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music : da girls, with Ciara, Lola Brooke, Lady London  

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It's Febuhari hahahaha #notreally

Omo e-naira dey find cash like this

— HOSEF JOEY (@hosefjoey) February 6, 2023

"It's a good policy but poorly implemented"
Okay, what would you have done differently?

— Seun Osewa 🇳🇬 (@seunosewa) February 6, 2023

Dusk Oxford pic.twitter.com/B2g3whngOd

— Femi Oyebode (@FemiMind) February 5, 2023

Just watched an Arise TV financial segment. All the anchors believe that:
(a) APC govs are only crying because they want to buy votes.
(b) The new notes are becoming more available.
(c) The Feb 10 deadline is realistic & we should submit all our remaining old notes to banks asap.

— Seun Osewa 🇳🇬 (@seunosewa) February 7, 2023

Japa requires discipline, finding love abroad difficult – Canada-based Nigerian https://t.co/AJV9lfkel5

— Punch Newspapers (@MobilePunch) February 5, 2023

🔫🔫 https://t.co/8l0DvpANev

— Pen Wizard GreyBeard. #23 (@kingluu) February 5, 2023

Our hearts go out to the people of Türkiye and Syria following the loss of life caused by the earthquake. We mourn with families who have lost loved ones and wish all those injured a quick recovery.

— William Samoei Ruto, PhD (@WilliamsRuto) February 7, 2023

I was deeply saddened to learn of the huge loss of life caused by the earthquake in #Türkiye and in #Syria. Entrusting those who have died to the loving mercy of the Almighty, I pray for the emergency personnel involved in the ongoing relief efforts.

— Pope Francis (@Pontifex) February 6, 2023

What if every item on the planet had a voice? Chorus is developing new sensor technology and ML tools to radically improve how we make, move and manage the world’s goods — unlocking real-time insights into where things are and what state they are in. https://t.co/IIsQ9W8l3F pic.twitter.com/YfQIS3aUVV

— The Team at X (@Theteamatx) February 6, 2023

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do the work-life thing the way you wanna

A READING LIST 

1. We need immigrants to bolster our economy and fill jobs 

2. “More artists are succeeding in the streaming economy...”

3. African FOODS, Cuisines, Delicacies, and Recipes 

4. Professionals: see the best-paid careers in Nigeria 

Dressing masquerades could create 1000 jobs per week for Nigerian men https://t.co/wRhCVGocPd pic.twitter.com/TwVtngeZH7

— Mr simple (@Mr_simple001) May 3, 2016

1000 jobs in dressing Masquerades? What are your thoughts #YourViewTVC
A good venture or not. pic.twitter.com/qb2mNwnhUh

— TVC (@TVCconnect) May 10, 2016

Bond! Osheeyy! 👏👏🔥😭 "@frankdonga_: Only a professiona can do a professiona's #job #JamesBond pic.twitter.com/v2dIcVepDW"

— Undisputed King Of Disco 👑🎧 (@DJTOHBAHD) September 2, 2015

Nigerians, do you miss Twitter?

Section on Multitasking and Grindmaxxing - Turn down for what now?  

Musical project: We Got Love (Love Is The New Money)
with Teyana Taylor, Kanye West, Ms Lauryn Hill, ...

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the linkedin famz-machine ## Cool-By-Association ;-)

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Critical Thinking Notes

 Survivorship Bias: Why you shouldn't trust successful people's advice



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Money and anxiety - Real talk about fear, work, love, and motivation.

How many people feel this way?  Maybe I am the opposite...
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Vultures and Volatility

Here's to a year of winning in romance and finance.
Step One: Order Big Girl and Big Boy.

Step Two: Enjoy a few minutes of grown-up fiction, and come back for more UpNaira every day.  

Vultures and Volatility

by Tosin Otitoju

“Oh God, is this thing even moving at all?” she mutters as rain water crawls down the glass of the car’s windows.  There has been a mere drizzle but the clouds - engorged as they are with dark bile - threaten a great show-down replete with thunder, lightening, and flood. 

“Mr. Yellow, enter that next lane.”  She has no time for this slow-crawling traffic at ten o’clock in the morning, particularly because the markets have gone mad again. 

Her phone rings: “Yes, yes, I know,” she is saying.  With one ear still pressed to the flat phone she grabs her bags.  “Un-fucking-believable,” she sighs while pushing the vehicle door open. 

