Talk to Me

The dark sky told no story: no stars, no moon. He climbed up the stairs to his apartment on the 2nd floor as though he didn't just get a sack letter at work.

He would not return to the office the following morning. He would not get a chance to tell the company secretary, Ronke, how much he loved her and wished she wasn't involved with the senior bosses. He wouldn't see her because she was fired too.

------

The flight of staircases seemed longer than usual, the fluorescent lights didn't seem to work, even though they had recently been replaced.

As he turned the door knob, his mind flashed back to ten years before when he opened the doors to tell his father that he had failed JAMB for the 4th time. The look on his father's face  had torn him apart. The pang he felt in his heart reminded him of the fact that he hadn't stitched the wounds of time past. He still wouldn't.

This weekend, he would turn up at QUILOX using his last savings. He would dance till dawn. After which, he would head to the Third Mainland Bridge and kiss the waters.

You would read on LIB that some fishermen found a dead body in the waters on the past Sunday. You would wonder why. And then you would look in the mirror of your family and friends. I hope that when you do, you lend out a hand. 

The Place II

I smiled knowingly. It was a terrible pick-up line, one I hated so much. 

"Why can't he just go ahead and ask for my number?"

We talked briefly and he offered to drop me off at my hotel.

Seven weeks passed and I didn't hear from him. 

I walked past him in Shoprite the other day, wondering if I still looked familiar and if he would ask for my number, if he would apologise for breaking my heart and if perhaps someday, I would want to marry him.

Friday Evening

Friday evening.

Everybody loved Fridays, but hardly as much as students did. Friday evenings in Uniport were used mainly for social agenda, though a few geeks turned theirs into suicidal attempts to literally read words out of books and into heads. Businesses recorded peak moments too, clubs, pharmacists, boutiques, beer parlors and transporters.

Taxi drivers were the major secret keepers of the night; they knew the girls who were off to their homes, and those that were off to the homes of men. They always preferred female passengers too, boys always under-priced and were usually in annoying overcrowded groups, all wanting to squeeze into the poor taxi. No way! They’d stick with the babes!

In Pritaso Villa, room F40, sprawled in different positions were Eze, Jonathan and Bayo. They were pretty much doing nothing, save for Jonathan’s occasional punching of phone keys.

“This is so boring! You guys just know how to have the perfect Friday!” Jonathan said to no one in particular.

Silence greeted his comment. He grunted.

“Omo! This is dulling sha! Today na Friday o! Choi! Konfam, we be dulling men!” Bayo finally said. “I sure say Eze dey sleep! Trypanosomiasis pikin!”

Jonathan chuckled. “Sleeping beauty! This young man has slept away the better part of his youth…”

“Fools! I’ve been awake jor! Bayo, you just wan show say your papa na vet abi? He specializes in dirty pigs right? And this Jo, Mr. Blogger! Blogging or tweeting rubbish every time! E no worse pass sleeping? 30,000 tweets, only 50 followers! Ode!” Eze hissed, still in his lying position.

“Why you dey dey lie down like rug na? Make we find parole.” Bayo offered. He got up and headed towards the rack at the far wall of the room.

“FYI, just so you know, I’ve got more followers than that, even celebrities follow me…” Jonathan tried to defend himself.

“Hehehe! Celebrities ko! Dare only followed you because he thought you were someone else, as for Blackface, he’s not a celebrity o, no dull yourself.” Eze lashed again.

Bayo laughed. “He’s right Jo. I even doubt that the real Blackface owns that handle. He might not know how to tweet.”

Jonathan smiled. “Ehhn! I hear. All these don’t faze me.” He said, twisting his head as if singing.

Eze hissed. “Fag!”

Bayo had been searching for something but seemed to still miss it.

“Who has seen the 1000 naira I left here?” he asked.

Eze sat up on the bed. “Em..er..was it yours?”

Jonathan giggled. “Frostbite got your tongue?”

Eze looked at Jonathan with something like disgust on his face. “Dude, like seriously? Frostbite? Tongue? Is it not for toes only?”

“Nope! It is as correct as good driving. And I’ve got poetic license anyway. Don’t be hating now…”

“Because you blog?” Bayo laughed hard. “Does Senator Patrick have a license too? Dame? Let me guess, issued by the same poetry office? Or the Queen? Ha and ha! Please! Abeg Eze jare where the money dey?”

