I’m a millennial. That generation the straddles the pre and post-internet explosion. I like to believe we are that magical generation that had the best of both worlds.
I still remember a time when the new year was a beacon of hope.
By Jimmy Ojakol From having them clown in baggy clothes that are the oddest pairings to demanding for terribly renumerated performances predetermined to embarrass one, children have always been the object of adults’ amusement, and I was no exception.
A young man walks onto the stage and boldly proclaims that he is a rapist. At the audience’s shocked gasp, he reiterates, “Yes, I am a rapist!”
I’m not judging you.
It is Sunday morning. You wake up, ready to conquer the world. You wait for the usual sounds of the world to flood your senses but the world is noticeably quiet.
If you want to hide something from an African, put it in a book.
Dear Dark skin girl
In my teens, I watched a movie about a girl who loses her brother in an accident. She goes to a singing camp where she overcomes her stage fright and learns to properly grieve her brother. And everyone hugs at the end.