MANUFACTURED DREAMS vs GOD GIVEN TALENT

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on March 1, 2012

English: Usain Bolt at the World Championship ...

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It is a popular assumption that God gives ‘talents’. At some point during our conception God looks through his infinite stock list of gifts and then decides, ‘Wayne Rooney shall be able to kick a ball, really well’.

In my view, the very notion of God giving someone a ‘talent’ that will be used to glorify themselves in this world is unthinkable.

If Christ is anyone to go by, he makes it clear that ‘anything that is highly esteemed among men, is detestable in the sight of God’ -- if this character defining trait is true, why would God care if Beyonce is a great singer?

A man takes a decision that he is going to teach his child to be a professional golfer. From the age of 4 his son spends all of his spare time hitting golf balls into a hole. His son gets extremely good at this, and from then on he is labelled as a ‘talented golfer’.

Could this talent really have come from God? Or did his ability develop as a result of constant practice?

When people gain recognition for their achievements it is often perceived as some kind of ‘blessing’ from God. We refuse to accept that there are some things in life that are entirely within the realm of humanity. This notion has become so absorbed in society that we interpret any extraordinary ability to be God given -- even though these areas of expertise are in fact man made creations.

Most of us dream that we will one day become ‘somebody’. On that fateful day we will stand at a platform on the world stage and what we can do will be broadcast to millions of people; and this is what we call success and achievement.

In my view these are nothing but manufactured dreams, placed in our hearts from a young age so that we can have the desire to excel in areas that ultimately have no importance.

The problem is human beings are too easily impressed. A cheetah doesn’t need a gold medal around its neck to prove that it is the fastest animal on land; it just gets on with its life.

We are so caught up in our own humanity that we think that God looks down and he is quite impressed with how fast Usain Bolt can run.

There is no doubt that God gives people gifts, some of which we will be held accountable for; but in my experience, God does not give like men give.

Its almost an insulting prospect. God wants to give a man a gift, and he gives him the ability to kick a ball! Surely, there has to be something backward about this thought. Especially considering the fact that the sport was created, organised and defined by men.

It is not difficult to understand why God’s perspective on life is totally different from ours. We live in a world of manufactured dreams harbouring themselves within so called God given talents; and we fail to recognise that there is a spiritual aspect to life, one where a poor man can have nothing credible on the outside, but eternal fulfillment on the inside.

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MURDER BY MEDICINE 4: Men Trapped In Women’s Bodies

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 27, 2012

Trapped (2002 film)

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I like to think I’m quite an open minded person. I’ve met all kinds of people with unique views on life and I’ve grown to accept that every individual has a right to their own perspective.

Amongst these individual perspectives I came across ‘a man trapped in a woman’s body’. It wasn’t exactly a literal interaction; it was a reality tv show based on two boys making a transition from being women to men.

The dilemma was simple. All their lives they had felt that something was missing, and it was more than just the lack of an extra muscle between their legs.

It was apparently a traumatic experience living life in the wrong body, and of course medical technology was able to provide a few solutions to this ‘problem’.

One of the women men was further along in her his transition than the other. She he had been taking testosterone for several months now, and her his voice had grown deeper; she he even had sprouts of hair beneath her his chin as a symbol of manliness.

The show was essentially a documentation of this transition into her new life as a man, and the challenges she was able to overcome.

I can’t help but wonder though, is this feeling of disembodiment natural, or is this a feeling that medical technology has created because of the possibilities it brings?

I’m sure at one stage of our lives we have all wondered what it would be like to be a different gender, if not for any other reason than to attempt to understand what the opposite sex might feel.

I’m sure women in particular have dreamt of a life without periods, birth pains and the ability to pee standing up; but in the past this was a dilemma that everyone had to live with.

In my view, satisfaction has become extremely difficult in a world where you can change your gender just as easily as you change your clothing. One can no longer tell whether thoughts are inherent, or placed there by advertised possibilities.

Medical technology may claim to solve problems, but when something isn’t broken, why fix it?

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MAN vs THE DILDO

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 27, 2012

Español: Consoladores o Dildos utilizados por ...

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There was once a time when men competed against other men to win the affections of a lady; but in this day and age men are made to fight against the battery- operated vibrating force, known as the dildo.