Thus it is that our financial maven has to walk the last few meters to the office today.  She is tottering slightly as her tastefully-heeled pumps negotiate the rough stone and sand street that is already littered with puddles.  The two minutes to her building, she is a mess of missed phone-calls and a mental struggle to rediscover her analytical methodology.  She needs to prioritize and execute.  First, prioritize. 

The startled security guards at the gate of the office building fall over themselves to help with her oversized bag and her laptop bag.  They have never really seen her outside her chauffeured vehicles before.  She is chuffing under the weight of the bags and the humid tropical heat.  Her armpits itch from the sweat.  She ignores the guards and quickly makes it to the elevators and up to her office suite. 

By the time she gets in she almost knows what to do but she needs a piece of information:  “Tai, Euro-dollar,” she asks her FX-trader. 

“It has just been red all morning, ma,” he says. 

She stands at Tai’s desk.  Her bags have been taken by the assistant, unobtrusively into her office.  She sees from the currency charts that their losses could only grow.  She calls her dealer in London.  She redials.  If he doesn’t respond, she has a back-up plan.  He picks up on the third ring: “Honey, you owe me big time,” he says.  “I have a buyer for 100.”

London is ready to take 100 lots off her.  “Sell ASAP.  Confirm,” she says without even waiting to hear the price. 

The lots are sold within a minute, with losses enough to erase three cycles of profit.  It could have been worse.  An hour later and it would have been 2.5 times worse. 

She has not saved her company yet.  They have accounts in local stocks.  Those are down, but she thinks it’s just jitters; local is not expected to mirror the global market.  Inexperienced local traders would not know that, so she sees an opportunity to make a little “lunch” money off the rebound.  “Ram, we should maintain UpVol.” she calls to Ramesh.  “I think we’re looking at a panic play.”

She is exhausted.  She is in the red, no matter what she does today.  Euro-Dollar is their most leveraged account, and there just isn’t the kind of speed in local to undo their losses.  She is trying to get fresh funds to play with.  “Where does one recoup over a million dollars of losses?” she wonders.  “Who is wet right now?”  She dials the former governor, a client.  “There’s an opening right now, sir.  I suggest you take a look.”    

She succeeds, because Sam the former governor says, “you’ve been doing a good job, young lady.  You have my permission.” 

Now smiles broadly, full of sugary charm: “I knew you would move quickly on a good thing, sir.  How much?”

“Just put the whole thing,” says the governor.  “Half.  Eh, I don’t know - you use your judgment, just bring me the returns.” 

“Well on this you could be looking at sixty days with five or six percent…if you have some cash somewhere not doing anything for you.” 

“You said sixty days?  I see…”

“My guys could assist with the transfer, it’s top-rate,” she says, and starts typing a message to Esohe, her marketing guy.  

The governor says, “I have a daughter like you – very sharp.”

“Thanks sir.  I’m just doing my job.” She sends the instant message to Esohe: “Chief Sam U. has fish.  Confirm.”  She estimates half a million at most in Trust Bank as he hasn’t made any real money since the elections.  She trusts Esohe to secure most of that total within hours. 

Next customer!  She tries the number of another famous “Big Man,” but finds his phones switched off.  He must be travelling.  Her sandwich arrives for lunch.  It’s turkey slices with butter and egg whites, lettuce and beets, between two extra-thick slices of pumpkin bread.  She asks her assistant to keep trying the Big Man’s phone.  Food is joy, she thinks as she swirls her tongue around the creamy mix. 

She is reading messages too: Chief Sam has three hundred cash at home, so Esohe is taking it through the bank.  She replies, reminding him that there is three-sixty or so at the bank as well: the chief deposited over 350,000 for a six-month interest of 2%, and that was six months ago.  Things are going better than she expected.  She receives another message from Barack: “Babe, babe…”  It irritates her how much he uses the word.  She deletes his message. 

“The chief has picked up?” she yells over to her assistant.  The chief did say he was going to be abroad, she suddenly remembers.  He would be several time zones away, in the dead of night. 

“I’m still trying, ma.”

“He must still be asleep.  I want to be the first person he talks to when he wakes up.” she snaps back.  Now she checks the news wires – it has been a bloody day in the markets.  What she needs most is safety - some treasury bills or something - but there are no signals she can trust.  She could load up on local securities, but that takes so long that the play would have gone stale.  Still, action must be taken quickly. 

