also thought of the stress that would follow after her work each day, and if it wasn’t a job that she had a passion for, “Oh, how depressing that would be!” There was also one thing her parent was repeatedly talking about that had just skipped her mind. In a flash, her mind made the connection, “Of course, marriage. What is it about marriage talk all the time?” she thought, frowning deeply. “Did I say something wrong?” the new interviewee who sat next to her asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. Apparently, he had been speaking to her. “Sorry, you said?” she asked a little confused. “I asked for your name,” “Oh! My name….. my name….” she searched her brain for what her next response ought to be, “That would be Hannah,” she said unsure. “Yes, Hannah.” She affirmed confidently. “Are you alright?” he asked, observing her closely. “Of course, I am alright,” she faked a smile at him. “Is this your first time doing an interview?” “Yes, it is,” she stated nervously. “Alright, I’ll just get you a bottle of water. It will help calm your nerves.” He brought the bottle of water and handed it over to her. She collected it, thanked him and was about to down the whole bottle when he cleared his throat. She stopped herself in time as he spoke, “Erm! I think you should take just a little. Like take it in small sips. It will help better, and you won’t have to be so pressed during your interview.” He smiled genuinely. She nodded and tried to heed his advice. After taking a sip, she asked, “What’s your own name?” “I’m Mercy,” he said with a smile, “and this isn’t my first time doing an interview. So, how long have you been here?” “It’s just a few minutes before you walked in. I think he came here first,” she said referring to the man sitting behind them. “Does he even look like an interviewee? I think he just came to observe us?” “Do you think so? I was just wondering why he chose to be such a snub,” she responded disgustedly. “Why do you say that?” “Before you came in, I greeted this man and he didn’t even bother to look up, let alone respond to me. See the way he responded to you like he already knew you somewhere, yet we’re all seeing one another for the first time. I don’t know if he just has a problem with ladies or it’s just me. He’s definitely a snub.” “Well, you don’t really want him to hear that,” he said whispering. She smiled looking down at the bottle. “Well, thank you for the water. It’s really calming. Where did you learn such trick?” “Oh! I saw it in a movie. Actually the person was given tea to drink. I just thought water should be helpful too.” She … Read more