1. She doesn’t have herd mentality. She’s a pretty individual person and will make decisions based on her own data and interpretation.

2. She is an avid lover of art.

3. She can sing. (She has a tiny singing voice.)

4. She knows how to be a good partner and friend (she has learned to now, i have a hunch she had a crazy era)

5. She has more sense than she lets on.

6. She’s quite supportive to others around her.

7. She is a big Ayra star fan. (I’m not a fan, but whatever.) She also likes Omah Lay a lot.

8. She is Igbo. I know big revealll

9. She might have onomatophelia or at least she loves her name that much.

10. She loves love. (Don’t ask me how I know. I did PI in NY after YM signed me in the CA.)

11. She likes the finer things in life. (Me. That is literally my middle name.)

12. She’s quite forgetful in conversations. Like, she can be talking, and she can be talking, and she just forgets her own train of thought. Like, “What was I saying?” That kind of thing.

13. She likes plantain only logical since praise likes yam

14. She prefers if people read her articles and like them than she does her notes. (Deep down.) Notes are like a fashion trend that she doesn’t necessarily love to partake in, but she does.

15. She has at least one past relationship that she wishes she had done better. It lingers in the way her notes where she writes articles.

16. She likes “I thought of you” gifts.It makes her go crazy. Hence me writing this, i know my intentions are not pure - deal with it

17. She likes ice cream - a lot.

18. She’s pretty interested in her friends’ love life. (Let’s say it’s care sha bit its sus.)

19. She is a supportive friend. Have I said that already?

20. She likes Chinua Achebe’s books. I like the guy or the girl that she likes. That person is a guy, right? (Joke guys please!?

21. She’s not ungrateful. She’s not ungrateful for her experiences, people, life and family. She’s pretty appreciative, and she does not take those things for granted, or at least she’s trying to.

22. She’s not a bad liar. I know Imagine Dragons, I know she’s everything you’re not.

23. She is still afraid of cockroaches at her big age.

24. Girl actually cares, even about random stuff.

25. Her favorite movie of all time is Harry Potter, not whatever she thinks she likes.

26. Her sarcasm and humor are S tier!

27. She has so many things she wants to do. (I want to do with you.)

28. She’s a Messi fan, unfortunately.

29. She loves love again! (I don’t know if it is for emphasis at this point, or I’m just getting tired of writing.)

30. She’s weird in a good way, and she is a very nostalgic person. All her articles have that old sensory information type thing about them, and I think she likes to daydream. She’s a “making scenarios in my headholic”

I’m not expecting everything to be accurate because you’re a complex person and there’s more to you than meets the eye( there’s a serious pun in there). Byeeee. Take care!

The room’s steady beep... beep... beep... stuttered, skipped a beat, and stretched into a long, agonizing silence before collapsing into a single, continuous, high pitched BEEEEEEEEEEEE that cut through the room.

The nurse rings a bell and the hallway tears into chaos.

Doctors and nurses rushing in from left and right.

“We’re losing him”

“Start CPR”

“Get the defibrillator”

“Sir, can you please step outside”

“1, 2, 3 breathe, 1, 2, 3 breathe”

It had been 140 seconds, the defibrillator is yet to arrive.

‘1, 2, 3 breathe’

Whhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

“Jesus Christ,” the nurses whimpered in agony.

NEPA had taken the light.

1, 2, 3 breathe ...the doctor continued.

The defibrillator arrives and with it the power.

“Thank God,” someone says.

1, 2, 3 clear

THUMP

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

1, 2, 3 clear

THUMP

BEEEEEEEEEEEEE

1, 2, 3 Clear

THUMP

BEEEEEEEEEEEE

The doctor cleans sweat off his face.

Time of death 4:04am

Beep beep beep

The heart monitor comes on again.

It’s 8:24am.

I’m staring, I had just lost myself in thought.

I was about to brush my teeth. I look horrid. I need to get a shave soon.

I pick up my toothbrush.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

My phone rings.

Unknown Caller

Have it done by 10pm today.

You still have the address?

‘Yes sir,’ I responded.

‘The evidence is at your doorstep’

Beep. The call drops.