Her analytical methodology takes all these pieces of information and outputs an answer that is actionable and exact.  She instructs Esohe to call his list – “very high priority,” she says.  She goes fishing herself, talking to a dozen people from the list.  Someone wants to set up a meeting…but she needs money now, not later.  She needs a million plus, and the big problem is that after tomorrow’s headlines, nobody will want to invest.

Around three p.m., they finally get the other chief on the line.  “Don’t rush things,” he says.  He seems to suspect something.  Maybe he has seen the news.  “When I get back we can sit down together.  You always look so sweet.”  In other words, no cash. 

By around four p.m. the money is in from Chief Sam U.  Four hundred thousand only.  She is relieved that Esohe made it before the banks closed.  Esohe also has two good leads from the list, estimated at about eighty thousand.  Even if he reels those in tonight, she still needs half a million. 

There are phone calls now from worried clients.  She assures them, “we anticipated the shake-out and are now operating our proprietary plan.”  She ignores a phone call from Barack, who then writes “So bad, Babe.”  He is eager to see her again, that’s what he means by “so bad.”  His ardent sex drive irritates her. 

She talks to her US brokers – they are just as shaken.  She signs various approvals for the next day’s transactions.  Just before she can finish up, her assistant alerts that Money FM is on the line, so she gives a quick radio interview while the staff is gathering around Tai’s desk for the six o’clock staff meeting. 

Ram is worried about a freeze-up in local.  His boss has now finished the radio piece and joined the huddle.  Liquidity is always an issue in such markets, Ram says, and he doesn’t want to be locked in when there is an adverse movement – that is one horror movie that he never wants to watch again.  But she argues that the local trade presents “un-missable” short-term gains. 

She searches the men’s faces for signs of support.  Ram shrugs.  He may disagree with her aggressive plan but she knows he’ll do what she says and do it with extremely good judgment.  She is not worried about Ram. 

“What kind of night can we look forward to on UpVol, Tai?” she asks.  Tai, who has never seen a trading day like this one before, is too shaken to offer any opinions.  He stammers that he’ll run the numbers and she is annoyed that he wouldn’t just estimate but as usual leans too much on exact figures. 

The office manager, the only one at the meeting with gray in his hair, does not voice his own worries, but his stiff, shocked demeanor says all: if this company can’t make fifty thousand within this week, it may have problems paying staff salaries.   The boss strives to reassure her team: “money makes more money, it does not just disappear.” 

This meeting continues until she receives a reminder - “you coming?” – for dinner at 7pm with her former classmate.  This guy is her old acquaintance, former friend, fellow alum, something like that.  She is never really sure where to place him.  She asks him for 30 minutes, she’s going to be late.   She decides presently that it’s best to adjourn the meeting and quit the pep-talk, and so they close for the day, tired and hoping for a bit of good luck to save them.

She picks up her bags, out the door, elevators, security says goodnight, Mr. Yellow waiting down the stairs, and hurls her body tired but still fragrant in its yellow blouse – it’s silk, very becoming - and patterned skirt into the backseat of her jeep.   Mr. Yellow is looking in the rearview mirror with his head cocked, waiting for instructions.

 “We’re going to Sonar,” she tells him. 

“Yes, madam.”

She quickly dabs and sprays and touches-up.   Her mirror approves. 

At the restaurant-club Sonar, her friend Ego (pronounced AY-go) watches her enter the main hall.   When she reaches the table, he gives her a kiss on the cheek.  “You look tired,” he says. 

“It’s been quite a day.  You know.”  She orders chapman and shrimp fried rice.  

“You need something stiffer, Child.  Take some of this.”  She obediently downs his nearly-full glass of Guinness, despite its bitter taste.  Behind Ego is a Nigerian oil painting - of a royal on horseback amid the crowd at a Durbar festival.   She notices that the painting is bright while the furniture is dark.  She forgets to be sad, so preoccupied is she with the robe’s blue-white and the scene’s yellow bright. 

The waiter brings her rice.  It feels soothing to have her mouth full of this salty, oily stuff they call fried rice in this town.  Soon she is telling Ego of her woes.  She knows he has been through worse situations, she wants his advice.  “But a million is nothing to you” she says finally. 

“I just pick up scrap for a living.” he jokes.  “I’m the dustbin man.”

