Now, the problem is not that I think of you as a liar or one who'd say certain things just to make me feel better (even though that's what you do). The problem is that maybe I've not gotten to that phase where I'm truly happy to hear that you love that I'm slender– better put, slim.

Or you love my dentition, my overbite or my smile..

Or, you like my skin tone, the way I walk or how I speak.

Now, you must note, you are not the problem. And when I respond to your compliments with a shrug, sneer or try to wave it off, it's not pride or false humility. It's as a result of two things.

First, I do not believe you. And this is me being honest.

And no, it is not your fault that I do not believe you. Honestly.

It is my fault. Because, all these features you claim to like are the foundations of my insecurity.

No, I do not like that I'm thin . Sometimes, I love my dentition and at other times, I don't. And, the way I walk? Let's not get started about that. Truth is, I'm not confident about these things and it's my fault. I take full responsibility.

However, you do not have to like them. You do not have to compliment them because I'll only feel you're saying those words to make me feel better.

Secondly, in my head, you're my friend for a reason.

Church friend? Because I'll ace the Bible quiz.

Camp friend? Because I'm the only one your age who is quiet enough to let you shine.

School friend? Because I'm privileged to be smart.

Bus friend? Because we can have a conversation till you get to your stop.

I don't know…. You tell me why you want to be my friend.

So, you don't have to worry or try to be careful. I'll be fine. I'm fine. I was just fine before you came and I'll be even better when you leave. You do not have to take your time. You can take your leave instead.

Also, do not feel you owe me a smile, a conversation or anything. Yes, I'm sitting alone. I do not need your company.

Yes, I walk alone at night. I do not need your company.

I promise, I'm just fine. Don't make me feel you're close because you pity me.

You can stay afar. Yes, you can.

Finally, don't give me a gift. Yes!

I may not have what you need in return.

PS. There are more unnecessary thoughts where these came from.😂

And no, there is no cause for alarm.🌚😂

Good night!💜✨

Not to brag but, I'm the meekest person you'd ever come across 🌚 (that's if you're not in my innermost circle 🌚🙃).

Well, I'm extremely reserved! I even got awarded as the Most Reserved FYB during my FYB Dinner. That's the extent!😩

I speak as though I get charged for the numbers of words per dayyy. And yess, I don't like fights, raised voices and toxic environment. I'd suddenly start running temperature or feel nauseous if people are in an argument around me. It's that bad and I hate it!😩

Most times, I want to yell back at a crazy roommate who starts her day with curses, or whistle at a guy who whistled at me yesterday or dance to the beat of Greatman's songs in public. But no! My entire sense organs betray me! They do not seem to cooperate! 😭

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with someone I know from school and he was in awe. You know why? It's kinda my fault though. It happened that lately, I've been sharing the link to my substack on my WhatsApp status and people I know visit here and see my write upss. Sighs!

Well, this young man claimed to be in awe because… in his voice “The Idara on substack is nothing like the Idara I know”. I got thinking, if this young man takes a tour in my head, he'd know better than to think of me as a reserved young gurl. Please, my substack write ups are not that extreme nau…

Well, we got talking and I'd wanted to let him have a peek into my weird thinking so, I told him some of the things of thought of doing. Like placing a spider or two in the Bubu gowns of one of the evil girls I've met.

You won't believe what he said! “Oh, my God! LoL. That's what a “mad girl” would do. And you, my dear Idara, do not belong to that class.”

Something in me sparked!😭😂 Ehnnn! Don't tell me that!😭 That is the class I want, my dear brother. The class I badly want. And, if it would earn me the “mad girl” title, I wouldn't mind.😭

Well, I did not tell him all these sha.😂 But, it got me thinking. I thought deeply, yesterdayyyyyy and I replayed scenes in my head. Times I ought to have reacted in the manner this brother would term as “mad” and I just played cool.

So today, I'll be talking about some events that happened, how I reacted and how I wish I had reacted. Anything to earn the “mad girl” title.🌚😂

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Last week, I was running late for work and I was obviously in a haste. I had my shoes in my hand, mirror in my bag, and I lifted my trousers to allow for swift race… You know that classic “Damsel trying to catch the train” kinda movement? Ehen! Anyone who'd have seen me that morning would know that “Ah, this one is in a haste oo and has no time for chit chat.”