As if it wasn’t enough that most men struggle with the constant paranoia of whether or not they are able to satisfy their wives, now they have to live with the knowledge that there is an object in the left hand top drawer, that often does a better job than they can.

Imagine the intimidation a man must feel when he stares with blank realisation that this treasured item is significantly bigger than the contents of his own under garments, but not only that, it has speed settings!

Ofcourse from a womans perspective this is without doubt a revolutionary product, opening the doorway to what can be defined as the ‘sexually independent woman’.

I once heard a rather profound argument about the fact that women of today, quite frankly, don’t ‘need’ men. A significant amount of sperm has already  been collected, so if all men were to be wiped out, women could quite easily continue the furtherance of the human race, and at times when they need company, dildos come into play -- literally.

As much as I admire the prospect of self-dependence and the lack of reliance on someone else for happiness; I can’t help but wonder if there is something wrong with an inanimate object replacing the role of a significant other.

Once a person stumbles upon an object of pleasure, very often this is not an easy thing to let go of; and as far as sexual satisfaction is concerned, I can only assume that the standards the dildo has set will only bring an unnecessary burden to a relationship.

By definition masturbation is described as ‘abusing oneself’, but like most contexts, society in many ways longs to be abused.

Technology has a fascinating way of making life seem easier, less stressful and more satisfying; but sometimes, the cost it comes with is not worth the pleasure it brings.

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IF YOU CHANGED YOUR FACE, WOULD YOU CHANGE?

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 26, 2012

Blank Face

Blank Face (Photo credit: Kaptain Kobold)

It would be a scary thing to wake up one morning and not be able to recognise your face. The reflection in the mirror you once knew so well is now a completely different person.

Its one thing to wear a mask or make up, because at some point you can choose to take it off. A face though is something that most of us will have to live with for the rest of our lives.

People make judgements about faces. There’s something about a face that makes you feel as though you can tell what a person is like even when you have never exchanged words.

Those that are fortunate enough to be considered ‘good looking’ often have an advantage in unspoken first impressions. The less fortunate have to rely on other parts of their personality to shine through their facial distractions.

A popular choice for alterations is often the nose. Some want to reduce its size, others want to make it less pointy. I wonder if this results in them being less nosey.

Puns aside the people they know will see them differently. Their reactions and perceptions will be filled with disgust or fascination; and may slowly begin to affect the shape of more than just the organ of curiosity.

Imagine a man growing up without ever seeing his own reflection. His only sense of what he looks like is based on descriptions provided by his friends and family.

As an act of kindness he is frequently told that he bears an uncanny resemblance to Brad Pitt --  even though in reality he is not even considered remotely attractive.

This false sense of security is likely to affect the way he carries himself. His confidence may even increase his appeal to the ladies.

20 years on the mirror is invented. He finally is able to come face to face, with his face. I wonder; will this change how he sees himself? And above all, would it change his personality?

We all wear masks, metaphorically speaking; and like most masks the content underneath remains hidden until the veil is eventually lifted.

Perception is a very powerful thing, and with the emergence of plastic surgery we attempt to change our faces in the hope that this will positively affect our personalities.

What I have discovered though is that a superficial change in appearance results in a superficial change in personality. Changes on the outside never seem to have an effect on the personality traits that matter -- like kindness, generosity and love for other people; instead it creates pride, vanity, arrogance and all kinds of undesirable attributes.

I suppose its easy to say we should be comfortable in our own skin and focus on changing the things that matter. All i know is, some faces can be trusted more than others.

 

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AWKWARD TOPICS: A Building Is On Fire – Who Do You Save, 5 Strangers or 1 Sibling?

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 26, 2012

MENLO PARK, CA - DECEMBER 09: Menlo Park fire...

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This topic is for you, yes, you! I want to know your opinion on this matter.

What do you think?

A building is on fire and it is about to collapse. There are two parts of the building and you can only gain access to one of them.

One part contains 5 people you have never met. Your youngest sister is in the other section.

You only have enough time to make one choice. You can either save your sister, or you can save 5 strangers.

Now, I place the situation in your hands.

Who will you save and why?

One word answers are not acceptable -- please provide comprehensive responses.

