Someone out there is planning your life.

Someone out there is planning your life.

The Elohim, looking at each other, said, “Let’s create one more person for our pleasure.” “He’ll be a boy,” one said. “We must predestinate him for glory and good works,” the second said.
“Yes, but still he must have free will to choose,” the first answered.
“One day, he’ll ask not to choose anymore. He’ll succumb to your will,” the second said, pleased with the man they had created.

Someone out there is planning your life.

“Today, I got a call from the President. He wants me to prevent my incarceration in Federal prison,” you say, patting your pot-belly as you lazily swirl in your chair.
“Was that how he said it?” your aide says with a laugh. “Oh no, it was along the lines of diverting the funds we allocated for healthcare to an offshore account.”
“Ah, I see. Did he promise you a cut?”
“Well, he promised me his silence and my life.”

Someone out there is planning your life.

“Sir, please, you need to see my wife. She’s bleeding and needs your attention.”
With just one look at the man, you understand the meaning of sad, stressed, and dirty. The tears that stream down his face do not even help his case. It is… helpless, truly.
“Sir, I know, but you have to pay a deposit of N200,000 before I can do anything,” you say with your rehearsed face of empathy. “I should be getting good at this,” your thoughts speak. “But why am I struggling?”
“Sir, please, all I have is just…” Your thoughts resume. You would love to help, but the hospital does not even have the finances to fuel the generator that could power the equipment for a C-section. To make matters worse, the hospital ran out of anaesthetics yesterday.

Someone out there is planning your life.

“Oh, I think this skirt goes well with the shirt,” you say to your roommate.
“Girl, you end up not impressing anyone. So just do you and make yourself comfortable,” your roommate responds, disinterested.
You laugh. It is not exactly true. Your roommate is just not happy after she saw her exam grades. You take a seat in front of the mirror and colour your lips in careful strokes. . Drag after drag, what was pale red becomes blistering. “I know I submitted that assignment,” you hear her say. You sigh before smacking your lips. “It’ll be alright,” you say as you drop the lipstick. For your final touch, you apply a gloss. Happy with what you see, you leave the mirror.

Someone out there is planning your life.

“A is for God. B is for me. C is for you,” the lecturer announces. That does not matter to you, though. At least not now. She just walked into class. That is some skirt you have never seen in your life. Her lips are glossy red with seduction. You wonder how your first kiss would be. Would it taste like someone’s lip gloss or… You shake the thoughts off your mind.
She is a regular in class. She occasionally says hi to you. You do not like her, at least that is what helps you sleep. Today, however, you are not sure what makes her so attractive. “I’ll ask for her number after class,” you say to yourself.

Someone out there is planning your life.

If the government were not going to pay your salary, you knew you had to find a way to survive. God does not exist. If not, a hardworking civil servant like you should not be owed 13 months’ salary. However, this is different from what you tell your students. You tell them, “A is for God. B is for me. C is for you.” So, just like God, who does not exist, an excellent grade like A cannot exist in a country as horrid as this. So you make your students buy expensive materials for your course. You have a conscience, though. You do not offer grades for sex. Your old wife is good enough for you. Were you going to feed your four children with ten seconds of pleasure?
“Of course not, I need the money,” you say as you pick up the list of those who had paid for your course materials. Anyone who did not pay would automatically score zero. Your explanation, if anyone asks? They did not submit their assignment. Simple.

Someone is planning your life.

“How many kids would you like to have?” you ask her. You are such a lucky man that she wants to do life with you. You are not from the big places of life, but you are grateful for your wins. In fact, you own a successful auto shop. That is how you met her. She had broken the side mirror of a car while posing for a picture.
“Ten,” she says, giggling.
“Alright then. Let’s get to work,” you say as you unbuckle your belt. She laughs. She is happy with you. It is your wedding night. You have been a good lover.

Someone is planning your life.