Unfortunately, one young man did not get the gist. I was trying to quicken my pace and I suddenly heard “ Who born this fine girl?” I prayed in my head, Lord not now, please, and I kept going. I did not even have the time to feel disgusted about his rusty lines. He did not take the hint and tried to keep up with me. He started an obviously rehearsed speech of all kind of nonsense he could come up with on a Monday morning and ended with “Now, can I have your number? There are a lott of things I still need to tell you”

Couldn't he read between the lines???? After I had tolerated all he had to sayyy!😭

Well, what did I do? (Shakes her head in regret)

I politely explained to him that I was in a haste and we'd probably see some other time where I'd give him the number he asked for. I even bade him farewell and thanked him for his time!😭

Now, what should I have done differently?

I should have put on a veryyyy mean look and yelled at him instantly! Something like “Broda, don't you know that it's a Monday morning? Commot for my fave lemme see road joor.” Or something like that, I don't know.😭

Or, I could have totally ignored him. But what did I do!😭

Wails in typical Idara.

Another event, I once had a roomate who lived for wars, havoc and terror!😭 She'd start her day with curses, end it with murmurs… She was pure torment!

She'd constantly give me reasons to cry myself to sleep.

One fateful day, we got into an altercation where I had the opportunity to tell her all had thought of . To squeeze her mouth!

But what did I do? I began to cry.😭

What should I have done? Tell her that she needed to heal and she's wounded.

Look at her dead in the eye and tell her all the hurtful words.

Looking back, I can only wish… I don't know ..

Maybe the “Mad Girl” title is not for me afterall.😭

Before I gained admission into the University, I had a problem. I'd lived with this problem for as long as I could remember. And as to what made it known as a problem? My Sunday School Teacher once called it a problem and encouraged everyone afflicted to pray to God for deliverance. So, we can all agree it's a spiritual problem too, right??

Well, I was diagnosed with the "cry-cry syndrome!" People who suffer from this cry at the slightest inconveniences. They cry when they lose the cover of a pen, when they get lipstick stain on their teeth, when the teacher stays in class longer than the expected teaching period and several reasons you'd consider as insignificant.

These are not all. The Cry-cry syndrome can be known as a spiritual affliction because it attaches the alchemy of shame to its victims. Imagine this, you're on your way to work and you come across a girl by the roadside. As you approach her, you discover that she's crying profusely. It's worthy to note that this girl is tall and veryyyy beautifullll.🌚 She has the perfect dentition, slender waist and she speaks so well. Back to the matter at hand.🌚😂 She tells you that her name is "Idara" and she's crying because she just realized she misplaced the sum of One Hundred and Fifty Naira only.

You were taken aback by the reason for her tears initially but you'll decide to wave it off. Afterall, Nigeria's economy is not friendly and losing one's money is not a pleasant experience. You'll dip your hand into your pocket and bring out a clean, crispy Five Hundred Naira note. As you hand it to her, she'll burst into more tears. More bitter tears.

She'll tell you that she's pained because if she hadn't misplaced the One Hundred and Fifty Naira earlier, she'd have Six Hundred and Fifty Naira now.

At this point, you'll be absolutely right if you decide to run away from her because you think she's a scatterbrain.😩😂

This was one of the symptoms I suffered as a victim of the Cry-cry syndrome.

This symptom also drew unnecessary attention to me. At school, my teachers made me sit under their scrutiny so that they could always know the cause of my tears. Parents made their children stay away from me because I "cried too much for a happy child" and my siblings would keep me indoors when they go out to play so that I would not embarrass them with my tears.

One peaceful day, I and my siblings were watching the movie adaptation of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and trust movies to make a vivid description!😭 You know that part where Alice falls into the rabbit hole and one thing led to another, she drank and ate and diminished and increased in size and other stuff happened.... She Sha cried so much that she began to swim in her own pool of tears! Exactly! That scene! My younger brother looked at me dead in the eye and warned me saying "Idara, if you don't stop being a cry-cry baby, you're case will be like that of Alice. And if you make drown in your tears,I will never forgive you. I'm just telling you."😭😂 That was a slap on my pretty face and trust me, I responded! I responded by cryingggggg.

You may think that I'm sharing these experiences as a testimony to how I lived, survived with and conquered the Cry-cry syndrome?

You may want to believe that this post contains steps to defeat the syndrome?

If so, I'm sorry to disappoint youuu.

I still live with it even in my Twenties (saying "in my Twenties" feels sooo good!🤭)

This is for the adults who are living with the syndrome.