Let’s go!

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WOMEN UNCOVERED 2: The Gold Digging Syndrome – By: Yimika Adesola

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 26, 2012

Gold Digger

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When female friends complain to each other that they are broke, the words “you need a man” often follow. It leaves me astonished; genuinely and seriously astonished. Why is it that when girls think about a world where they are able to buy whatever they want, they think of a world where a man holds out his credit card?

My view on “gold digging” is simple -- don’t expect a man to cater for you in a way that you didn’t or couldn’t cater for yourself. If before the guy came along you were wearing Sleek make up and carrying around Primark bags, don’t expect this to suddenly change to Bobbi Brown and £600 LV bags. If he wants to do this for you, that’s all well and good. My issue is with the expectancy.

I have no serious issue with high maintenance girls. If you’ve always taken care of yourself to the highest of standards, a guy would pick up on that when he meets you and know what he’s getting into.

Let’s even assume this man is able and willing to take you from Cinderella to Princess; what are you offering in return? Girls these days want to eat their cake and have it. The days when men provided everything for women were the days women waited on the men hand and foot -- cleaning, cooking and taking care of the kids round the clock. But women these days don’t want to do any of that. They want the chores to be split 50 -- 50 whilst the funds come from the man alone, using the excuse that sex is his gain.

I often hear girls describing their perfect guy as rich, good-looking, God-fearing and charismatic. Why do you deserve such a guy when you are broke, shabby and a general slacker? More so, why should he want to be with someone like you? If I were this perfect guy, I would definitely be looking for the perfect woman.

I blame Disney and Tyler Perry movies. They’ve given women this sense of one-sided entitlement which clearly women love if not both would be out of business today. Women still have this idea that they are princesses and their knight in shining armour would come to them riding the best horse in the land. Only these days it’s a six foot two, muscular man in a Mercedes convertible. Darling, wake up and smell the roses!

If you want all of the above in a man, that’s fine. It’s good to have high expectations of a partner. But you have to pick yourself up and get your act together to become the kind of woman that can demand the best. You should have something to bring to the table. Besides, you don’t want to be in a relationship where you are the weak pillar; where the man knows he can easily do better than you but without him you would be nothing.

Understand that I’m not saying women should all go with broke men. Some things really are just practical. For example a man with a wife and kids should have a car, or access to an equally convenient mode of transportation. A man with a wife and kids should also have a steady job, because love really and truly will not pay the bills.

Moral is -- only the best deserve the best.

 

Feel free to leave your comments, observations or experiences below

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EXPOSURE: The Truth About Libya, Gadaffi, And The Illuminati

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 23, 2012

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FOREVER AND A DAY: A Love To Keep 3 – By: Lara Daniels

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 21, 2012

My world had accidentally pouched itself into another scary, unfamiliar path I didn’t exactly choose to walk.

In my mind, I screamed for hours, never mind that in real time, it was actually in seconds. Soon, I heard the sound of a door opening, then slamming shut.

It was a man. A stranger I knew in retrospect as my neighbor but hadn’t been inclined to meet or know until that very moment. He took one look at me screaming. Took one look at the woman. Then, did something quite queer. He bent down, picked the woman up, dangling-baby-from-the-privates and all- and hastily carted her through the door from which he had come.

I crouched outside my door for a long while, exhaustion settling on my chest as I shut my eyes to block out the mental images of the birthing scene I’d just witnessed.

“Get back inside your house.”

I looked up. Standing by his slightly open door was my neighbor. If I still hadn’t been in distress, I would have noticed that he was a good-looking man. Unfortunately, I was in a precarious state of mind so I wasn’t lucid enough to note his finer features. Our eyes met and I found myself staring into a pool of the weariest brown eyes I’d ever seen. He couldn’t have been much older than me, but his countenance… his very carriage -it carried a ton of fatigue so that he looked aged. For a second, I forgot about my predicament enough to remember that he had taken a woman in labor into his home.

“Get back inside,” he urged in a tone that was as lifeless as his stance. Just when he made to withdraw his head and close the door, I jumped up and reached for his doorknob.

“That woman,” I sounded hoarse and winded, but I hardly cared. “The one you took inside. Who is she? Do you know her?”