“I’m really sorry man. I had just heard that there was this urgent book we were to pay for, about 5 marks at stake. I just had to use it. I’ll get it back for you tomorrow!” Eze looked sorry.

“Damn! You don forget say I dey your department too? So make I dash you foolish virgin my own 5 marks abi? E no make sense na. How you go just carry my bar go drop for kini without consulting me or anything? Bayo was quite angry.

“Calm down na! It happened so fast I swear. I usually won’t do that you know. Those department people are just thieves. I’m just as angry as you are!”

“I’m a thousand naira angrier actually!”

Jonathan giggled, causing Eze to giggle too. Eventually Bayo’s anger softened and he smiled.

Eze tried to repair damage. “Sorry bro, I’ll get it back for you tomorrow.”

“Hope you realize tomorrow is Saturday?” Bayo said.

“Er..Em..Erm…Nope! But hey, it’s not like I’m moving out…” Eze laughed.

“Enough of the i-love-you-too! Fags! What are we doing here? It’s Friday evening!” Jonathan cut in.

There was the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Chris walked in, with a shinning looking girl behind him. Maybe the evening was going to be interesting after all.

The Place I

I really did not want to go out to eat, the mood was foul because Rotimi had just broken the camel's back. I can't narrate what happened to anyone, but if you look into my eyes, you would see. You would see not just what happened, but tales of a thousand nights.

Back to my story! I walked quietly through the very long distance to famed restaurant. I wanted to eat efo and amala. That was because I had barely had any of that while away at school. The queue was long, undeterred I was. I paid for the overpriced food whilst regretting my decision not to drive to "white house" on the mainland. Oh well, man must chop.

I sat down quietly, trying to figure out why I had fixed my nails whilst judging the man sitting on the next table who had ordered a mountain of rice, spaghetti, fish, asun,snails and salad.

Quietly I sat when a fine-bobo with no pimple came to say "I think I've seen you before".

------------------------------

One Year Baby!

It  started off as my rebound. Blogging, I mean. Lol. I didn't think I would ever become a blogger, again. *enough of my mushy mushy over-practiced Oscar-award-winning-thank-you-speech*

Ok, so in 20 days, it will be one year since my first post. I wanna say thank you to everyone who has clicked the "ournairastory" link and smiled. Thank you, thank you!

But wait though, I have heard a thousand stories I could have replicated as some sort of fiction, but I did not because people's lives are "people's lives"! However public, they definitely need some privacy. Long and short, what I'm trying to say is that it's not easy to think of entirely fictional stories without adding some "real" flavors, *phew*, but I guess I tried.

If you by chance see your reflection in the mirror of my stories, I sincerely apologize and hope the inconvenience is not repeated in future.

So so, dear visitor, I am grateful for your following and I hope we enjoy many more years to come.

Thank you once again, and remember, "It's not the critic who counts..."

Long Walk To Freedom

Starry nights, dark skies

Black and white, mist

Soft music, stranger,

Strange land, strange you.

Steps towards the road,

To oblivion you take,

Wondering over if you would,

By choice or fate return.

Turn left, turn right,

Go straight, halt.

Halt if not clear on direction,

Take no step in the dark.

For the walk to freedom,

Is a marathon,

A race,

And a war.

School Runs

Dust. The dust in the school premises often made Kora wonder why the authorities made it compulsory for students to have shiny shoes. "Did they expect them to carry "kiwi" polish everywhere they went?", she mused.

On this Tuesday morning, she decided not to take her polish to class, she was tired of being a good student.

On her way out of the hostel, she said hi to a group of girls standing just outside the dormitory, waiting for someone. She said hello to them and noticed that their leader, Eniola was smiling awkwardly at her.

"What's wrong with that one?" she asked herself. True to it, the dust settled comfortably on her "cortina" shoes, turning it's color brown, dirty brown.

As she filed behind the one of the much taller girls on the assembly ground, she got a pull from her Form Prefect,

" I don't know why short people like staying at the back. Would you move forward!" said Senior Shade,

"I'm not short, is it my fault that someone in SS1 is as tall as an iroko tree? And after everything they would say we are mates, taa!" muttered Kora as she grudgingly marched to the front of the line.

" Hey junior girl, what did you just say?"
"Nothing o Senior, I was only ..."
"You are lucky!"

Kora managed to fight her way to be the 7th person on the line just in front of Eniola, she wasn't that short she argued while putting her shoulder side by side the other girls.

