1. One of my babes Todoroki has red hair.As you can seeeee.

2. I have another called Zuko from Avatar

3. Again, I don't want questions causeee they are all fine with my polygamy.

4. Some are real tooooo, like I said from movies.

Anywayssss, I don't want to bore you guys with my babessss but the bottom line issss, they are fine 🥹. (Truth is, I really don't have energyyy)

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So let's get started, shall we?

1. I'm a teenager, I won't say exactly what age butttt you should just know I'm younger than , so… yeah. I think that one's age has nothing to do with their intellectual capacity at all.

2. I'm definitely a Sapiopath. I'm not exactly sure that's a word in the dictionary buttt I saw it on Pinterest. Anyway, it's basically a person who finds intelligent people appealing or attractive.

3. I consider myself a major feminist. Now, there is a huge false ideology amongst some people which I would love to correct. True feminists do not believe that all men are stupid. That's a weird thought. Instead, feminism is an ideology or belief that both genders are equal and should be given equal opportunities.

4. I'm deeply in love with myself. Now, to many that may sound narcissistic or weird but I promise you it isn't. I love myself to the extent that I can watch a video of myself over and over again and I'll still say, “Omg, I'm actually so pretty”. Like you can call me anything but ugly.

5. I love the colour purple💜💜💜. It's literally my favourite colour. Especially in the shade lavender. It's just so pretty. Fun fact, my phone is purple too. I could legit see a lavender charger and buy it even if I don't need one.

6. I'm a Catholic. I respect everyone regardless of their religion so I really find it sad when people can't seem to respect mine. There are a lot of false assumptions about my denomination. The first and most popular is that we worship Mary. Ladies and gentlemen, we do not. We also do not pray to statues. I will entertain no further questions to prevent annoyance.

7. I have poor anger management skills. When I say this, I don't mean I punch walls or throw things. In fact, part of me wishes I do that. I actually do not know how to express myself when I am angry so most times, I end up crying and saying or doing things I'll regret later.

8. I love music. I listen to a lot of music actually. I don't have a specific kind I vibe with cause it all depends on my mood. A certain substack friend helped me get back in touch with Billie Eillish's songs and now “my strange addiction” has me hooked😬

9. I love writing. I've been writing little things since I was around four or five. I've been called extraordinary by literally all my teachers and I feel I don't show it enough on this app specifically.

10. I like basketball. I'm not necessarily a sports person buttt I find this sport really nice.

Goshhh I'm tired already

1. I love public speaking. That may be weird because a lot of people hate it but I really like the power I feel when holding a mic.

2. I rarely hate people. I think the word, “hate” is pretty strong so I don't use it all the time.

3. I loveeeee ice cream. You could literally kidnap me by offering me a bowl of “Ben and Jerry's”. It's soooo gooddd🤭💜

4. I like romance a lot. Novels, movies, songs….. I just really like it.

5. I'm scared of rags😔, this may sound really weird to some people buttt I legit CAN'T touch a wet or dirty rag.

6. I don't like crowded places. It gets me easily overstimulated. I don't like sweat.

7. I hate pasta😔, I feel like it's one of the most overrated things. I can tolerate spaghetti… but macaroni? NO!

8. I consider myself intelligent and so do people around me. That's one of the reasons why I feel DISGUSTED with people who rank intelligence by age or gender

9. I hate neon colours so much… like ew, no. Do I even have to explain 😭??

10. I like dogs. When I say this, I don't mean I like ALL dogs. Just the small ones. Like our substack dog, Ace. 's dog/son.

I'm running out of ideasss

1. I'm Igbo. I really LOVE my Igbo name but sadly, I won't be mentioning it because I don't want people I know to find me😭

2. I am a perfectionist😔. It's a blessing and a curse in ways you may not know.

3. I really want an iPad Generation 11 in pink😔. Again, that's not really something about me but you never know who's listening.

4. I love my best friend. Asides family, she's my favourite human. Idiot, if you're seeing this, yes, I'm really glad we have each other.

5. I know this one may be controversial or a bad character but I'll say it anyways. I hate group projects or working in groups 😔. I'm more of a solo lady. I think it gets things done easier.

6. I really like dancing. I've been dancing since I was much younger so… Yeah.

7. I'm a daddy's girl. Yes. I am. My mom actually calls me, “daddy's mumu button” 😭. Apparently, he does whatever I ask. Either way, I love my dad and unlike most people, I highkey want a lot of his traits in my future partner.

8. I love Math. I just do. I get that it's hard so a lot of people don't like it, but I actually really do.

9. I speak French quite fluently. I use it once or twice sometimes when writing but it's mostly when I'm too frustrated to express myself in English 😭. In my article, “Omo, some of you need slap”, I used French to express my anger towards people who say “Am” and not “I'm”🥲

10. Last but not the least, I love my sisters a lot. Yes, I've gotten blamed for things I am not guilty of. Yes, I have been called a liar multiple times (especially when I say I didn't fart😔, but hey, it's not always me!!!)

Anyways, I really enjoyed this🙃. Byeeeeeeee!

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My dad's sister had been staying with us for a little while. And when I say a little while, I mean long enough for her to become comfortable. Very comfortable. The kind of comfortable where she could walk into the sitting room, look at me for three seconds and decide she had discovered a new problem with my existence. Infact, she started it from the very first day her little black pumps touched the floor of our home.

It started with my weight.

“Ah, Andi,” she said one afternoon, looking me up and down. “You've really added weight.”

I laughed awkwardly, uncomfortably, dare I say.

“No, I'm serious. Look at your face.”

She reached over and pinched my cheek. I moved away. The frown I so badly tried to hide was most likely really visible at that moment.

“Aunty Chisom, please.”