At my questions, the tiredness that oozed from him disappeared. His pupils narrowed. His eyes glittered. His lips thinned.

“None of your business,” he snarled, and he made to shut his door.

No man in his right mind picks up a strange woman in labor except he truly knows her, I told myself. And if he did know her, why didn’t he come out and say so? Why act all suspicious….except of course if he had something sinister up his sleeve?

A sense of foreboding overwhelmed me as a series of whys bombarded my puzzled brain.

Before he could slam his door against my face, I charged at him with all of the strength imbued in my 5 foot 7 inches body. I don’t know who was more shocked when he went thudding down on his carpeted floor. I didn’t wait to see if he recovered from his fall. I went searching for the woman.

I didn’t have to look far though. The foul odor of body fluids combined with the gurgling noise from one of the inner rooms pretty much alerted me to where she was. I saw the baby first, swaddled in what would have been a white boubou now turned into a blood-smeared makeshift blanket. From its gentle kicks, I needed no further assurance that it was alive. But the woman….

Lying still on the well-sized bed beside the baby was the frail form of her figure, covered up with an equally dirty wrap that stretched up to her chin.

I touched her, ever so gently on the side of her cool, uncovered cheek.

Her eyes flew open and the suddenness of her reaction had me taking a step away from her. I didn’t move fast enough though for she grabbed my wrist in a very tight grasp with one surprisingly strong, desperate hand.

“Help me, please,” she whispered her voice weak. “He’ll kill me…he’ll hurt my baby.”

“What?” I whispered, my face as I imagined it furrowed up in a total lack of comprehension of what she was saying.

“Run,” she suddenly shrieked. “Run. He is coming for you. Run…”

I turned. Coming towards me in deliberate strides was my neighbor, his eyes, murderous; his face, severely forbidding.

“I’d sit if I were you,” he said.

My lips trembled. I didn’t need a sixth sense to know that my doom was around the corner for sure.

To be continued……..

 

Lara Daniels is the author of African romance suspense novels –Love in Paradise and Love at Dawn. She makes her home in Texas with her Best friend Husband and three precious children. Read more about her works at www.laradanielswrites.com or follow her on Twitter @ LDparables.

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WOMEN UNCOVERED: The Introduction – By: Yimika Adesola

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 19, 2012

Tiger-Lemon-Eater-Redhead_73x55_Acryl, Solvent...
Tiger-Lemon-Eater-Redhead_73x55_Acryl, Solvent, Pencil Ink_2008 (Photo credit: Rai Escalé, A Carnivorous Eye)

Over the next couple of weeks, I will be analyzing the behavioural patterns of the average girl; their attitudes, thought processes, dreams, and so on.

The ultimate aim of this series is to raise awareness of the fact that not all women are saints. For decades, men have been portrayed as pigs, dogs, the scum of the earth, etc who take advantage of women who are all blue- eyed and innocent.

While many men are indeed so, these days an increasing number of women are becoming the same and arguably worse. Many guys can recount stories of past girl friends that slept around with their friends, pinned someone else’s baby on them, or left them with an empty bank account.

This is not a female- bashing series. I’m just trying to help women get over this victim mentality that seems to be plaguing 21st century womanhood. The series will cover slightly controversial issues which I call “syndromes of the victim mentality”. They are issues that many women do not like to hear about and range from ‘independence’ to attitude problems and ‘gold- digging’; things that women have convinced themselves that they only do to guard their hearts against the evil that is man.

Somewhere along the line I might refer to something that “women” do. What I mean is that ‘most’ women or the ‘average girl’ does this thing, it does not necessarily mean that i am accusing  you of being like most women; in other words,  i admit that there will be exceptions to every rule i present. Also, my tone may at times come off as harsh; it’s only because I’m discussing something I feel strongly about. Apologies in advance. I still love my women.

That said, please kick back, open your mind, and feel free to share your comments, observations or personal experiences below.

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FOREVER AND A DAY: A Love To Keep 2 – By: Lara Daniels

by RADICAL CHIC MAGAZINE on February 16, 2012

Robert Frost once said, “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” Life had to go on, in spite of everything that had happened to me.

