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| The Lotus flower |
In the current civilization, there is no deeper attachment to it. Ideally while the three cultures have found wonderment in this flower, the rest of the world rarely knows about it. Yet it has a very tacit impact in life.
Status is an ideology that disturbs, makes one masquerade and at times
impersonate those he or she thinks act superior to him or her.
She sings in her
pad. She has mastered all the songs sang in Karaoke nights. Higher-end Karaoke joints is often packaged with liquor service, those free tots even if you a frog's voice due to alcohol induced confidence and a chance to hold the mike to people who care less as they are probably feeling happy due to inebriation. As such her voice is a
tad too hoarse. She never knows. What with the applause she gets from men who envy her buxom
bottoms, curvy hips with a hint of salivating the masculine carnal desires
after her debut each night after her continuum failed attempt at singing. Somehow
her exquisite beauty has strangeness in proportion. She knows it and lures the
licentious avarice of many a weak chap. She knows she has power, feminine femme
fatale that scuttled Samson into delusion.
She wears her hair long, plays with it and throws it back when she spots a prospective target. When they fall over one eye, she blows them to get rid of the obstruction. She is adept at showing skin. Enough to make a man go wild, not too ratchet though. She knows about this, and the picture of infidelity or being mistaken for a random chic.
Her house is located in one of the leafy suburbs in the bliss of the city. She calls it a pad. It has a feminine touch and oozes pristine splendor. She has exquisite taste for the fine things in life. Her rug was from Turkey while on a romantic getaway. Her furniture resonates tranquility. The natural organic shapes and clean lines of the peeled cane and woven Archipelago accent chairs coupled with a fine Rustica dining set depicts her preference for things exotic. In one corner of her living room, she has a small tastefully constructed cellar that houses Glenfiddich, Johnnie Walker and the likes. Never mind that she still occasionally sips Konyagi to suit her camaraderie.
She also has a taste in fashion. Chanel, Brunello Cucinelli, D&G just to name but a few adorn her wardrobe. In her small Polo, she usually carries three pairs of heels and some party attires. In her case, she has created the requisite rapport and as such attends many events freely. Her company is enough to secure her entrance.
Again, you never mess with her. All the brawny boys in down-market drape jackets you meet in clubs and social events know her by name. Occasionally when things go haywire she tips them. They never fail her. Her, in catfights, you might just have to wait.
She knows how to embody beauty and aesthetics. Dancing she does while gyrating her hips seductively as her six inch high heels accentuate whatever her mama gave her. A skill she probably practices while alone in her reclusive abode. Like an idiot you watch and stare at her for the better part she displays her skill on the dance floor, albeit your mama is by your side. She is a modern version of Marilyn Monroe, maybe Cleopatra or Sharon Stone. She is worth a moment’s thought, many never easily get her out of their heads. Maybe an unnoticed socialite who knows how to fit.
She does not know whether she prefers brain to brawn. On the inside, she is a burning volcano of sexuality. She is single but behaves like a perfect damsel. One to kill for. Like Eva in Sin City. Once you let the monster in, you cannot let it out. She knows when you want her, and smiles contagiously. She either uses the sideways-Looking-Up smile or the wide toothy smile depending on the aura of those around her. Once under her spell, smitten guys may give her everything hovering around her like bees to a honeysuckle.
She has lovers. The way she walks, talks and her general mien attracts all sorts of people, from celebrities, the commoner and even the sentries. Her luscious lips, lavender eyes and her euphonious voice captivates men as much as it entices. She has mustered when to use her pheromones and when to use some decent cologne.
When in the company of some holier than thou folks, being a team player, she usually feigns being ascetic. Her agnostic attitude and her penchant for white wine means she never gets to make it to church most of the time.
She is called Nancy. A graduate in media studies from one of the local universities. She is a go-getter.
She wears her hair long, plays with it and throws it back when she spots a prospective target. When they fall over one eye, she blows them to get rid of the obstruction. She is adept at showing skin. Enough to make a man go wild, not too ratchet though. She knows about this, and the picture of infidelity or being mistaken for a random chic.
Her house is located in one of the leafy suburbs in the bliss of the city. She calls it a pad. It has a feminine touch and oozes pristine splendor. She has exquisite taste for the fine things in life. Her rug was from Turkey while on a romantic getaway. Her furniture resonates tranquility. The natural organic shapes and clean lines of the peeled cane and woven Archipelago accent chairs coupled with a fine Rustica dining set depicts her preference for things exotic. In one corner of her living room, she has a small tastefully constructed cellar that houses Glenfiddich, Johnnie Walker and the likes. Never mind that she still occasionally sips Konyagi to suit her camaraderie.
She also has a taste in fashion. Chanel, Brunello Cucinelli, D&G just to name but a few adorn her wardrobe. In her small Polo, she usually carries three pairs of heels and some party attires. In her case, she has created the requisite rapport and as such attends many events freely. Her company is enough to secure her entrance.
Again, you never mess with her. All the brawny boys in down-market drape jackets you meet in clubs and social events know her by name. Occasionally when things go haywire she tips them. They never fail her. Her, in catfights, you might just have to wait.
She knows how to embody beauty and aesthetics. Dancing she does while gyrating her hips seductively as her six inch high heels accentuate whatever her mama gave her. A skill she probably practices while alone in her reclusive abode. Like an idiot you watch and stare at her for the better part she displays her skill on the dance floor, albeit your mama is by your side. She is a modern version of Marilyn Monroe, maybe Cleopatra or Sharon Stone. She is worth a moment’s thought, many never easily get her out of their heads. Maybe an unnoticed socialite who knows how to fit.