She laughed.

“Why? Can't you take a joke?”

Excuse me?!?

Then she pinched my other cheek and my arm; and then my hand.

Not hard enough to leave anything, but enough to annoy me.

I told her to stop the first time.

She didn't.

Instead, she started making those little comments that are supposed to be jokes but somehow always leave you feeling worse.

“See this one. You're eating well.”

“You're getting bigger o.”

“Your mother is really feeding you.”

I stopped laughing.

“Ma, please stop.”

Her expression changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

“Young people nowadays don't know how to talk to elders.”

I didn't answer, because I knew if I did, somehow I would become the problem… the disrespectful child.

My mum was in the kitchen, cooking for her.

Because of course she was.

My auntie had barely been in the house for a week and my mother was already cooking the meals she liked, making sure she had everything she needed, asking whether she wanted lemon tea, asking whether she wanted egusi for dinner on Friday, knowing that Friday was time for my famous pasta.

I don't know why but somehow she still found time to criticize the daughter of the woman doing all that for her.

She looked toward the kitchen.

“Your mother is a good woman.”

I relaxed a little.

Then she continued. “But look at you. You can't even cook.”

I stared at her. “What?”

“You heard me. At your age, you should know how to do these things.”

I was already irritated.

Then she said something about my dad.

Something about how he had left , something casual. Maybe I would have considered it careless.

I froze.

She knew.

She knew exactly what that memory did to me.

It was something I'd spent a long time trying not to think about, and she had somehow found a way to pull it out and put it right in the middle of the room.

I didn't say anything.

I just got up and went to my room.

I closed the door and cried quietly.

The kind where you press your face into your pillow because you don't want anybody to hear you screaming.

I eventually fell asleep.

Or at least I thought I did.

Then… smack

I ignored her

drag

I opened my eyes.

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“Andi, get up. Go and bring me water.”

I stared at her.

“What?”

“Water. I'm thirsty.”

I was still half asleep. I looked at her, to make sure I was dreaming. I had to be, right?

She looked offended.

I turned over and kept sleeping.

She started complaining.

My mum heard her from the other room and stood at the door.

“Ah, you should have told me… and the kitchen isn't so far from- ,”

My auntie scoffed.

“That is nonsense. She should come and bring the water. What kind of child is this?”

I closed my eyes again.

Then I felt another slap against my arm.

I sat up.

My auntie was standing beside the bed.

“Go and bring the water.”

“Your children are too soft,” my auntie interrupted. “In my time, nobody was behaving like this. How can you call yourself a mother, you are a failed excuse for-”

I don't know what happened inside me after that.

Maybe it was everything she'd said earlier.

Maybe it was the comments about my weight.

Maybe it was my dad, her brother, who abandoned us.

Maybe it was being woken up when I'd only just managed to fall asleep.

Maybe it was the fact that she still came even after Papa left thinking she was doing us a favour when deep down, we knew she only came to make jest of mummy.

Maybe it was all of it sitting on top of each other.

She reached over and hit me again.

And when her hand landed on my back, a spot where I'd already been hurt before, something in me just snapped.

I got up.

And before I had time to think about what I was doing, I slapped her.

Once.

The room went completely silent and I stared at her. She stared back at me.

My heart was beating so hard I could hear it.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then I realized what I'd done.

And immediately, I wished I could rewind the last five seconds of my life.

My mum came rushing in.

“Andi!”

I didn't even know what to say because yes, she had pushed every button I had, even the ones I never knew existed.

Yes, she'd said things that hurt.

Yes, she'd ignored me when I told her to stop.

But I still shouldn't have hit her.

My auntie was furious.

I was furious.

My mum was standing between us, looking like she had just aged ten years.

And the worst part?

The water was still sitting in the kitchen.

Nobody even got it.

So there we were.

A grown woman.

A very angry teenager.

A mother who had been cooking for everybody.

And one untouched cup of water.

I'm not sorry, Aunty Chisom

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Because somehow, that sentence has become a full explanation for why some girls suddenly stop wearing makeup, change their clothes, drop their male friends, stop posting certain pictures, or start doing things they didn't even want to do in the first place.

“He doesn't like when I wear jeans”

“He doesn't like when I wear makeup”

“He doesn't want me having male friends”

Abeg oh, I should stop doing what I like because of a monkey with balls? Nope✌

Since when did a man's personal preference become Nigerian Constitution amendments????

And before anyone comes for me, I'm not saying your boyfriend can't have opinions, he certainly can. Butttttt…… Oga if you don't like makeup, wonderful. Congratulations to you. You can leave the makeup alone. If you like it, then wear it on YOUR face!

I can give you a free inspo.

Madam, if you like wearing jeans, putting on makeup or even being bald, do it!!!

👏STOP👏LETTING👏HIM👏CONTROL👏YOU👏

Why are you leaving it alone too if you actually like it???

Nne, you are not living your life 😔.

He's not the sun!!! The world doesn't revolve around him!!

And before you say, “But I love my boyfriend, so obviously his opinion matters to me.”

Yes, ma. His opinion can matter but you should know that there is a very big difference between considering someone's opinion and letting their opinion run your life like hostel mistresses in Catholic boarding schools.

Because sometimes it's not even just makeup.

It's:

“He doesn't like when I post on Instagram.”

So you stop posting.

“He doesn't like my best friend.”

Suddenly, your best friend is getting a “hey, I think we should give each other space” paragraph.

“He doesn't like when I go out with my friends…. He feels like I'm choosing them over him”

Now you're at home alone on a Saturday night watching everybody's Snapchat stories like a prisoner.

🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

He's a walking red flag!!! He's toxic!!! Open your eye!

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The craziest part is that sometimes the boy isn't even forcing you to do any of this.