Ding dong.

I rush to get the door in only a towel and vest.

I open the door.

Cold air gushes in.

I shiver in instant regret.

There’s a sealed box on my carpet that says welcome.

“I have to do it. My siblings need money.”

9:32 pm

I’m at 3rd Avenue. I have been looking into her house for forty something minutes.

It looks like she’s finally coming. She shuts the door and leaves a spare in the vase.

She walks to her car.

She looks younger than the photos suggest.

Peem peem peem.

A car security system three houses away goes off.

It startles her a bit, so was I....

She enters her car and drives off.

I rush into the house.

Plant the murder weapon in her room and the rest of the box contents as well as hair strands from a certain Mr John.

Apparently Mr John has been cheating, his wife killed him in anger and wants the sidechick to take the fall. At least that’s what I could assume.

I rush out of the house, jump in the car and speed off.

My chest feels heavy, what have I done?

Why did I do this? Tears start rushing down my eyes.

Thuddd.

There's blood, the smell of fuel, my vision is hazy, everything goes dark.

The smell of antiseptics greets me as I open my eyes, yeah I was in an accident.

Everything is wrong.

Every fucking thing.

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The Storm Continues

Part III is coming soon

It’s the 24th of December. It’s raining elephants and whales, as cats and dogs will not be sufficient. I’m in a black raincoat that the wind intends on taking from my body. The sky looks lifeless, like the raindrops continue to take the life out of it. I’m almost at her house. “I hope she doesn’t mind my lack of warmth. She’ll understand, no one is expecting a downpour a day before Christmas,” I say to myself.

I’m here.

I ring the doorbell. Ding dong.

Ding dong. I ring again.

3 minutes have passed, no one is out.

Perhaps she isn’t at home.

Ughhhhh, she told me I could come.

I rang aggressively and continuously.

The doorbell rang like it was being beaten to a pulp.

Finally, I hear movement.

And now steps. She’s here.

The door opens but I can see no one.

“Heyyy, my mummy says I should open for you.”

Of course, a kid.

Good afternoon, I say to him as I walk in and take off my boots.

She’s in over there.

“Success, how are you feeling? You can drop your coat on the stool, Junior will hang it for you where it can drip. You look horrid,” she said.

“The rain does that to you.”

“Is that all there’s to it?”

Her voice echoes.

She said, “Have your seat.”

I sat.

“We have made some good progress together.”

“That’s why when you said you needed to see me, I was a bit at a loss for words.”

She kept on speaking for what felt like a minute, but I caught my reflection in her glasses. I look horrid.

The rain continued to bang the window as if to say she should serve me up to it, so it could eat me alive.

Hssssssssssssss, a kettle hissing in the distance.

“Aren’t you going to get that? I think the water is boiling.”

She says, “Oh, yeah. Do you care for tea?”

I nodded.

Her house felt like love. Warm, happy, touchy love. Like a newlyweds’ room. Moods lifted, hearts racing. It really felt like a home. It’s nothing like mine.

She came back with a kettle of what I’m assuming is green tea, that’s all she drinks. She’s lactose intolerant. So she doesn’t buy anything else.

She pours me a cup.

I say thank you, half amused by her light screaming when she steps on a little tea she must have spilt earlier.

She doesn’t acknowledge the moment she pours herself a cup and sits.

“So what brings you here today?”

The Storm continues

Part 2 is coming soon

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Okay maybe faith is a strong word.

Hope.

I have hope in Nigerians.

A few weeks ago, a customer from my PPA got my number through what I can only describe as a very shady staff operation. He texted me about a complex issue I initially had absolutely no hand in. Yet somehow, through legal and muddy waters Christ Himself would probably advise against, I found myself trying to help this man solve it.

To customers, every staff member is the architect of their suffering.

And honestly, you cannot blame them.

Eventually the issue seemed resolved. Or so I thought.

One faithful CDS morning, one of his correspondents stormed into our office because of the same issue. Apparently the original mistake had been made by my colleague, who unfortunately could not recognize it even when the error was staring him directly in the face.

The correspondent loses his mind.