She had a long dark hair and light brown eyes. Her pointed nose and dark skin often got people calling her ebony or black gold.

The bell ringer rang the bell and soon the Reverend Father came to say the opening prayers. Eniola pinched an otherwise focused Kora.

"Leave me! Can't you be holy for some minutes?" said Kora as she shrugged Eniola off.
"Big head, better look up o. See as Senior Ifeanyi is staring at you" Eni whispered.

Kora felt her stomach knot.

"I don't know what you are talking about! Better leave me before I tell that our bitter form prefect that you are being a complete idiot!" Kora whispered back.

Throughout the assembly, she focused on the boring proceedings.

Senior Ifeanyi was the Labour Prefect, labor prefects were wicked and she couldn't imagine someone wicked liking her. Besides he was too tall for her liking. She also didn't want any one making her clean her shoes, in fact she wasn't interested, she assured herself.

On her way to the dining hall during break time, he stopped her in front of SS2 block.

"Kora kedu?" he said

"Good afternoon Senior, we have been asked not to speak vernacular. So I'm very well, thank you. Besides, not all of us are igbo for God's sake!"

"You know it's this your stubbornness eh.." he smiled as held her hands.

She blushed.

"See you know I can't be seen talking with a Senior na, you know the rules"

"Yea I know," he said as he handed her a letter.

----------------------

She went  to the back of the hostel bathroom to read the letter that evening.

While she was still taking in the big big grammar he had used to express his love, Eniola sprang on her.

"Ije love eeee" she screamed, attracting other members of the dormitory to what was happening.

Kora quickly chewed the paper and spat it out.

She knew no prefect could punish her without evidence. She also knew she and Eniola would never be friends.

---------------------------------
Kora was almost late to the assembly on Wednesday morning. This was so because she took extra care in ironing her uniform, oiling her hair and convincing her bunkmate to lend her an extra kiwi polish, though it made no sense.

She had to look perfect for her new heartthrob.

Blind Trust

My eyes ache from insomnia,
Though sleep sits just beside me,
And when the week hits its first cycle,
I remember you with my eyes shut, close.

When I open my eyes, reality hits.
My rent needs to be paid,
My family needs my love,
My existence needs my living.

So you are hereby forgiven,
Acquitted and set free.
The blind see no colors,
For all is fair in love and war.

Aint Nobody Got Time For That.

The aso-ebi fabric was splufik! Everything was set for the wedding, except that the gown was too tight and she didn't know how to tie her gele.

She sucked in her tummy and did the best she could in tying her scarf.

"11:30 am?!" Zaaappp! She hurried downstairs to catch the first taxi she saw. As she walked into the church, one of the groomsmen caught her attention. 

" Chai, see fine boy!" She thought to herself, "Market must sell today sha, bad as e bad at least one customer."

She saw her girlfriends from work and said "hi" from a distance.

"Nonso, wassup now? Come lets take selfies"

"Na trouble? Me no do single ladies with una oo!! Abeg, life na per head, leave me" she hissed

With that, she grudgingly walked to them and smiled for the camera.

She joined the only chic with a car to the reception venue, alongside three others. 

They watched with amazement how Nonso abandoned them and went to sit close to the groomsmen/bridal train table.

"Ahan! Nawa o, why are you acting so weird? Any issue?" pinged Adaora

"Abeg make una no vex. I just saw some old friends on this table that's why" replied Nonso

I saw her today at the office as she was narrating how one bobo who she met at the wedding, asked her for a date, I could see the excitement in her eyes...

"See eh, I've told dem Joy sorry o, haa, I didn't want them to spoil my market na. We are friends, yea, but when it comes to marriage mata, mehn, aint nobadi gat tym for that!"

Laugh almost choked me.

That Instant

Have you ever met someone and in one instant, you knew that they would like you? That in the split second it took to generate that thought, you knew that there was a connection that, was like electricity and both parties felt it and even though it’s invisible and no words have been exchanged, mutual thoughts were being exchanged and you were both on the same frequency?

So there I was this Monday evening, I was trying to get home after a day of work onsite with my Dad on Ikorodu road in the usual traffic snarl that is Lagos. 

I looked over to my left and there she was. She was astonishing. She’s the kind of beauty my best friend and I would spend no time arguing where’d she fit in the scale. She broke the scale. 