“The rich dustbin man,” she says and sips her chapman.  If chapman is a mixture of sweet (fruit punch), sour (lime), and fizzy (soda), this one is mostly sweet, and she loves it so. 

“When the asset is rotten, then I go in.” 

She remembers a poem from her childhood, “…flies to a tree and looks around // for rotting rubbish on the ground” and thinks how her once-fresh assets have become rotting rubbish…

Ego interrupts her thoughts with “how is your musician?”

“He’s alright.  At least he doesn’t have to worry about going broke like this.”

Ego looks over her bust with greedy beady eyes.  “He’s a lucky boy.” 

“Hey, he’s not that young,” she says with a chuckle. 

“Cradle snatcher,” he says, his face laughing hard but noiselessly.  A vein bulges on his head.  It snakes from above his eyebrow up to the North Pole on his head apparently.  He fits the poem perfectly: “…hunching shoulders, old bald head // he’d like me better if I were dead.” 

The little rhyme is about a vulture.  Now she remembers a war movie - was it about Somalia or Ethiopia?  This skin-and-bones African child in the dry sand, weak, but not quite finished yet.   A vulture just a few meters away wanted to make a meal of the child.  Angelina Jolie’s character - to the rescue - shoos the vulture away and nurses the youth. 

“Who will be my Angelina?” she now wonders, feeling sorry for herself and her financial wreck.

“Yes, another stout,” Ego’s voice rouses her again from her thoughts.   They have known each other since her second year in Finance at NU, and years later they wound up in the same business school for their MBAs.  She considers that his voice was never the best thing about him, and now he has lost his good looks as well.   He could be her ugly Angelina.  She could marry the ugly vulture.  She hates the idea so much that her tummy heaves angrily.

“I have to go home.  It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll come with you,” says Ego, in a very quick response. 

She stops to watch his face for signs that he was just joking.  Still not sure, she chides, “Ego, seriously now.”

“To the car.  I’ll come with you to the car.  What’s the problem?”

“Sure,” she answers, with relief.  The anxiety in her which has just risen so suddenly again falls so very sharply, making her more tired than ever.  She needs some ice-cream or anything sugary.  She calls the waiter and asks for an ice-cream.   The restaurant has strawberry and chocolate flavours.  That would be good enough. 

He has his Guinness, she eats two scoops of ice-cream.  When they finish together, they pick up all their property – phones and keys and bags – and leave a few bills on the table.  At the car, he kisses her goodnight.  She crawls in the back of the car feeling disconnected from her mind, unlike the analytical, methodological maven that she usually is.   Grasping to arrange her thoughts, she finds the poem*:

The ugly vulture flaps and hops // pecks at scraps and walks and stops // flies to a tree and looks around // for rotting rubbish on the ground. 

He likes dead things and he pecks them clean // he’s terribly ugly, dull, and mean // hunching shoulders; old, bald head // he’d like me better if I were dead...

She remembers learning that in primary school: the class seated in pairs, the wooden desks and chairs, reciting line-by-line after their teacher during English period.   

Mr. Yellow is driving her home and wondering about the man who just pushed his madam against the back door with a vigorous kiss.  Unlike the other man at the house, this one looks old enough to be the new boss.  He is glad about that: every woman needs a man to be her proper boss at home, and every woman needs to be protected.  And the man she has at home now is too young to fit the bill.  He looks in the rearview mirror to see her slumped, asleep, in her seat.  “She is a curvy woman all over,” he thinks, and it makes him aroused.   

In a few minutes they reach the condominium apartments.  The boss enters and locks her front door, and Mr. Yellow is not needed any more.  He starts his own long journey home without the luxury of a private vehicle. 

Barack is in, smelling of gin.  She takes off her shoes and unhooks her bra before falling asleep next to him.  He takes off more of her clothes and has sex with her.  All she hears is a string of babe this, babe that, disrupting her sleep.    

In the morning she gets her corn flakes and tunes to the news on cable TV.  She has to go in to work early and work on their big deficit.  She has a headache, so Barack brings her aspirin and water.  Later he wants to join her in the bathroom.  “Time,” she complains and so he stays out.  He spreads butter on his bread and prepares his hot chocolate milk.  He talks to her all through breakfast.  “Babe, you know I never ask you for money…” he says.  It irritates her that he begs for money like a child. 