My colleague calls me, explains the situation, and I update him accordingly. But at this point I was already irritated because the customer himself had spoken to me very rudely over text before this.

And there is a very specific kind of anger that comes from helping somebody solve a problem that was not yours, only for them to still speak to you like you personally crashed the economy.

I did not want to do anything rash.

But I also felt that if you are the whatever-whatever of a federal government company, your decorum should not be giving MC Oluomo.

So I sent him a message.

“Please all communications should now be made through the company WhatsApp line as you may no longer be able to reach me through my personal number.

Please continue to treat people with respect.”

Then I blocked him and moved on with my life.

Cinema finished.

Or so I thought.

Fast forward to today.

The man appears in the flesh for the very first time.

He asks my supervisor for my colleague and starts explaining the services he wants rendered for three of his company’s cars.

Unfortunately for me, I was wearing the exact same shirt from my WhatsApp display picture before I blocked him.

Tough luck.

He pauses.

Looks at me carefully.

“Are you Abraham?”

I say yes.

“The one I was talking to?”

“Yes sir.”

He says he has been trying to reach me.

At this point I either kept quiet or changed the topic immediately. Honestly I cannot remember.

Actually no.

I changed the topic immediately.

Later, this grown man in his mid forties looks me dead in the eye and says:

“You blocked me.”

I said:

“Yes sir. I did.”

No point denying it. The evidence was literally wearing a blue shirt.

Then something happened that genuinely shocked me.

He apologized.

Not the fake Nigerian apology where somebody says “if you were offended.”

No.

An actual apology.

He admitted the stress from work had been getting to him. Told me not to take it personally. And the craziest part?

He apologized in front of another older man who I assume was his superior.

I almost cleaned the ears of my mind.

What God cannot do does not

exist.

You people cannot convince me I did not just witness a supernatural event.

People can explain geopolitics without understanding politics, diagnose strangers they've never met, review careers they've never pursued, give relationship advice while being terrible at relationships, and confidently tell everyone how to live while barely examining their own lives.

And the internet rewards this.

You don't need to do anything remarkable. You just need to have a sufficiently strong opinion about someone who did.

That gives you a lot to play with:

The thesis:

The internet has turned participation into commentary. Instead of asking “What am I doing?”, we're increasingly asking “What do I think about what everyone else is doing?”

The uncomfortable part:

Commentary feels productive. You watched the video. You read the thread. You argued in the comments. You learned the discourse. It feels like engagement, even when nothing in your actual life changed.

The deeper point:

There is a difference between being informed and being involved. Between understanding something intellectually and actually having enough skin in the game to understand it emotionally.

Maybe we don't have an attention problem.

Just Maybe

Maybe we have a participation problem.

I asked chat gpt what it think are my biggest flaws, btw the thing is low-key my diary. Spare me the tech yap, We're all cooked eitherways. 

It said 

"The biggest character flaw I see in you is overthinking uncertainty into something you can control.

You have a strong need to understand what something means before you can emotionally let it go. You dissect conversations, revisit wording, analyze people's motives, and try to find the perfect interpretation of what happened.

It comes from a good place. You care about being fair, understanding people properly, and not acting on shallow assumptions.

But sometimes analysis becomes emotional avoidance.

Instead of accepting, “This hurts, and I don't know what happens next,” your brain wants to solve the whole thing.

And people aren't equations. There isn't always enough information to solve them.

I think that's the real flaw: you intellectualize uncertainty instead of tolerating it.

You don't always need to understand something completely before accepting that it happened." 

I know you guys think you over think, you're clearly not thinking enough. 

Guys, am i cooked? Probably? 

I've always known this, i got awareness to a level of this since 200lvl in Uni. 

Do i like this flaw, no? 

Sometimes, i just want to feel like normal people. 

This stems from some trauma i found out after asking myself questions, Timestamp: 5am on Sunday - I'm supposed to be up by 6:30 but oh well. 

It stems from Childhood trauma. The truth is I don't want to hurt the people i love. 

Grim, yeah. 

I know what it is to be hurt and for people you love hurt people you love. 