Possibilities. If not for the close to seven and a half tons of steel between us and hundreds of other road users. The three and a half seconds we spent in that state seemed like an eternity.  She waved her left hand to ask if she could join my lane (left hand: quick, inspect: No ring, she fair skinned and has no light band on her left hand-never wore a ring; meaning not married, never been engaged). Hey, I’m normally courteous, but I actually went outta my way to grant her wish.She couldn't have asked any nicely. She could have asked with an AK47 and it would still be nice. I yielded. She could take the road. While she was at it, she could take my heart, money and my destiny.

There is this warm feeling I get whenever I’ve done something nice. That’s usually motivation to do stuff. In this case, however, I was a bit selfish. I know that we’ll meet again and when we do she’ll be constrained to at least like me. In her subliminal subconsciousness that is actually her superconscience she’ll remember our little event. If you’re confused, don’t worry I’m confused too. I’m sure I don't know what I'm saying, but the thought feels good. 

"The road has freed up; Lets go" It was for only a moment. I work too hard, and daydream even harder. 

Now, I had to get home. 

Smokes and Shadows

The duvet couldn't keep him from the cold, so he stretched to put off the air conditioner, only to realize it was already switched off. 

He wondered when he put it off as he surrendered to the pull of his bed. The pillow felt wet. 

Then he remembered that he had been crying. At that realization, for some reason, the bed seemed to let him go, so he moved to the floor.

He stared blankly into the dark. All that occupied his mind was 'Molade.

Her smile, her giggle, her heart, her purity.

His scream broke the room's silence. He wailed and wept bitterly. Truly she was gone. Gone from his life. Forever.

"But that loss was ten years ago," a voice in his head said. "You are getting married in two days and you can't let anyone know about this pain. Deal with it Temi!"

His crying stopped a while after the thought. He got up, washed his face and looked into the mirror. 

All he could see was smoke. Smoke and shadows.

He would march down to his car and drive to his fiancee's house. He would tell her he loved her and that she was the only woman in the world he cared about.

He would tell her a version of the truth. Like we often do. When we say "we are fine" (smoke) which hardly shows the fire burning on the inside or when we smile for the camera all the while knowing that the true image of our desires versus reality hardly matches what our pictures (shadows) display.

He Stepped On the Gas

He Stepped on the Gas 

So I am back writing.

This is Lagos. I work here. The city is has been described in by many people with many adjectives. Idyllic is not one of them.

The nature of my job makes me take lots of routes to lots of places. My current route home takes me down the LAGBUS route from TBS in Lagos Island to Ojodu Berger in the suburbs.

Now, there is a problem on that route. On alighting on the Berger Bus-Stop, the buses drop their passengers on the Ibadan facing side of the expressway. As a result, the majority of the passengers have to cross through traffic to get to the side of the express that takes them to the suburban neighborhoods of Lagos that the majority of the middle-class of Lagosians lives. There is not pedestrian bridge and that makes crossing the express quite dangerous for the pedestrian and causes a build-up of vehicular traffic for the drivers and commuters on the Ojudu Berger axis.

So there I was, thinking of how the people that planned the LAGBUS should have thought about the safety of the commuter and had a pedestrian bridge installed at the site of the Bus-Stop and how transportation and project planners should be more sensitive to the human angle of the project when it all happened.

It jolted me out of my daydream. 

There is this unwritten agreement that drivers stop for the passengers so that they may cross the road. So when the SUV stopped I guessed this lady and some others felt it was all clear to cross the road. They stood in front of the SUV, the vehicle lurched (that was odd-I thought) it lurched once more; everyone shifted back a bit, apart from this lady. Then the vehicle moved almost hitting the lady who was aware enough to get out of the way.

Then I saw it. It was a pilot vehicle for a convoy of one “Big Man”. I felt sick to my stomach. I had the good mind to throw my smart phone at the windows of his car. What if he had hit the lady? What would his goons have said? It was even more ironic when a horsewhip carrying bulkhead said “God punish you” from the SUV. I mean he felt that the road belonged to his principal and him alone.

So my mind shifts from business case studies on traffic management operations mode to angry and upset with the insensitivity of Nigerians mode. I mean that guy will go to Church on Sunday or to the Mosque on Friday. He is going to pray that God blesses him. I wonder where he thought he was rushing to. I wonder if the driver thought that pleasing his master was worth risking another person’s life. That woman could be someone’s mother, wife, girlfriend or sister. That woman had a life, an existence a purpose and the idiot stepped on the gas.