You've just decided that keeping him happy is your full-time occupation.

Nobody told you to throw away your makeup. Nobody told you to stop talking to your friends. Nobody told you to change your clothes. Nobody told you to become a completely different person!

He casually mentions it one day and suddenly, it's your lifestyle. Nne, why na😔?

You just started doing it because you wanted to be the “perfect girl” for him.

And I get it.

We all want to be liked.

Especially by someone we like.

You want him to look at you and think,

Yeah, that's my girl

Cute.

Adorable.

But please don't become so obsessed with being his girl that you forget how to be yourself.

Because what happens when you break up?

Are you going to go through your wardrobe like:

“Okay, this is mine. This is also mine. This one belongs to Chinedu. This one I cannot wear because Emeka said he hates it.”

Please be serious, ma.

You are allowed to have him AND friends.

You are allowed to have a relationship AND a life outside the relationship.

Actually, please have a life outside the relationship, he should be part of your life.

Not your entire timetable.

Sometimes, it's not even about your actual boyfriend.

It's about wanting any boy to approve of you.

You wear something and immediately wonder: “Would boys think this is pretty?”

If a girl gets attention from the boy you like and suddenly you're conducting a full FBI investigation.

What does she have that I don't?

Maybe nothing.

The madam is just on her own.

And maybe….and this is the part we don't like hearing, his attention didn't quantify your worth in the first place.

You don't become prettier because he likes you.

You don't become less pretty because he doesn't.

You don't become interesting because a boy thinks you're interesting and you certainly don't need to become someone you're not just to keep another person interested.

Because imagine spending all that time becoming his perfect girl only to realize you don't even recognise yourself anymore.

Omo, Get up.

Take your makeup back.

Call your friend.

Wear the jeans.

Post the picture.

Have your own opinions.

And if he genuinely doesn't like something?

Okay.

He is allowed to dislike it.

You are allowed to disagree.

Two people can love each other without one person becoming the other's remote control.

Because at the end of the day...

He's a boy.

A human being.

Not God.

𝚇𝚘, 𝙰𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊 🙃💜

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‎You are literally just walking and minding your business and suddenly, one random imbecile starts making noises behind you.

‎“Psssst!”

‎“Pssss pssss!”

‎“Yellow girl see as you fine”

‎Then comes that  STUPID sound they make with their lips puckered like they're trying to summon a goat or an "ashawo".

‎Sir, abeg, did I order a soundtrack?

‎Sometimes they don't even bother with your actual name. Every girl between the ages of approximately 10 and 30 is apparently Abigail or whatever they feel like calling you for that day.

‎“Abigail! Abigail, how you dey?”

‎My name is not Abigail.

‎“Abigail come na, I wan follow you talk.”

‎No, thank you, Mr Random-Roadside-Man-I-Have-Never-Seen-In-My-Life.

‎They keep saying “how you dey?”  with the confidence of somebody who has known you since birth or something.

‎*oh my daysss*

‎It's so disgusting that little girls go through this with people old enough to give birth to them!!! These men literally have no shame.

‎Then there are the ones who start following you with offers.

‎“Come, na that phone you dey use, come make I change am.”

‎Bros. No, thank you. I get papa wey go buy am.

‎

“I get car.”

‎“Enter, I'll drop you.”

‎“I’’ll pay for everything you buy, just gimme your number, ehn, fine girl”

‎"I'm not interested sir"

‎"Why you con dey form? "

‎*Get out please!*

‎And you're just standing there thinking:

‎I don't even know you. Why are you offering me a car like you're my long-lost uncle? 😭

‎The worst part is that some of these men genuinely seem to think that because they're complimenting a girl, they're entitled to her attention.

‎No.

Non.

Aniyo.

Na.

La.

MBA!!!

How many languages should I say “no” in?!?

‎

Some of them go as far as pulling your hair or dragging your clothes because you refused to answer when they ”asked nicely”

‎“She should have ignored him” shouldn't be the solution we give girls every single time.

‎Because sometimes these men are just animals! They never get the hint!

‎They whistle louder.

‎You walk faster.

‎They follow.

‎You cross the road.

‎They cross too.

‎You pretend you're on your phone.

‎“Pssssttt, fine girl! ”

‎At this point, Nigerian girls need a raise! 😭

‎There's a difference between finding someone attractive and deciding that their existence gives you permission to invade their space.

‎Learn it!

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‎Nigerian girls deserve to walk down the road without feeling unsafe or threatened.

‎The audacity of some of these men!!! Cause why did an aboki join the race and do that thing?!??? Bia,who are you??? I'm not a classist ohhh but like, just no.

‎These men are becoming bolder by the second.  This is even a case abroad!

According to the New York Post,  A 15-year-old girl in New York was attacked by a boy after an interaction in which she refused to give him her phone number. Police arrested the boy and charged him with assault. The attack was reportedly preceded by weeks of him pestering her for attention.

‎Many girls have experienced this. Many girls are scared to go outside alone. Many girls are afraid to say no when men ask for their contacts.

‎Nahhhh cause this is so disgusting!

I'm done ranting.

Bye gaizzz!!!

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 🙃

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚁𝙴𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌h😔, 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑??

I've thought about this before and today, I decided to actually write on it.

A tissue is a sanitary object. Is it hidden? No.

Plasters? No.

Bandages? No.

Pads? Absolutely yes!

This isn't the 1800s, let's stop acting like it. Some of you act like this sealed pad, a very common object for that matter, will make you faint.

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I mean, it's bad enough that five out of thirty or thirty-one days of my beautiful month are spent bleeding and cramping. Some of you act like it's a taboo to speak about it. It's almost like we are ashamed of it.