She does not know whether she prefers brain to brawn. On the inside, she is a burning volcano of sexuality. She is single but behaves like a perfect damsel. One to kill for. Like Eva in Sin City. Once you let the monster in, you cannot let it out. She knows when you want her, and smiles contagiously. She either uses the sideways-Looking-Up smile or the wide toothy smile depending on the aura of those around her. Once under her spell, smitten guys may give her everything hovering around her like bees to a honeysuckle.
She has lovers. The way she walks, talks and her general mien attracts all sorts of people, from celebrities, the commoner and even the sentries. Her luscious lips, lavender eyes and her euphonious voice captivates men as much as it entices. She has mustered when to use her pheromones and when to use some decent cologne.
When in the company of some holier than thou folks, being a team player, she usually feigns being ascetic. Her agnostic attitude and her penchant for white wine means she never gets to make it to church most of the time.
She is called Nancy. A graduate in media studies from one of the local universities. She is a go-getter.
She scares the hell out of the average man, even though those who know her depict her as though she is a savory person to be with.
She has a taste of fine things in life, oozes some aura of sophistication and a touch of class. Her rabid nature makes her interact with few. She can be a player hater. She is never remorseful for her antics. And yes she despises and despites those whom she thinks are below her in the social stratosphere.
She is the kind of lady whom at the onset oozes class, sophistication and oomph. Her coarse gaiety of the new folks around her and strong tendency to personal raillery and satiric comment makes those of lesser nobility fear her just because of the air she has managed to create. She doesn’t mince her words and can intimidate even the bravest of characters into submission. She knows it and uses it to her advantage. Only men with a small ego cannot handle her "masculine energy" aka confidence and assertiveness.
Nancy loves partying. She can party till the wee hours of the night and still make it to her workplace. Her workmates hate her so much. They are envious. She sometimes confesses to them that what they spend on rent is the amount she uses on shoes only. She never cares about the job. Of course she will get another at the blink of an eye.
The thing is, she has a strong support system, in the form not of a significant other but others. Someone will pay for that rent, another will do the shopping and certainly there are those who are gold dug each time she makes it to the floors of clubs she has a penchant for. She wants a nouveau riche chap who will condone her unmatched miss independent trait. Reason she keeps a multitude. Maybe she just might get that Mr. Right. That one man who never cares about past but is rich enough to finance her lavish love of grandiose luxury life she aims at.
She knows like every other club. She will blubber about Mercury, Sankara, Caramel and the likes. Chances are she probably has only gone to those places once. She has read the diary of the side chick and still never compares herself with one. When alone, she watches Olivia Pope. Completing Aprille Franks-Hunt’s Confessions of an Independent Woman was like rocket science to her. She is not much into books.
The gym is normally her next stop after work every weekday. She has invested heavily in herself. Her waist to hip ratio is exquisite. Men ogle at it left right and center. Her perfect shape makes her tremendously sexy. She takes this rota like a regimen.
Her petite physique means she can only match the male species if she only wears high-heels. She prefers Vendome and Highness Strass. Though she still has Fifi Flat and Air Loubi and those cheap shoes she purchased while she was high on liquor or in dimly lit streets where peddlers sell them to ladies knowing full well the shoes will never go past a week of continuous wear.
Many a times, her status can never allow her to go to those d class clubs where men with protruding potbellies go to listen to live music. Once she was in one and a guy hit on her, she vowed never to return.
But her love for clubs where people listen to DJs spinning the latest hits (Nigerian and South African) really melts her heart. There she can meet those whom she shares tastes and preferences. Probably, a feckless bloke who's in stupor and ready action but appears deep pocketed just by the look of the phone, car keys and attire will have her if she turns into Potiphar's wife and John cannot resist the temptation of placing his hands in the cookie jar.
Ever since she got an accident, she never uses her car while raving. She prefers to take a cab. Of course she never takes a cab while getting out of the rave joints. Someone worthy will drive her home.
Still she is unpredictable. While her easy going nature has made her a darling of men who love her company, she never knows how to say no when the spoils are too sweet to resist. This traits; feminine, nurturing, kind, caring, easy-going woman are partly ingrained in her character. As usual, they never showcase, she ingenuously knows how to subtly exercise them to suit the occasion.
“I don't plan on spending the rest of my life walking on eggshells for the sake of his self esteem issues.” That she says tacitly when in the company of her female folk.
She broke a Vertu phone her ex bought her when they had an altercation. Immediately after, she went for a Blackphone. Courtesy of another corporate honcho she had wowed using what her mama gave her.
She is that kind of person who has a prominent social media personality on the major social media platforms. The friends and followers give her some form of tacit approval she earnestly craves. Maybe her self esteem is way to low to handle the pressures of living a loner. Social media hence offers her a rescue from the flaws of life that have truly bequeathed her over the years.
Inside she needs that kind of person who will listen to the crazy ideas that pops into her head at midnight which she needs to implement. However it still remains a myth that this single lady is walking around beating her chest like primates and announcing how much she doesn’t need anyone else, let alone a man in her life. She is perpetually single in imagined relationship that never last. A pet she named after an ex is her sole companion.
While she may have the poignant moniker of the strong independent woman (SIW), her bait at making hay while the sun shines has never ameliorated her character though. SIWs prefer to blame their situation on external forces rather than look within themselves to find the true source of their problems. Nancy’s is the false bravado of the self-righteous. She never views vulnerability to a partner as worth. Age is catching up, she is aware. Chances are ten years down the line she may be ruing her wasted chances. When her friends will be settled and their children in good schools. By then she will be starting hers or quite adept at the skill she has nurtured over the years.
PS: She still remains like a lotus flower. This world sometimes is full of the unexpected. The lotus flower was just a thought of how to approach the issue of her. A fictional character called Nancy. But somehow there is a lady who exhibits some of those traits. It may be a coincidence I may know one or you may know one. But life continues.
SITUONANE.
[Photo Source: Google Images]