While she gets dressed for work, he keeps talking about the plan at his studio, to “release two singles,” “test the market.”  It irritates her that he has so much faith that these songs of his will make money.   The real money is not in music, the real money is in money.  That money makes more money is an obvious fact to her.  She needs to pay her staff in two weeks – another fact. 

“Babe, you look worried Babe.  Is your head still paining?”  She is mentally drawing an action plan to earn fifty thousand within a week on eighty percent working capital.  He moves in to touch her neck and forehead.   Her temperature is normal.  He combs his fingers through her expanse of superstar hair.  It pleases him how it looks just like the hair on black Americans.  They kiss with a great amount of desire.  In all this, he avoids touching her scalp where the fibers are sewn onto a rough, stiff basket.  They kiss with such an unbearable amount of desire that she makes time for love.

* Poem is attributed to a Macmillan Primary English Reader.

The Vantage Point

Despite the fact that I squeal over the possibilities of an engagement announcement and get a little 'mushy' perusing wedding and other related photos, bridal showers weren't events I used to be at in the past. Probably because it was not really in vogue where I grew up and even in my time. So being at my lil sister's bridal shower was a rare one for me and memorable too.

Now I also don't know what actually goes down at most showers, but the planners of this one made sure there was good time devoted to talking. During this session, questions were asked and lots of counsel shared, mostly from the experiences of those who have been married years before. All to better prepare the new bride for the new phase.

I felt privileged being able to contribute my own bit, having been on this journey for some years too. It seemed natural to look back at the many lessons I'd garnered over the years and to bring it to such a forum to share.

In reality, we all stand in what I'll call 'Points of Advantage'. We've been there, we've seen that, we've done that. We have had successes that brought us gladness. We have had falls, stirred ourselves up, brushed off the dusts and resumed the runs. In all, we have grown and gathered such wealth of knowledge that only experience doles to those it has had direct contact with.

On another hand, life gives us opportunities to leave footprints for those coming after, such that they would run even better. It allows us from the strength we have gained to provide a helping hand or a supporting shoulder to that one who has become weary.

However, at other times, it challenges us to seek out those opportunities to share our wisdom because of the Vantage Point where we now stand. It is easy to look down on certain moments of our lives and assume no one needs to hear that story, but you'll be amazed at how desperately some need them.  

I remember the movie – Vantage Point, which I watched years back. It showed clearly how the spots where people have stood in life have better positioned them for specific views of life's happenings. Eventually our vantage points when better perceived helps connect those dots when we've stepped out of it all.

So then, as we live and learn, let us maximise our many Vantage Points so someone else may see better, understand deeper, or just simply be reminded that that impossible is possible.

@FolaFayo

Even Cinderella Had Till Midnight

I’m sure many would understand what it is like to get an inspiration on something to share, but never really get around doing it. That is the case with this post. As time passed I’ve also had different ideas on how to title it, from ‘Yes the grass may just be greener on the other side, but the owner of the field probably has blisters’ to ‘It’s not going to come or stay that easy’. Finally I decided on this perhaps because it’s the most recent.

For all who recall the famous Cinderalla story, her wishes did come true (courtesy of her fairy godmother) but then could only hold till Midnight. ‘Cos in reality, wishes are limited. They could set us off on the course but we have more to do in reality. And this actually is the message I’ve carried in my mind for so long, with too many incidents hitting it home over and over again.

Life allows us very often the occasion to compare. To look over the fence and often just wish for the results and accomplishments of others, but very rarely the efforts that have been put in. It’s about time we go beyond that, and consciously move to being deliberate and purposeful about what we truly wouldn’t mind, what we really want in every area of life.

 No relationship for example would blossom without being cared for. Be it with family, friends, colleagues or even God. It’s easy to watch others and desire the intimacy/rapport we see. But it wasn’t automatic for them. Choices were made, actions were deliberately taken that is why they enjoy what they have. Are you willing to be humble, to compromise for fairness, to serve, to give (hugs, kisses, time, encouragement and support or gifts), forgive offenses and even to pray? Are you ready to show courtesy, saying ‘please’, ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ at the right time and in the right way? So if you are fortunate to be married to a rare gem, you’ll need to brace yourself up more consciously for that gem to remain rare, even to you.