One time, a girl in my class (let's call her Mariah) had her period. This girl had her head down for almost the ENTIRE day and she only stood up twice to go and vomit. I mean, she obviously wasn't in the mood for any dumb pranks.

During one of her visits to the bathroom, a stupid imbecile who is sadly a product of his mother's monthly suffering and nine months pregnancy, claimed that she had taken his pencil. He proceeded to search her bag.

Let's just pause there.

I don't know if it's just me but if for any reason I find my bag open without permission, I'm slapping you without thinking twice.

Anyway, this God-forsaken baboon, saw her unused pack of sanitary pads and decided that it would be so funny to pin it on the notice board.

The heavy knock I landed on his empty skull would've been enough for him to go into a mild concussion.

Everytime, girls hide their pads when going to change in public spaces because it's “embarrassing.”.

They whisper “ do you have…” while signing with their hands as if pad is such a big word to say.

In fact, pad pad pad pad pad pad pad period period period!

Yes, come and beat me. Illiterate.

I remember the first time I had my period in JSS3. I had to change my pad so I said to my teacher , “Excuse me sir, may I use the restroom?”. This man looked me right in the eyes and ignored me.

I kept asking at intervals and he kept ignoring me. At some point, I became angry.

“Sir! I need to change my pad”

This man looked at me in horror. As if I had said something so wrong.

“Eh?”, he responded.

“Sir”, I said as loud and slow as I could (I mean he's deaf, no?), “my pad is full and I need to go”

I was visibly raging. If it were possible, smoke would have been escaping my ears.

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He finally let me go and my classmates stared at me like it was a big deal.

“What is it?”, I asked a group of whispering girls, “ you act like you never get your period”. I pointed to a boy with a bleeding elbow who was wearing a bandage.

“Why don't you tell him to hide that?”, I hissed and walked to the toilet with my pad in my hand!

Don't be archaic abeg!

‎Before we left the house for church that day, my mum looked at me and said, "Are you sure you can walk in your sister's heels?"

‎‎Now, if there's one thing about Nigerian mums, it's that they don't just talk for talking's sake. But did I listen? Of course not. I had been walking around the house in those shoes since morning, so I was convinced I had mastered them. In my mind, I was basically a runway model and I couldn't wait to see the look on that fine altar boy's face when he saw me looking all dolled up.

😝

(on some real hot girl shii)

‎We got to church, and everything was going well. Offering? Smooth. Homily? Amazing. I was feeling good, looking cute, and thanking God for my results.
‎
‎Nothing could possibly go wrong...
Or so I thought.
‎
‎Then it was time for my thanksgiving. My name was called, “Andrea Ugorji is coming forward, thanking God for success in her exams"
‎
‎The choir was singing, and I started walking to the front with all the confidence in this world. I was smiling at people, dancing a little, and enjoying the moment.
‎
‎The next thing I remember is hearing a loud...
‎GBAM.
‎

Oᕼ ᒪᗩᗯᗪᗪᗪᗪ!!!

‎

‎Not a small stumble. Not the kind where you quickly regain your balance and pretend nothing happened. I mean a proper, face-flat kiss with the church floor. 😭
‎
‎For about three seconds, I genuinely considered staying there. Maybe everyone would think I had entered deep worship.
‎
‎ Maybe the lights would suddenly go off. Maybe Jesus Himself would return before I had to stand up.
‎
‎None of those things happened.
‎
‎
‎Instead, I had to get up, dust myself off, and continue my thanksgiving like nothing had just happened while trying very hard not to make eye contact with a single soul in the congregation.
‎
‎If embarrassment could kill, this post wouldn't exist.
‎

‎The worst part wasn't even falling,omo, it was the silence afterwards. You know that awkward two seconds where everybody is trying to process what just happened?
‎
‎ Yeah... that.
‎
‎ The only thing running through my mind was, "Please, God, erase this memory from everybody's head".
‎
‎😭 I even checked my head before anything else because if my wig had decided to leave my head too, I would've simply started a new life in another state. Jigawa.... maybe.
‎
‎Then I looked at my shoes like, "So this is how you people chose to embarrass me?"
‎
‎Trust African parents to be "nonchalant" at the worst moments ever. My mum still insisted that we should all go and greet the parish priest.
‎
‎Oh! Jesus take me now!
‎
‎I tried to protest and she said, "didn't I tell you not to wear them? "
‎I just kept quiet.

Remember that iro and buba that shame gave me before?? It left. Why? It was too embarrassed to even be with me😔
‎

‎As we walked towards the Reverend Father, my heart sank. The fine altar boy had come to give him the keys to the sacristy.
‎
‎Heiiii Jesus!!!
‎
‎He mouthed "sorry" and I gave a slight nod. I felt the hot tears fighting to escape my eyes as women in CWO wrappers said "Ndo nwam", " Heiiii okwu gi o dimma?"

But no, I refused to cry.
‎

‎
‎I just wanted the ground to swallow me whole 😭. I don't want to go to church again!!!
‎

See me see trouble oh!!!

I have come again! And yes, this is a very common case. Have you heard of Olodo uprising? Good.

Some of you are sitting in the front row carrying banners😔

I wasn't going to say anything before, until somebody's son had the audacity to text me saying, “hlow hru?”. I had to pause first and take a deep breath, in fact one breath wasn't enough… I needed three!

And don't tell me you're saving time.

Saving time for what? The same conversation where you'll later send "😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂" for two straight minutes?

The one that truly broke me was when someone typed "wld."

WLD?

My brother in Christ, the vowels did not offend your family.

The sun has risen. Birds are singing. You have data. Yet somehow you cannot afford the rest of the letters?

Were the vowels arrested???

And please, why is "okay" now "k"?