He stepped on the gas.

She Laughed... She Felt Bad

“That just sounds like something Bill Cosby would do…”

Her eyes opened, the corners of her lips lifted, and then the eyes twinkled. She let out a very brief but hearty laugh. For a moment, I had penetrated the wall that had been set up before me. All was well and the world stood still for a moment.

But it was for just a moment

She asked “why did you have to say that?” You could see in her eyes that she felt like she had partaken in a very guilty pleasure. She judged herself and she found herself weak.

This was the first time we had sat down to talk and she really tried to be engaging. Maybe it was polite small talk at the table, maybe it she was genuinely fascinated by my person. One thing is for sure-I left the table with a fascinated and slightly puzzled young lady at the other end.

People, it is a brave new world. The borders of political correctness have been shifted severally. Every now and again there is a story of one scandal based on what some fool or figure said or posted. This scandal is usually followed by a quick merciless judgement fueled by social media.  

It is not in my place to say whether this is good or bad, whether this will make people more sensitive or sensible, maybe attitudes of intolerance will change as a result. Only time will tell. I do fear however that people, being people, will adapt and self-censor themselves. It is not my place to say whether that is good or bad thing.

Okay; thought over.

Hello World

Hello World

No 5, Ezeobi Street VI

And so Obinna explained that Akhidje had hidden all the letters Ahanna sent over the years.

Obinna promised to set up Akhidje with his Dad only if he promised to assist in wooing process.

Vero could not believe it. Something felt wrong all those years Obinna professed love for her but Akhidje would not let her think in that direction.

Now she knew why it felt so, now the dots connected. 

--------

And so Vero decided to stay in the marriage to Obinna. 

Last week, when I asked her if she still loved Ahanna, she directed me to a post on Instagram by @poetetmisery:

"In your life, there you may come across that one person who starts an unquenchable fire in your heart; and its that person you never might end up with"

The Forewarning... Part I

Kunle had suggested that they went out in disguises. It was the only way.

Things had been rough in the area recently. In nearby villages, kidnapping and gunpoint robbery had been reported to be quite alarming in the past few weeks. The change in government had left the already disgruntled indigenes even more so. There was no pacifying these people. 

"It is our birthright. We were born with these privileges. If the Government refuses to give us what is ours, then we shall take it!" Commander Iwin, a fierce rebel known for commanding his troops to perpetrate so many acts of sabotage, had said in a TV interview earlier that year.

Idris walked in front as they headed back to camp. The supplies they had so desperately needed were neatly packed in 4 maxi sized plastic bags. The sanity of the occupants of the camp depended on the otherwise regular products in these bags. The mission was critical.

They both could pass for native youths. Almost pass rather. Rough-looking basketball vests and pairs of what used to be full length jeans matched loosely worn baseball caps. But to a trained eye, they were goldfish!

Kunle was of average height and build. Heavy facial hair that was carefully "unkempt" and intelligent looking eyes described his face. A style commonly referred to as '#teambeardgang' by young people, it was easily distinguishable from the curly, poorly distributed and greying beard on a truly unkempt male junkie. Idris was tall, fair and had a look in his eyes that said "I'm usually behind the wheels of a Range Rover", which was actually true. He also wore thick glasses without rims. He looked delicate.

As they passed by some of the community youths, who seemed to be gathered doing nothing of purpose as usual, a couple of stares hit them. The two aliens tried to blend in, feigning to be deep in conversation, ensuring to speak only vernacular and to combine lots of slang in speech and gesticulation.

They made it back to camp just before 4pm. Their colleagues at camp were overjoyed.

"What's the area looking like?" Tony asked.

"Hard to really tell man. Most of the youths were hurdled near the square but didn't seem to be up to anything." Kunle replied, wiping off sweat from beneath the cap he had now removed.

"There should be enough to take us for another week. By then other emergencies should have been sorted out and we should have support from base." Ikenga added. He had the most experience in this business, although by official rank he was second to the Facility Manager.

A few that heard Ikenga's opinion permitted themselves a flicker of hope. Others either didn't believe or didn't hear him; they focused on the goodies in the bag.

We just need to get through a few more days, Kunle thought. A few more days. 

But three hours wasn't passed when all hell broke loose...