For the undergraduates who cry when lectures get cancelled when they arrive at class and cry when the queue at the tap is soo long.

For those in their 20s who cry when the sun is so hot and the yeye Abuja bikeman refuses to make the day easy by carrying us on their bike, making us trek to the market under the hot sun.

For the graduates who still live in the family house and cry when NEPA takes the light when you're blending pepper because your Mummy will make you finish it up with mortar or even the grinding stone.

To all the concerned parties, you feelings are valid. You are not alone. It's okay to cry at what other goody-too-shoes adult would tag irrelevant.

You may want to take the advice of others and seek help. I tell you, it's a difficult path to take and I'd advise you live with the condition.

The syndrome doesn't make you less of who you are but only amplifies your emotions. Forget what the world tags as the disadvantages, you would not want to be a boring adult. Would you?

The Cry-cry syndrome comes with a lott of good sides also.

Did I forget to mention that victims of this condition are more drawn to nature than others? We appreciate the little things of life!😌✨

We are indeed the spices of life.

The adults who are sweetly moved to tears at the sight of a perfect sunset? Na us!

The ones whose eyes water at the sound of a baby's giggle? Na us!

The ones who cry and laugh at the same time at a surprise? Na still us!

We'll all agree that the world and life's movingso fast that we feel we can't keep up. It's people with this condition that amplifies the reasons to slow down and appreciate the good things of life!🌚😌

To those with the condition, you are seen, you are loved and valued.

Yours in the syndrome,

Idaraobonggg.💜

Well, you are not affected by your marital status. You've never been. Or have youu?

Amongst many things a graduate would do, you got a Graduate Trainee role at the University. Now, you really do have to live up to the “Graduate” title. I mean, the early morning rush (or else the staff bus will leave youuuu and you'll pay a fortune to get trained!😭), the 9-5 thingy those serious people do😭, the long work hours, the weird sense of responsibility you still wish would go away (I don't want to grow uppp 😭) and all.

Now, you'll wake up on a Monday morning to be a graduate and your mother would start her day with a prayer to “Our Dear Father in Heaven”, asking him to bless her daughter with”a good husband!” Your brother will say a loud “Amennnn” and make no attempt to suppress his chuckle.😭

You'll rush over everything, breakfast, make-up and the urge to shove your handbag into your brother's mouth because he keeps singing to the Dear Lord about your Mother's request for your husband.

Finally, you'll get to the bus stop very late and you'd have to stand throughout the ride to the University. You'll begin to wonder if your day would get any worse when Sisturrr Memory would play a vivid recording of “the husband request.” Then, you'd imagine what would happen if God answers that request with immediate effect.

You'll get into the bus and find yourself standing next to a young man. For the purpose of this narration, we'll call him Mr. Weird Smile. He'll try to start a conversation with you by asking you if you're still writing your project because he can see a project file sticking out of your tote bag. Before you can wonder why he keeps smiling at you and come up with the perfect answer to his question, you'll follow his eyes and find them on your cleavage. Then, you'll decide that Mr. Weird Smile needs no response afterall.

You'll turn your gaze and…. There!

There! You'll see the one! Your “Bus Huzband!” Then, you'll marvel at how fast God answers the prayers of mothers.

He'll be seated few rows behind you so you'll need to do a 360 to assess the young man. You'll observe that he has a sit which implies that he got to the bus stop on time and earned himself one. You'll beat yourself up for coming late. Who knows you'd have been early and make have gotten a seat next to him. You'll see him holding a book and before you'll be able to take a closer look, the bus will come to a halt! Suddenly! And vroom, members of the standing committee will fall forward, making you bump into an elder man. Obviously, he'll yell at you for hitting him and you'll apologize (home training dares you to do otherwise). We'll call the elder man, Baba Four wives.

Baba Four wives will obstruct your view and you will no longer have a clear view of your Bus Huzband. Now, you'll be forced to listen to what he has to say. He'll be responding to a woman who is also a member of the standing committee. We'll call her “The Marriage Counselor”. They'll be talking about women being submissive and men who are not contended.

Marriage Counselor will say out loud to all the women within her reach that they should cook for their husbands all the time else the men will seek for good meal from another woman or women as the case may be, and as a result begin to share the money meant for the legal wife with the other woman (or women). Baba Four wives will respond by saying that when a man has money, he should share with others and it is only a witch who would condemn giving. Hence, if a wife condemns her husband for giving out money to other women, she is a witch.