After pouring my heart out and writing a long message to you, you'll respond with “ K”

That is not a reply. That is a cough.

K as in potassium??

K as in “Kai this friendship is over”

Tell me pleaseeee

Some of you text like autocorrect is chasing you with a cutlass.

At this point, I have accepted that we are no longer speaking English. Abi… economy has started affecting the english??

“nd”

“hru”

“skul”

Hello??? Are you mad?!?

Don't even get me started with the set of human beings that say “Am” instead of “I'm”, that's not an abbreviation.

𝐂'𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 !! It is clinical madness😔

I saw one video where someone said, Imagine if God told Moses, 𝙰𝚖 𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚖. I hit that repost button so fast, you'd think my life depended on it.

Me: how are you?

One rubbish individual: Am fyn, tnx.

Like, you people don't even have a reasonable defence. God gave you 26 English letters. Why are you only using 7???

Some of you type "def" instead of "definitely."

Def what?

Defibrillator?

If your message looks like a Wi-Fi password, I'm not replying.

I said what I said!!!! Because at this point, your sentence needs a dictionary, subtitles and divine intervention to understand.

At some point, I had to start going to chatbots to understand some of you.

Another thing that I despise is when someone does something wrong to me and I get angry, then they proceed to say “sry”

Apology denied!!!!

Someone even said btgog???

*proceeds to hum “What the heck is going on”*

Because I honestly don't get. When I asked, she said that it means, “by the grace of God”.

Hello??? Get down!!!!

You guys are making these stuff up at this point

Normal abbreviations, sure. But don't be mad.

If this post offended you, ask yourself one question:

Did you read this thinking,

"lol fr ngl tbh"? 🤨

Exactly.

May God bless you and your keyboards.

Valete, amici!

Hello??? 911, I have a report.

I would like to formally report TikTok for targeted harassment.

I opened the app for what was supposed to be a quick five-minute scroll. Maybe a dance video. Maybe someone falling down the stairs. Maybe a recipe I'd never cook.

Instead...

"Happy Girlfriends' Day, my pretty girl."

Swipe.

"POV: Buying my girlfriend everything she pointed at."

Swipe

“Glacier girl wey no get August first gift”

(Screams in why are you shading me😭)

Swipe.

Someone's boyfriend recreated their first date.

Swipe.

Wait oh, is economy only hard for me??

A girl was crying because her boyfriend wrote her a seven-page letter. Seven pages. Heiiiii chim ohhhh.

At this point, I wasn't even on my For You Page anymore. I was on my For You to Suffer page.

TikTok wasn't recommending videos. It was conducting psychological warfare.

The comments weren't helping either.

"Don't worry girls, your man is planning a surprise."

Whose man?

"If he wanted to, he would.”

Eh??

"Stand up, queens."

I've been standing. That's the problem.

“𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞, 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲”

𝔸𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕪 𝕞𝕚, 𝕘𝕠 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡!

Then came the worst genre of August 1st videos:

"POV: You're watching this because nobody posted you."

Thank you, Detective Sherlock Holmes. Incredible observation.

I left that app so fast you'd think I saw my ex. (I don't even have one, but the speed was the same.)

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚣 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 😔

Who's that person that sang that song? Miley Cyrus abi? If so, Miley nwannem, you've done well

Shey you people have heard??? , I already told you I had you in mind!!!! You're part of the people trying to kill me!!!

I came over to Substack after tiktok because I trusted you guys. Then, I “saweth things that made me angrieth”😔

So, you people have joined them abi??

Now let's go to my friends that they are celebrating today, tell your boyfriend not to buy dark chocolate cause I'm not a fan. Tell him to not buy actual peonies causeee I don't like the smell. Thank you🙂

I prefer roses by the way, so tell him to buy two bouquets. One for you and one for um…… community development🥲

Yes, I said what I said, we are sharing those gifts!

Don't be scared joor, I don't want him, I want his budget.

You people should better not break up sha, let me see Ferros Roches (if that's even what it's called) next year.

Just when I thought I'd escaped...

I opened TikTok one more time (because apparently I enjoy suffering).

This was the FIRST video on my FYP.

Abeg you people should rest nawww, if I hear one more “I think he loves me, hallelujah”, I WILL KILL A LOT!!!

I have filed my complaint.

I have cried.

I have begged.

I have been betrayed by both TikTok and Substack.

There is nothing left to do but congratulate the opposition.

Anyway, happy Girlfriends' Day to all the lovers.

May your flowers arrive fresh.

May your chocolates not melt.

May your "I love you" paragraphs be longer than my WAEC essay.

As for me...

I'll be on Netflix watching 2 broke girls until TikTok remembers I also like cat videos, food reviews and people falling down in public.

Because if I see one more "Happy Girlfriends' Day, my forever”

I'll simply close the app...

...and reopen it five minutes later because I clearly don't love myself enough. I have been defeated😔

Bye gaizzzzz. T for thanks.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚎-𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎—𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝'𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎. 𝙸 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙸 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙.

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖, 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝙸 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚜.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚍𝚘.

𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝.

𝙾𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘. 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢. 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎.

𝚂𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜: 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎.

𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍.

𝚇𝙾,

𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕.

𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗 🌚💜

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‎By 5:00 a.m., someone was already ringing a bell with the enthusiasm of a person who had clearly gone to bed before everyone else. Girls stumbled out of their bunks with wrappers barely tied, boys shouted across the compound like they had never seen each other before, and the smell of pap drifted from the dining hall long before anyone was ready to eat.

‎

‎Nadiya hated mornings.

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‎She hated the cold water in the bathrooms, the long devotion before sunrise, and especially the way everyone seemed cheerful before the sun had even decided to show up.