 

 

Anita Okojie

The view from her hotel window made her want more, more out of life. "The rich in this city don't have two heads," she mused.

Hence she decided to go out and see the city.

She walked along; trying to breathe calmly and absorb all the energy coming from the city of Lagos streets.

She had but a short while to stay, but she wanted to explore and understand what made Lagos Lagos.

While on the stroll, she observed a sign post on one normal-looking property: "Paul Osaji & Co, To Let..."

She immediately placed a call to find out the rent price.

"6.5 million naira per year, Madam,"  said the voice at the other end.

Her first instinct was to ask "For what?!" But then she knew that those who whine never win.

She walked further and called another agent for a recently built set of flats.

"Its 75,000USD only per year. It's a serviced apartment with a bq ma..."

She swallowed her spit, entered a keke and headed back to her hotel because her feet suddenly felt heavy.

She realized she had been joking with the limited time she had on earth. 

There was some thinking to be done.

RIP My Friend

The sun has set,

The day is over.

The cock has crowed,

The eagles have landed.

Your face is but a memory,

Our secret is buried with your earth.

The violent ones have taken you away,

They who live and die by the sword.

We talked 15 hours before your death,

My spirit shook around the hour of your demise.

I wasn't sure all my loved ones were safe,

I was sure not to think it could have been you.

The text came in "...Ken is dead",

I ran down to the spot where we would normally gossip.

Ahmed couldn't stop me from screaming,

"My Ken is gone!"

Keno! What happened?

Your voice has been silenced by the gentlemen of the highway.

I only imagine from time to time,

How you would have narrated the incident had you survived those bullets.

I still see you in my sleep,

And wish you weren't gone.

The sun will set for me too,

One day my dear friend.

Then we shall see at Jesus' feet,

I truly hope to see your face, again.

You live forever, Ken,

In my heart.

RIP.

Sacred cows vol. I

   If you have ever been privileged to attend a church, live close to a church or have a passionate brother or sister in Christ come and preach the gospel to you about accepting Jesus into your life as your Lord and Saviour, then you would have heard them, in their bid to convey the message of God's love, say something like 'You know God loves you the way you are but he doesn't want to leave you the way you are'. You've heard that before, right? Of course you have. You’ve probably even preached it to someone before. Now that statement, on the surface actually sounds like it makes sense but on further rumination, I realized that just like many other prevailing notions in our churches society, it’s far from that.

   Now before you start venting and rolling your eyeballs at this, just be patient and reason with me for the next few minutes. Imagine you won a car in a contest. The car of your dreams: a metallic black Bugatti Veyron (relax, I said imagine you pessimist!). You're about to totally freak out and perhaps, faint in disbelief but then there's a little problem. Not actually a problem but a slight glitch; the car is green. Like chlorophyllous green,and shiny. Now it's still a Bugatti, right? And still very much as valuable but still the point is, your dream car was a black Bugatti not a green one. In fact, you hate the colour green. Luckily for you, the organizers of the show hear about your displeasure and eventually agree to change the colour of the car to black (still plausible since it’s an imagination). Now you're ecstatic! You totally loooove your new car! Okay, end of imagination.

   Now look at the story again, and using your church mind(no pun intended),would you say you loved both cars the same? The green Bugatti vs the metallic black Bugatti. You really don't think you loved one more than the other do you? Of course you do. And that's my problem with that statement. If God loves me the way I am, why doesn't he want to leave me the way I am? Why does he want to change me from my green Bugatti into a black Bugatti? I thought he loved his Bugattis green? Or in any colour they come? Or is it really that he doesn't love me the way I am but he loves the potential of what I can become? (which are both two different things by the way). It's like clay vs a beautiful pot. Seems God loves the beautiful pot but clay is the means to that end so he kinda has to love the clay too, although the pot is his real dream. And I am clay at the moment. Now this is the message people who make that statement actually convey but they don't know and perhaps wouldn't even want to admit it because then, it contradicts the point they're trying to make; which is that, God loves me.

   But I dare say that if that indeed is the message they are trying to pass across, then the message should just end at God loves me: the way I was, the way I am, the way I'll be. So am I saying God's love shouldn't seek to change us? Yes! May we be changed by the knowledge of his love? Definitely! But those are two different things. The aim of love shouldn't be to change but to appreciate and cherish. After all, his love is meant to be unconditional, right?