I swore to myself, I'm not going to be like that. Yet, here it is. Here i am. 

In a knot of my own undoing. 

It's unsettling to know. I won't always know, I'll act on incomplete information and I'll hurt the people i love. I want to understand things i probably can't or something someone can't explain everytime i hurt someone, it hurts.

 So, i may have been a people pleaser in my early teens. But that's not a bad thing. I don't think we should demonize the word "people pleasing". Currently, i try to be more fair to myself. Quite fair infact. 

I remember this time in uni, my roommate brought a cousin of his to our house.  No warning, no text, no asking for permission for our shared space. Just gbam. It annnoyed me so much. I didn't sleep at home for the 3 days the cousin was around because it was inconsiderate and inconvenient. I had to crash out to my another friend of mine because i was losing my mind trying to figure out how any of it made sense, why would he act like this? When his cousin left, i change am for am sha, i always tell him when i have people even visiting that is if I'm aware they are coming, if he's at home or not. So you get how that could piss me off. It never happened again. 

Where am i going with this now? (ADHD CORE😂😭)

*Scrolls up to check what the article is even about 😂

So yeah that was unfair to me but i think i acted fairly. The guy had nowhere to stay or so they said. So, yeah.

In relationships, it's even worse, i know you want tea but this tea is a flood. The biggest cup in the world wouldn't contain.

You can be loving and still hurt someone.

You can have good intentions and still be wrong.

You can be fair and still cause pain.

You can understand yourself deeply and still fuck up.

And shared view is necessary for understanding…it's not all about you or one perspective

So yeah, I'll hurt the people, I love, not but because i want to, because that's what love makers us do.

I'm not a yearner by any stretch of the imagination because i feel yearning pedastalizes love over lot of things. A lot of important things. But i empathize with the meaning. I empathize with the feeling. It just screams unrequited love to me, even if it's not necessarily that.

Love is great, love is all that but is it something to be desired? Is it something you should lose breath about always keep sight off ? Leave the door open for? Leave a hand out, knowing it would probably fall, for? For some of these questions yes and for some no.

A song i heard in my childhood said "what is love if it don't hurt me no more" and i get it.

Love certainly has to hurt you. Who you love is who can hurt you and we don't usually love perfect people. The song actually says "What is love? / Baby, don't hurt me / Don't hurt me no more." That throws another twist in the story but yeah, how much is too much? The most Unromantic, undesired part of love, pain.

If you have ever felt any emotional pain, you know at least for the first couple of times, it really fucking hurts. There's no real self preservation in relationships. Some part of you will be set ablaze and that's proof that you cared, cared enough to be hurt and that's human, that's vulnerable, that's a choice, and it is part of love. How much of you is set ablaze? If you really loved the person all of it.

As you continue to to give yourself to love it makes a phoenix out of you and eventually you learn to love to really love. I'm not saying you guys have it wrong but hear me out.

Let's do a small exercise

What do you think is a narcissist's perception of love?

1. He or she she would love someone only if they loved them.

2. ..............................Come on write with me

3. .............................you can do it.

A narcissist would love love

You probably think I'm going to tell you my opinion. I'm not going to do that. Writing is mostly to inspire thought and introspection.

A yearner in the way i perceive the word and a narcissist are not so far from each other. There's those deserving true love who i feel is those who have love and lost. No one can teach you love, you have to lose it to learn it like every trade, you'll have to get experiential knowledge from getting something really wrong.

There are also those undeserving of love, the unloved. The ones who grief has become their personality and have an outlook on life that’s lackluster - to use the biggest word in my vocabulary in that situation and still say the least. I say they're undeserving of love because they don't consciously want it and if they don't want it, they don't deserve it.

So there were four.

The Trader, the undeserving, the yearner and the narcissist.

The Trader buys wisdom with loss. The Undeserving chooses the dark because it’s quiet. The Narcissist loves only the reflection of their own devotion. And the Yearner hangs on a threshold, begging for a fairytale that was never written.

Most of us don't stay in one camp forever. We rotate through them as we get burned, rebuilt, and thrown back into the fire.