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‎If she had known that one sleepy morning would quietly rearrange her entire summer, she might have paid more attention.

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‎She first noticed him during breakfast.

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‎Not because he was the loudest—he wasn't.

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‎Not because he was the most handsome—there were boys everyone whispered about for that.

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‎She noticed him because while everyone else rushed to find seats with their friends, he stood there balancing his tray, looking completely lost, as though he was wondering if it was too late to ask God for a different camp.

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‎Their eyes met for exactly one second.

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‎She looked away.

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‎He smiled anyway.

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‎Nadiya completely ignored him after that. It was nothing, just a random cute boy from another branch of the church.

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‎Nadiya sat in her usual row, beside the seat that had belonged to her friend, Bukola, every single year. This year, though, Bukola wasn't there.

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‎She had barely settled down when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She pulled one earpiece out and turned around.

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‎"Yes?"

‎It was him.

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‎For the second time that day, their eyes met.

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‎God...why is this boy so fine?

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‎He cleared his throat.

‎"Did you hear me?"

‎Her thoughts scattered instantly.

‎"Sorry... what did you say?" she asked, tucking a braid behind her ear as though it had been the reason she'd zoned out.

‎"I was asking if this seat is taken."

‎She glanced at the empty chair beside her.

‎"Oh... no. It's free."

‎A smile spread across his face.

‎"Thank you."

‎He slid into the seat, then turned slightly toward her.

‎"I'm Tolu."

‎He held out his hand.

‎"Nadiya," she replied, shaking it.

‎For a brief second, neither of them let go.

‎Long enough for the silence to become noticeable.

‎Tolu cleared his throat—again—and quickly withdrew his hand.

‎Apparently, clearing his throat was a habit.

‎Nadiya looked toward the altar, pretending she had been paying attention all along, but the sermon hadn't even started and somehow, church camp had already become far more interesting than she expected.Soon it was time for the sermon.

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‎The opening prayer began almost immediately.

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‎Nadiya bowed her head, squeezed her eyes shut, and genuinely tried to focus.

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‎She really did.

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‎"...and may every heart here be open to Your word..."

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‎Amen.

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‎"...give us the spirit of understanding..."

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‎Amen.

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‎"..."

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‎I wonder if he always clears his throat like that. He's so-

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‎Her eyes snapped open.

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‎Seriously?

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‎She stole the quickest glance she could manage.

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‎Tolu sat with his head bowed, one hand resting on his Bible, looking as though he hadn't moved since the prayer began.

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‎Focus, Nadiya.

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‎When the prayer ended, the hall filled with the familiar rustle of Bibles opening and pages turning.

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‎"Please open your Bibles to Proverbs chapter three," the preacher announced.

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‎Nadiya flipped through hers.

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‎Genesis.

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‎Exodus.

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‎Psalms.

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‎Isaiah.

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‎"..."

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‎Why don't I see Proverbs?

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‎She had somehow skipped right past Proverbs.

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‎Beside her, Tolu noticed her increasingly desperate page-turning.

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‎Without saying a word, he gently tilted his own Bible toward her, the page already open.

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‎She looked up.

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‎He smiled.

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‎"There," he whispered.

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‎"Oh."

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‎Heat rushed to her face.

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‎"Thank you."

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‎"No problem."

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‎For the next few minutes, she kept her eyes firmly on the preacher.

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‎Or at least she pretended to.

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‎Every now and then she caught herself wondering whether he was actually listening or if he was just as distracted as she was.

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‎By the time the sermon ended, the entire hall buzzed with conversation.

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‎"Stretch your legs!" one of the camp coordinators called. "We'll continue in ten minutes."

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‎People poured into the open compound.

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‎Some rushed toward the snack stand.

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‎Others searched for friends from different branches.

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‎Nadiya had barely stood up when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

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‎"So..."

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‎She turned.

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‎Tolu rubbed the back of his neck before clearing his throat—again.

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‎"I'm from the Ibadan branch."

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‎"I guessed."

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‎"You guessed?"

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‎Why did I say that? I sound so stupid.

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‎He laughed.

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‎"I've only said about three sentences."

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‎"And all three gave you away."

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‎God... Nadiya what is wrong with you?

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‎He shook his head, smiling.

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‎"So... which branch are you from?"

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‎She answered.

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‎"Oh."

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‎He nodded thoughtfully.

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‎"First time here?"

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‎She laughed.

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‎"No. Third."

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‎"So you're basically a camp veteran."

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‎"I prefer 'professional survivor.'"

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‎That earned another laugh.

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‎Before either of them could say anything else, a counselor's whistle pierced through the compound.

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‎"Discussion groups! Everybody to your assigned groups!"

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‎Tolu glanced down at the folded paper in his hand.

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‎"Group..."

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‎He unfolded it.

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‎"Seven."

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‎Nadiya blinked.

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‎"No way."

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‎"What?"

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‎She held up her own slip.

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‎Group Seven.

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‎For the first time that morning, they looked at each other and laughed at exactly the same time.

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‎Neither of them knew it yet, but Group Seven was about to become the most memorable part of camp.

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‎"Alright," the group leader began, clapping his hands once to get everyone's attention.

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‎"There are a few activities we'll be doing together throughout camp."

‎He flashed them a grin before adding, "But first, let's get to know each other."

‎"I'm Korede, by the way. I'll be leading Group Seven this week."

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‎A chorus of greetings followed.

‎"Now," Korede continued, pointing toward the circle of campers, "we're going to introduce ourselves. Your name, the branch you came from, and one random fact about yourself. Nothing too embarrassing... unless you want to entertain us."

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‎A few people laughed.

‎Nadiya glanced sideways at Tolu.

‎He looked just as amused—and just as nervous as she felt.

