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The Rebellious/Docile Sibling: A Toxic Family Dynamic.

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Y'all this was a long time coming. All thanks goes to my dad. Photo by Louis Galvez on Unsplash I'm living in a toxic household and t his toxic household is affecting me mentally. So today, (in order to feel free, away from the suffocation that comes with living in a place that breeds toxicity), I picked up my phone and started typing. What was supposed to be a short piece for a TikTok video I planned to post, quickly became a full-blown essay. This goes to show how much this cankerworm is eating into me deeply, and how important pouring it out was because if I hadn't, I would have sought to survive by becoming what was hurting me, therefore becoming a toxic person too. I refuse to be what I cannot identify, or worse, realize I can identify it but refuse to, because what such realization resorts to is self-hate.  So, if you read this and recognize how familiar this is to you, I suggest you read this; at least to offer you a much-needed clarity in your life, so you can lear...
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This Movie Taught Me.

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Bring Her Back the Movie. Grapefruit Yesterday, I watched a very peculiar and gory horror movie. If I’m to rate it over ten for bloody, it takes a damn eleven! However, as much as I would like to narrate the movie from top to bottom for you, I’ll limit myself to the necessary details. The movie centers two siblings but they're both from different mothers. The eldest is a boy and the youngest is a girl. The girl is blind partially, and can only see lights and colours. Now, the main film starts from them returning and seeing their father dead on the bathroom floor. He slipped and fell. Because of they are young, they are taken to foster care and that's where shit goes down. The woman to take charge of them is a grieving mother who just recently lost her daughter. At first, she gives off weird vibes, but that's normal, everyone's weird.  However, her weird is because she plans to bring her dead child back to life using some crazy Russian juju where people are...
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How Sure Are You...That You Will Make Heaven?

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Photo by Todd Jiang on Unsplash The lecturer said, "I don't believe in God. I also do not believe in heaven and hell fire. I believe that something bigger than us exist...but that thing, I don't know." In a class of 100 students set in the backdrop of this modern world, the students were really amazed. Looking at their teacher, they wondered, "is he okay?" However, one bold student stood up. He looked prim, proper but certainly not religious. More scientist-endowed. "So, you do not believe in hell fire? You do not believe in the existence of the devil?" The lecturer did not seem put off. He rather smiled like one who had been waiting his whole life for this question. "There is the existence of the devil, and indeed hell fire exists." He looked pointedly at the front row students, "we are the devils and this is currently hell fire." .....✍🏾..... Hi guys, and welcome to today's post on Life with Uchechi. Today...
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Who Piss and Did Not Flush???

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Pidgin English in Nigeria for: who used the restroom and did not flush? This is a normal thing in every household, right? Cause if it's not, then I might have to sue my siblings!  For goodness' sake, why do my siblings use the restroom and not flush. I'm talking the WC having their little remnants of yellow fluid, to mile high loads of beautiful excretion. I mean, come on, the lever is there. Flush the effing toilet! Now, for those that cannot understand. Being in a home where all your siblings and you are allocated one restroom is not fun. Take it from one whose masterclass specializes in what can be deemed fun . You have the toilet walls turning blackish very fast, like didn't I just wash the toilet two days ago?! And the tissue finishing so soon, like haew, wasn't it two seconds prior that I got this tissue out of daddy's room. Then don't even get me started on urgencies that come up demanding you freshen up quickly and go catch t...
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Let's Know Me! (Part 1).

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Hi there! My name's Uchechi and I'm a writer. Been writing since I was little and now I'm 18. At first, writing was something I did because it was an awesome hobby. It made me feel cool. It made me feel content. It made me feel creative. Then I grew, and sort of stopped the whole full book thing where I wrote a full-blown drama, with acts over here and scenes over there. I started writing little but emotion-provocative works. I wrote to make sure someone feels, and if possible cry in the process. Maybe, it was because my mum died I changed this way. I no longer felt it necessary to write the once   upon a time and the final, expected closure one gets in an ending. Writing has been a lot to me. From being a partner to shield my lonely days to being the reason why I could get desperate, feel like a failure and start crying. I love writing but lately, I find myself writing what only my head will be a witness to. The ability to pen down my scattered thoughts have frizzled and I...
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