The question worth asking is not which one you are today, dear reader. It's how much of yourself you are willing to set ablaze the next time you leave the door open.

The End.

I'd really like to hear your thoughts. So, if you can comment. We’ll converse a little.

If you’re starting a relationship with someone who has never been in one before, I think you’re taking a pretty big risk. I’m not backing any statistics here, because I don’t have them, but I just feel like the possibility that someone’s first relationship will also be their last is closer to zero than it is to one percent. Especially in this day and age.

And maybe that makes it an orange flag.

Not a red flag. There’s nothing inherently wrong with someone who has never dated before. But I think it’s worth asking, what do you mean you’ve never been in a relationship before?

Because relationships require a kind of experience that you can’t really get from reading about them.

You have to navigate jealousy. Conflict. Boundaries. Accountability. Withdrawal. Compromise. You have to figure out how two people with completely different ways of doing things are going to live inside the same relationship.

Okay, you want this.

I want that.

How do we work this out?

Who does this?

How should we split this?

What are we going to do when one person is upset and the other person doesn't understand why?

These things sound simple until you're actually in them.

And I think that’s why, if I were advising a friend, I would probably tell them not to date someone who has never been in a relationship before.

Not because that person is bad.

Because you’re going to have to learn a lot together.

And being someone's first relationship doesn't necessarily mean being the first person they've ever dated. Someone could have dated two or three people before you and you could still be their first serious relationship. Their first relationship where they actually thought, okay, this is something we both want. This is something we're actually trying to build.

And that's different.

They might have experience, but maybe not the kind of experience that helps you here.

It's like applying for a product management role and telling someone you've worked a customer service job before. That's experience, technically. But it doesn't necessarily prepare you for the job you're applying for.

Dating can be like that.

You can have dated people before and still have never really learned how to be somebody's partner.

And I think the older you get, the more that matters.

If you're nineteen and you've never dated, who cares?

If you're twenty four, maybe I start asking questions.

If you're thirty and you've never had a serious relationship, I don't think that automatically means something is wrong with you. But the flag definitely starts leaning a little more towards red.

Because at some point, experience is just data.

And I don't think we should pretend it isn't.

Being someone's first serious relationship is almost like a real job.

You have to teach them things. You have to learn things with them. You have to be comfortable feeling uncomfortable. You might feel dumb sometimes. You might feel unheard. You might find yourself having conversations you never imagined you would have to have.

And accountability is a big one.

People aren't even very good at accountability in general, so imagine having to learn it for the first time while you're also trying to learn how to love somebody.

That's a lot.

Being someone's first serious relationship is like holding a mirror up for them to see themselves for the first time.

And they're scared of what they see, and you're still trying to tell them that they're beautiful. They feel seen in the ugliest way.

I think that's the difficult part.

Because suddenly they're seeing parts of themselves they didn't really have to confront before. Their jealousy. Their selfishness. Their fears. The way they withdraw. The way they communicate. The things they do when they're angry. The things they do when they're scared.

And you're seeing all of it too.

And sometimes you have to correct them.

I think correction is a form of showing love.

Our parents did it. Not that we all turned out fine because of correction, because clearly that's not true. But they had to correct us. Sometimes harshly. Sometimes badly. But there was always this idea that if you love someone, you don't just watch them become worse.

Sometimes you have to tell someone, you're wrong.

Sometimes you have to say, you hurt me.

Sometimes you have to say, this isn't okay.

And that doesn't necessarily mean the person is bad.

Sometimes they're just learning.

But learning with someone is hard.

And that's why I don't think being someone's first is something you should just casually volunteer for. You have to really love this person. And they have to really love you too.

Because it's not something you'd naturally want to do for someone you don't care about.

You are both going to be uncomfortable.

You are both going to get things wrong.

And sometimes, even when you know this person is a good person, something can still feel wrong.

Not because they're abusive. Not because they're terrible. Not because there's some massive reason you can point to.

Sometimes your heart just feels heavy.

Sometimes being with someone can feel unbearable. Like someone is holding you by the neck and you can't breathe.

And maybe that's the part we don't talk about enough.

You can understand someone.