That child of yours is not going to be a believer in your faith, ideals and values just because you are. You need to make sure you walk the talk, in addition to teaching because that’s what kids know best. No school is going to make a genius out of your child (academically or in extra-curricular). Look out for the “outliers” in your child’s school, there’s definitely something different the folks are doing. What have you observed in your child? What have you done so far? Are you ready to motivate, encourage or pay an expert to coach to help him be the best he can be?

Yes you graduated the same year as that friend of yours. Probably you even got your great job months before he got his. How come he rarely complains of needing funds for personal things, he even just invested in another income generating opportunity. And he also gets to go on vacations to take a break now and then. Yet you don’t understand how your take home isn’t actually taking you home. You shouldn’t be wondering, instead ask questions, read books (e.g. the Richest man in Babylon, simple and practicable), make a plan, if possible get someone you can be accountable to, note your expenses and review it, save something as often as you can, invest in other streams of income…it won’t be easy but your grass will get greener.

The same applies to your health. How careful are you about what and when you eat? Don’t just sign up at that gym, get started. What of that skill/knowledge you gained a while back? It will only remain unproductive as long as you don’t upgrade or creatively apply it, even if voluntarily.

In all honesty, it’s difficult to push though on anything that doesn’t even mean anything to us. It’s tough to consciously study and learn about what we don’t value. Perhaps it’s a re-orientation that is required, to begin to value, and stop taking casually those things that really matter. But if for any reason, that relationship means the world to you, if your health should tell a different story in your lineage, if your child is indeed your treasure… by all means, go beyond wishing, become deliberate, even get the blisters because the sun and the rain would come and they will help guarantee the greenness of your field.

Bobby Jones Also Taught Me...

In my last post, I was able to share 3 of the lessons I took away from the movie on the life of Bobby Jones. Should I say in another way, lessons he taught me, even though we never met. This is often the case in life though, further enhanced by technology, the internet and social media. People we have never met and would never meet are influencing us and we them. More people can watch you, more can listen to you, more can read from you..., so what information are you sharing, what lessons are you teaching?



As Bobby grew older, he got involved in informal plays and then competitions. People began to notice him more, especially because he was so young compared to those he played with. On one of his trips at the early stages of his exposure to the limelight he said "I don't think I want to be famous...I just want to play". That definitely challenged me. One may say, he was just a kid, what did he know. But then, approaching life from a kid's perspective...innocent and pure (even in motivation) is usually a healthy approach. He saw what he did and was more into it for the fun he derived, he thoroughly enjoyed himself. That was why it turned out so differently for him. Later in life, he said again, 'once you play for money, you can't call it amateur'; he preferred to be referred to as an amateur. I like to use the word passion to describe this. I feel it's a differentiating factor and also a sustaining one. What you do now, is it fun? Do you enjoy it? If you never got a dime or recognition for it, would you continue all the same?... mhh, time will tell.



At one of the opens he played in, Bobby reported an infraction which set him back in the game and eventually affected his win. At that point, he displayed the height of sportsmanship. He was more concerned about doing it right than winning. We also do get to those points in life, when we have to make tough choices. Do we choose to show integrity or win (knowing, we've broken the rules)? If we become so overtaken by the sense of always competing, always wanting to be the first or the only ones achieving some feats, it's so easy to fall into this error. Sometimes never learning the rules (but then ignorance is no excuse), or knowing them and never truly valuing them. In addition to the dent to one's name or personality, what's the use of breasting the tapes and then getting disqualified for running so wrong? On the long run, truth, sincerity and fairplay always win. Some famous personalities especially athletes have suffered falls from this too....if only they had known. Learn the rules, play by it, sometimes it hurts, but then it pays.



Bobby played more, won more, and became very famous. This involved traveling more, practicing more...it started to tell on his health, and even on his marriage. Tell -tale signs were blinking red lights...and then he stopped. He retired. He stepped out of competitions. Simply putting it, he knew when to stop. This is another challenge all of us face. The question 'when will you stop?' Or 'when will you say no'. If we get carried away by fame, always putting up a show, always being there, or perhaps the idea that without us, some things will never be, then we allow the more important aspects of our lives to deteriorate, and we eventually lose out. Watch your relationships, watch your health; those are usually the first to give warning signs. Do not take them for granted, besides, it's better to leave the scenes when you're still being celebrated. You really don't have to take up just any and every opportunity. Let's be careful and be bold enough to identify when to say no when we have to. Do you know when you've had enough, done enough and when to step out completely? ‘Cos truly, life never ends when this happens.