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‎"My name is Kachi, I'm from the Bodija branch, this is my second time here"

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‎Nadiya remembered him and chuckled, Tolu gave her a confused glance.

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‎"What?", he asked

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‎" Nothing", she replied holding back another laugh.

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‎This was the boy from church who she caught chewing erasers two years ago.

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‎She looked at Kachi again, he looked way bigger than he did as of then.  She contained another laugh.

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‎"My name is Esther, and I can braid my hair with my eyes closed"

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‎Impressive.

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‎"You", Mr. Korede said pointing towards her direction.

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‎" Why don't you go next?"

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‎Nadiya could have sworn at that moment that her heart had just fallen into her stomach.

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‎Me?

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‎"Not you", Mr. Korede said again. She turned slightly and realized that he had been pointing at Tolu.

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‎Ah, Thank God.

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‎He begun, " My name is Tolu, I'm from the Ibadan branch. It's my first time here. One random fact about me is that I can't whistle."

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‎"Prove it!" , campers shouted from behind.

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‎Nadiya giggled.

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‎"You people enjoy embarrassment"

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‎Tolu pursed his lips and blew confidently.

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‎Nothing.

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‎The whole camp went silent for a second.

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‎Then everyone burst into laughter. Nadiya laughed so hard that she had to cover her mouth.

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‎Even Korede bent over, shaking his head.

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‎Tolu pointed accusingly at Nadiya, "You were meant to be on my side"

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‎"Sorry", she said in between giggles.

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‎Tolu dramatically placed his hand on his chest, "I'll remember this betrayal"

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‎When the laughter died down, Mr. Korede pointed at Nadiya.

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‎"How about you?"

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‎Nadiya got up, "My name is Nadiya, I'm from the Bodija branch also. My random fact is... "

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‎Her head went blank.

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‎What is my random fact? Come on Nadiya, think. Think fast.

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‎Nothing.

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‎"I actually forgot my random fact"

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‎"How possible is that? ", a girl asked with a chuckle.

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‎Embarrassment. Gbam.

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‎The group erupted into laughter.

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‎Nadiya covered her face with both hands.

‎"I promise I had one before I stood up."

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‎"So stage fright stole it?" Korede teased.

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‎"No, I-"

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‎She cursed under her breath. If Tolu hadn't made her laugh so much, she'd have remembered.

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‎Tolu raised a hand.

‎"I think that counts as the random fact."

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‎A few people nodded in agreement.

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‎"Yeah!" Esther added. "She forgets her random facts."

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‎"Very unique."

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‎Nadiya shot Tolu a look.

‎"Traitor."

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‎He placed a hand on his chest dramatically again

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‎"You started it."

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‎"I laughed because everyone else was laughing."

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‎"So peer pressure?"

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‎"Exactly."

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‎Korede clapped once.

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‎"Alright, alright. We'll accept that. Nadiya forgets things under pressure."

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‎"Please don't let that become my camp nickname," she muttered.

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‎"Oh, it's definitely becoming your camp nickname," Kachi said.

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‎She rolled her eyes and the group laughed again.

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‎"Next!" Korede called before she could defend herself.

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‎One by one, everyone introduced themselves.

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‎Someone could speak three languages.

‎Another person claimed he had never eaten noodles.

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‎Everyone stared.

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‎"You've never eaten indomie?" someone repeated.

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‎"I don't trust them."

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‎"You don't trust... noodles?"

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‎"They're suspicious."

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‎The argument that followed somehow lasted three whole minutes.

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‎By the time introductions ended, everyone already felt a little less like strangers.

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‎Mr.Korede rubbed his hands together.

‎"Good. Since we're all friends now—"

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‎"We're not," someone interrupted.

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‎"We're getting there,"Mr.Korede corrected with a grin. "Our first activity is simple."

‎He reached into a bag and pulled out a stack of folded papers.

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‎"Each person will pick a partner."

‎Nadiya's stomach did a tiny flip.

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‎Don't make this weird.

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‎"You'll answer a few questions about each other, then you'll introduce your partner to the rest of the group."

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‎Campers immediately started looking around.

‎"I call Esther!"

‎"No fair!"

‎"I saw him first!"

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‎Within seconds, everyone was pairing up.

‎Nadiya looked around, trying not to look too eager.

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‎Before she could move, someone spoke beside her.

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‎"Partner?"

‎She turned.

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‎Tolu.

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‎Trying very hard to sound casual, she shrugged.

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‎"I mean... if nobody else wants you."

‎He gasped.

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‎"That's harsh."

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‎"I'm kidding."

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‎"I was about to say. I almost took it personally."

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‎"So... partners?"

‎He held out his hand again.

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‎This time, she shook it for only a second.

‎"Partners."

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‎When you crack open a white egg, it’s the same thing.

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‎Different shells. Same inside.

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‎Racism does not always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it hides in jokes that are brushed off as harmless. Sometimes it appears in stereotypes repeated so often that people begin to mistake them for truth. Sometimes it is disguised as preference, tradition, or "just the way things are."

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‎But wrong does not become right simply because it is common.

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‎If we can understand that two eggs with different shells hold the same things inside, then surely we can understand that human beings deserve the same dignity regardless of race.

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‎Because beneath every shade of skin is a beating heart.

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‎A mind filled with dreams.

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‎A soul longing to be accepted.

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‎A person trying to navigate life just like everyone else.

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‎At the end of the day, nobody chooses their shell.

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‎Nobody chooses where they are born, what language they first speak, or what colour their skin will be.

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‎But we do choose how we treat one another.

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‎We choose whether to judge or to understand.

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‎Whether to hate or to love.

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‎Whether to divide people by their differences or unite them through their shared humanity.