You can know they're inexperienced.

You can know they're a good person.

You can know they're trying.

And it can still not be right for you.

It's not one size fits all.

Maybe someone else's first relationship becomes their last.

Maybe they meet someone at nineteen and spend the rest of their lives together.

Maybe the person who has never dated anyone turns out to be the best partner you've ever had.

I don't know.

That's the thing.

I'm not saying people who haven't dated are bad partners.

I'm saying that when you enter a relationship with someone who has never really done this before, you're taking on a certain amount of uncertainty. I mean who is any better. If you love them go for it.

But know that you're becoming part of their first real experience with another person.

And they're becoming part of yours.

So maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe the odds aren't terrible.

Maybe the first really can be the last. Lol

It's just math talking.

And a couple of scars.

It was obviously designed to piss people off.

The argument underneath it was more interesting, though. If the reason you prefer animals is because they give you a kind of love that humans can't, maybe what you actually want isn't love. Maybe you want a relationship where you're never challenged, questioned, rejected or abandoned.

You want a slave.

The post even brought up Hitler and his well documented love for dogs, which is obviously not a particularly serious argument. Terrible people can love animals. Good people can hate animals. Loving a dog doesn't tell you much about someone's character.

But the question behind it stuck with me.

What exactly are we looking for when we say we want someone to "love us"?

Because sometimes I think people don't actually want love.

They want control.

I thought about this after seeing a woman talk about refusing to hug her husband while he was texting her.

I didn't think, "The man's a dog."

But emotionally, he was getting pretty close to one.

And that's not really an insult to dogs.

Dogs are wonderful because they're predictable. They depend on you. They don't suddenly decide they need space to "find themselves." They aren't going to sit you down and tell you that your communication skills are shit. They aren't going to decide they'd rather spend Friday night with their friends.

You feed them. You love them. They love you back.

There is something incredibly comforting about that.

And I think some people want that same arrangement from their partners.

Not literally a dog, obviously.

Just someone who is completely predictable. Someone whose emotional world revolves around them. Someone who doesn't have too many friends, too many ambitions, too many opinions, or too much independence.

Someone who needs them.

That's where love starts getting ugly.

Some people experience love through control and predictability.

And this isn't exclusively a male or female thing.

Although it can look different.

Some women want to become the absolute centre of a man's emotional universe. They want him to need them for reassurance, validation, comfort, attention, everything.

Some men want something similar financially or practically. They want a woman whose options become smaller once she's with them.

Different methods.

Same desire.

Dependence.

"I want you to need me so badly that leaving me becomes difficult."

And honestly, what the fuck is a "golden retriever boyfriend" sometimes?

Because there's a cute version of that idea. A cheerful, affectionate guy who gets excited when his girlfriend walks into the room. Fine. That's adorable.

But there's another version where the ideal boyfriend is basically a domesticated man whose entire personality is loving his girlfriend.

He doesn't need much. He doesn't ask for much. He doesn't challenge her. He doesn't have a life that competes with hers. He's just happy to be there.

A lot of people don't want an equal.

They want a very well behaved dependent.

And I think we should be more suspicious of that.

You cannot make someone love you.

You can make them stay.

You can make them afraid to leave.

You can make leaving financially difficult.

You can isolate them from their friends.

You can guilt them every time they do something you don't like.

You can make them feel like they're responsible for your entire emotional stability.

But none of that creates love.

It creates compliance.

And love without choice is a strange thing.

Love is partly valuable because it is voluntary.

Your partner could leave.

They could disagree with you.

They could go to the gym without you.

They could go out with their friends.

They could go clubbing.

They could have a life that doesn't involve you.

And they still choose to come home to you.

That's the beautiful part.

I don't understand why people try so hard to remove the possibility of choice from relationships. It's probably trauma but heal don't spill blood on people who didn't stab you and really it's not that you don't love them, it's that you can't. Till you let go of the trauma and cling to love.

"Don't go to the gym."

"Don't hang out with those friends."

"Don't go clubbing."

"Don't wear that."

"Don't take that job."

"Don't talk to him."

"Don't talk to her."