One of my secondary school teachers- a wiry woman whose angelic voice carried much venom in its content, once told me that I’d make a great prosecutor, given my tendency to mistrust and lash out at everyone. Surprisingly, I found a lot of sense in her criticism of me.  I went to Law school, worked for a while for some private law firms that paid practically nothing, became a member of the Ghana Bar Association and soon enough, got a job at Kumasi in the State Attorney’s office. I was finally on the path that my secondary school teacher had cynically claimed would be the best for me.

Ask any foreigner who has ever visited Kumasi and they’ll probably tell you that the city is famous for its many beautiful flowers and plant species. However, when I relocated to Kumasi from Accra, it wasn’t to see the flowers. Neither was it because of my admiration for Kofi Annan- Kumasi’s most popular son of the soil. No. I came to the city to take over its courts. I, Oluwafemi Abigail Adams was the newest, most ambitious lawyer in town and by God, I was going to let everybody in Kumasi, the Garden city, know it to their very soul.

In a few years, I’d become the assistant State Attorney. I rarely lost a case. I was good at my job; too good. Every defending lawyer in town only had to think of me once to shake to their toes. I had a mission: To inflict hurt just as I’d been hurt, so I went swinging viciously at every defendant who took the Stand, and if it meant pushing guilt on the innocent, the better for me.

I didn’t have girlfriends. Didn’t have boyfriends either. I didn’t want the emotional attachment that came with real human relationships, but I had sex on a regular basis, freely provided by the many married men who came to court to watch a young, ambitious woman kicking the arses of experienced lawyers who had been in the profession longer than I was born. The Black Witch of Kumasi they called me, and I damned everyone’s criticism of me to hell. Their words couldn’t injure me any more than I was already injured on the inside.

On the morning of my 33rd birthday, I sat down on my favorite chair closest to the windows of my apartment on the topmost floor, feeling like Kumasi’s Royalty itself. It was a Saturday, and though it was still dark outside, the lights from the many buildings lent a picturesque view to the city, which spread out before me from where I sat.  One hand rested on my lap and the other held a glass filled with my most expensive red wine. As I sat there nursing my drink, I took stock of my life. I had everything I needed, I thought to myself. I was mega successful; lived in a premier building in one of the most expensive suburbs in Kumasi; and my life…it was good. And black. I was successful… and empty.

I’d just lifted my cup to take another sip when I noticed a swaying figure in the compound. Soon, it took on the form of a woman taking quick, cautious steps.  Her bosom carried her folded arms …as if she had something to hide. From afar, I couldn’t make out her face but I sensed her trepidation. Her worn, oversized clothes flapped around her in the mild breeze, and I automatically assumed she was a pauper – a beggar who had managed to bypass the building’s top-notch security to come inside the compound and beg from the moneyed residents. As I watched her move closer, a weird panic came over me and I remember placing my free hand against my chest to stop my heart’s erratic pounding, while the other held the stem of my cup tightly.  Some few seconds later, I looked again. To my surprise and huge relief, she was gone.  

I sighed, comforted by my assumption that she had left the compound through the gates from which she had come.

Some several minutes later, a single knock came on my door, once again disturbing my quiet enjoyment of Kumasi’s view.  Actually, it sounded like a scratch, but its noise alarmed me and I found myself accidentally spilling my drink on the butter cream knee-length robe I wore.

“Who is it?” I asked in a demanding tone as I attempted to pretend that I wasn’t scared.

No one answered.

I placed my drink on a nearby coffee table and walked to the door, wary, wondering who was crazy enough to knock on my door at such an awkward hour on an early Saturday morning. I stole a look through the peek hole. It didn’t appear that anyone was standing outside.

Then, I did something that would alter my life’s axis.

I opened the door, and behold, squirming violently at the threshold was the woman I’d seen earlier, her legs spread wide; her breathing, labored and eerily quiet as she held on to dear life to push something…a baby out of her engorged vagina.

The long shrill screams began after that. They were mine.

To be continued…..

 

Lara Daniels is the author of African romance suspense novels –Love in Paradise and Love at Dawn. She makes her home in Texas with her Best friend Husband and three precious children. Read more about her works at www.laradanielswrites.com or follow her on Twitter @ LDparables.

 

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