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‎And maybe that is what truly matters.

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‎Not the shell.

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‎But what we see when we choose to look beyond it.

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‎People get called names. People get reduced to stereotypes. And somehow, it becomes normal.

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‎And I keep thinking… how?

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‎How do we say “don’t judge a book by its cover” and still judge people by how they look?

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‎At the end of the day, nobody chooses their shell.

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‎But we all live the same kind of life inside it.

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‎Not loudly. Not violently.Quietly—like they're just trying to help. "Little improvements ", "opinions from a place of love. That's what they call it.Bullshit.

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‎“Fix this.”

‎“Change that.”

‎“You’d be better if…”

‎" You'd look nicer if..."

‎“I’m just trying to help you.”

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‎And slowly, you start believing them.

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‎You start editing yourself before anyone even asks.

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‎You laugh softer.Talk smaller.Think twice before speaking. Eat less. Do your hair a specific way. Wear makeup.Delete parts of you that used to feel normal.

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‎Not because you want to.But because you want to be accepted.

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‎And that’s where it becomes dangerous.

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‎Because love is not correction or improvement.

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‎Love is not someone holding a red pen over your personality like you are an assignment. It isn't correction fluid that erase who you truly are...

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‎The right people don’t try to rewrite you. They don’t treat you like a draft which they are entitled to perfect.

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‎They read you as you are.

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‎But the wrong kind of care is subtle.

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‎It sounds like advice.It sounds like concern.It even sounds like love.

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‎But it slowly teaches you that your natural self is not enough.

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‎You start asking questions you were never meant to carry:

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‎Am I too much?Too emotional?Too loud?Too difficult?Too big? Am I even pretty?

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‎Until one day, you forget to ask the real question:

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‎Why do I feel like I need to be edited to be loved?

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‎She is not a draft.

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‎She is not an unfinished version of someone waiting to be perfected.

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‎She is not a mistake in progress.

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‎She is a full story.

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‎And anyone who cannot read her without trying to rewrite her was never meant to hold the pen.

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‎

People go outside with smiles on their faces, their laughter loud and contagious. Someone once told me, “We laugh the loudest when silence becomes too heavy to carry.” And the more you observe it, the more it begins to feel like a shared agreement everyone silently signed—this idea that no matter what is happening inside, the outside must remain acceptable.

We learn early how to smile even through things we do not understand. Not because we fully grasp what we are feeling, but because we learn quickly what is allowed to be shown and what is better kept hidden. A child falls, cries, and is told to stop. A teenager feels overwhelmed and is told to “be strong.” An adult breaks quietly and is told to keep going. Over time, it stops feeling like instruction and starts feeling like instinct. We don’t even question it anymore; we just adjust.

To nod, to say “I’m fine,” even when nothing feels fine becomes less of a statement and more of a language we all learn to speak fluently. A survival tool, not necessarily chosen, but inherited. Something we repeat so often that it begins to sound true, even when it isn’t. And the strange part is—everyone seems to be doing it, as though we are all individually pretending not to notice that the person in front of us might also be pretending.

At a gathering, you’re expected to put on a smile, one that hides the pain and frustration, the struggle, and the effort that seems to lead to nothing. But this facade does not stay at gatherings—it follows us everywhere: work, school, church, even home. There is no clear place where it ends, because it is not tied to location anymore. It is tied to presence. As long as there are people watching, there is a version of yourself you are expected to maintain.

But if everyone is performing, then who is actually living?

The question lingers because there is no obvious answer. We are not always lying out of choice. Sometimes, we are simply repeating what we have heard for so long that it becomes the only acceptable answer. “I’m fine” becomes less of a statement and more of a default setting. It protects us from questions we do not want to answer, from explanations we do not have the energy to give, from the risk of being seen too clearly.

Still, there are moments when the real feelings surface, breaking through the shield we have built. In the middle of the night, when you stare at the ceiling and everything is quiet enough for your thoughts to finally speak, the silence grows louder than anything else. It is in those moments that the mind stops performing for others and begins confronting itself. The tears you’ve swallowed countless times finally betray you, sliding down your cheeks without permission. Your chest tightens under the weight of everything you’ve been holding in, and it feels like you are being slowly consumed by your own worries—not all at once, but in layers you did not realize were building.

Maybe the real issue was never the fake smiles, but the impact they have on us—how they make us forget what we are actually feeling. How often we delay our own emotions because there is no “right time” for them. And so, when realization finally comes, it does not arrive gently. It arrives all at once. Unfiltered. Unavoidable.

The question is not even whether we are okay. It is whether we have made space to be anything else.

Somewhere along the way, girls are taught that anger is an ugly emotion.

We are told to smile through disappointment, to speak softly when we are hurt, and to forgive quickly so that we do not come across as bitter. We learn that sadness is acceptable, silence is admirable, and tears are feminine—but anger? Anger is too loud, too uncomfortable, too much.

A pretty girl is expected to be pleasant.

If she speaks up, she is disrespectful. If she stands her ground, she is difficult. If she gets angry, she is dramatic.

But why?

Why are girls expected to swallow emotions that everyone else is allowed to express? Why is a girl praised for being patient with disrespect but criticized the moment she refuses to tolerate it?

Anger is not the opposite of grace.

Sometimes anger is self-respect saying, "This is enough." It is the voice that rises after being ignored for too long. It is the courage to walk away from people who only appreciate your kindness when it comes with silence.

A girl does not become less beautiful because she is angry.

Flowers survive storms too.

Their petals may tremble in the wind, but they do not apologize for standing their ground. Neither should she.

She is allowed to be soft. She is allowed to be kind. And she is allowed to be angry when the world gives her a reason to be.

Pretty girls are allowed to be angry too.