Sometimes there are legitimate reasons to have these conversations. Your partner's choices can affect you. Relationships require consideration. Boundaries exist for a reason.

But there's a difference between saying,

"I don't like this, and here's why."

and

"You aren't allowed to do this."

The first gives your partner information.

The second takes away their agency.

Tell your partner what you think.

Tell them what bothers you.

Tell them what you're afraid of.

Tell them what you need.

Then let them decide.

And be prepared to live with the decision they make.

Because if you have to control every decision your partner makes to feel secure in the relationship, maybe what you're protecting isn't love.

Maybe you're protecting yourself from the possibility that someone with complete freedom might choose something other than you.

That's a terrifying thought.

But it's also the only way love means anything.

I don't want someone who stays because I've successfully made leaving impossible.

I want someone who can leave.

Someone with friends.

Someone with a life.

Someone with opinions I sometimes hate.

Someone who can tell me I'm wrong.

Someone who doesn't need my permission to exist.

And after having all that freedom, they still look at me and say:

I choose you (me and one of my ex's use to say this to each other, sweet nostalgia …bavk to why we are here)

That's love.

Not obedience.

Not dependence.

Not ownership.

Choice.

"Here's a solution. Kill all men."

It's not a sentence I went looking for.

In fact, I muted the word misogyny on X because I was tired of the endless outrage machine. I thought if I removed the word, I'd remove the conversation.

The conversation found me anyway.

Scroll long enough and you'll find another variation of it. "Kill all men." "Men are trash." Thousands of likes. Thousands of reposts. Thousands of people insisting it's satire, that it's just a joke, that anyone offended simply doesn't understand the context.

Maybe it is a joke.

But jokes have always revealed what we're comfortable laughing at.

What fascinates me isn't whether anyone actually intends to kill men. Most don't. The phrase is rhetorical. Hyperbolic. A release valve for frustration.

What fascinates me is how comfortable we've become speaking about entire groups as though they're less than human.

We instinctively understand why this is dangerous in almost every other context. History is full of examples where reducing people to a category made cruelty feel reasonable. Once someone stops being a person and becomes an idea, empathy is the first thing to die.

The internet accelerates that process…

Algorithms don't reward nuance. They reward certainty. Outrage. Tribalism. The most emotionally satisfying version of every argument.

Eventually you stop seeing people.

You only see teams.

I don't think this is just a feminist problem. It's a human problem.

Men do it.

Women do it.

Politics does it.

Religion does it.

Social media simply industrialized it.

The strange thing is that while we're arguing over whether men deserve sympathy, many are disappearing in ways that rarely trend.

Some die by suicide after years of convincing everyone they're "fine."

Some work jobs where death is an accepted occupational risk because someone has to build the roads, climb the towers, mine the earth, fight the wars, and repair the power lines.

Some slowly disappear into addiction.

Others into loneliness.

Some become emotionally invisible long before they become physically absent.

Not every man experiences these things. Not only men experience these things.

But enough do that dismissing male suffering as weakness or privilege feels less like progress and more like another form of blindness.

Acknowledging this doesn't erase the pain women carry.

Women continue to face violence, discrimination, harassment, and expectations that shape their lives in ways many men never experience.

Both realities can exist at the same time.

Compassion is not a limited resource.

Yet the internet constantly asks us to choose a side, as though empathy were a political endorsement.

If you recognize men's pain, you're accused of minimizing women's.

If you speak about women's pain, someone else insists men have it worse.

Everyone becomes a defense attorney for one half of humanity.

No one wants to be a witness for all of it.

Maybe that's why the phrase stayed with me.

Not because I believed it.

Not because I feared it.

But because it made me wonder what kind of culture casually jokes about killing people while overlooking the quieter ways they're already disappearing.

Death isn't always a body.

Sometimes it's isolation.

Sometimes it's addiction.

Sometimes it's the inability to ask for help because you've spent your entire life believing your worth depends on never needing it.

Sometimes it's becoming a statistic after years of being invisible.

So when I read another post saying, "Kill all men," I didn't feel angry.

I just found myself asking a different question.

Who says men aren't dying already?