You'll try to stand on your toes now to get a glimpse of Bus Huzband. You'll want to know if he's following the conversation or reading the book he was holding. The one you couldn't see the title because of Baba Four wives.

Baba Four wives will go on to say that Men do the universe a favour by marrying multiple women because there is an unfair distribution of gender, Women are more than men and if one man sticks to one wife, many will remain unmarried.

This will raise a lott of voices in the bus, with hoos and haas, in support and against Baba Four wives speech.

Just then, you'd hear the irritated murmur of someone standing not so far from you. We'll call him “Uncle Pepper-body.” You'll try to make sense of what he is saying and you'll hear him grumble bitterly abouttt how much noise the “Old people are making this early morning”. Minutes later you'll hear him complaining about how strong the sister on red's perfume is and you'll conclude that he has bedbugs in his clothes, that's why he's visibly irritated.

Now, the woman who had been singing hymns since the journey began would get to her stop and come down. The Sister on Red will take her seat and offer to hold your heavy bag. You'll be touched at her kind gesture.

Baba Four Wives, Marriage Counselor and the audience they've gathered will continue their conversation until the bus comes to a halt again. You'll try to see who's coming down and Tadaaa, it's your Bus Huzband!😭

You'll realize how much of an obstacle the people in the bus were. At this point, you'll call them a hinderance to getting close to your Bus Huzband.

Never tell anyone how to grieve!

Never!

I read a poem last year and the Poet described grief as “an art.”

An art! Interestinggggg!

Well, a lottt of people have come up with a lottt of names for grief.

A visitor, a thief, the weather. Name them all.

Grief should be somewhere, sitting pretty and basking in the glory of it's numerous names, don't you think?

It may interest you to know that I have a name for grief also. If you had asked me , sayyy…. last month, I'd have looked at you with soo much disgust and say “Grief is a veryyyy ugly concept and as such, doesn't deserve the glory that comes with a name!”

Laughs dryly.

Unfortunately, I saw grief some weeks ago. Head to toe! And, I can now say I have a name for grief. Yes.

Grief is a course. Yes! Course like a subject taught in a school. That kind of course.

You know why?? I'll tell youuuu!

People will teach you how to grieve! They'll come with topics and sub topics, course outline and even teaching aids. They'll come to you shamelessly. Without sympathy. And they'll dish out lectures on their various topics of grief.

Some weeks ago, I lost my Grandma. My beloved Grandma.

I was in school, I had a really rough day and got back from lectures pretty late. I remember I cried myself to the hostel and I really couldn't tell why I was crying.

I was still on my bed crying when my sister called to tell me about Grandma. I could not just bring myself to believe what she was saying and I think I could hear myself as her begged her to tell me that she was not saying the truth.

However, my roommates became aware of what was happening and came to supposedly comfort me.

And then, I heard someone say, “Why is she crying like this nau? Is it not just her Grandma? Me, when my Grandma died sef, I did not even cry at all, at all.”

Honestly, I did not read any meaning to what was said at that point. I could not even bring myself to get rage baited. It was even as if I did not hear anything at all.

How I thought of it again?? When I came back to school, this same girl came to my space to offer her condolences and I think she asked in the most disgusting manner, “You haff finished crying, Abi?”

That was when I connected the dots, remembered what I heard earlier and matched the voice!

What could I do? What could I say?

“Teacher Number 1.”

I met more “Teachers on Grief “ though…

“Teacher Number 2” came to my bed and asked me a veryyyy funny question.

She was like “Idara, how long will we continue like this. When will you go back to church?”

Now, this was because I'd missed fellowship for some days. I found her question funny and in my head, I was like, “Seriouslyyyy!”

Like I said, I met more “Teachers.”

One told me to learn to “recognize the best in my situation.” Another told me that “it's time to heal” and I couldn't help but wonder if he was the one grieving.

And othersss.

Everything's foggy alreadyyy and I don't think I can keep recounting all the lectures.

I just hope that people never have to teach those grieving, how to grieve. We should be able to draw the line between genuine care and becoming a “Teacher of Grief”.

We should not lose our empathy when we go to show sympathy.

Omo… It's really funny how we're missing out all the things that truly matter at an incredible speed!

Me: Zuba, under bridge.

Driver: 700. Enter. Join them at the back, as you no get body.

Abuja drivers will body-shame you.

Before you take public transportation in Abuja, there are three things I think you should know.

First, if the passenger seat behind the driver is vacant, that’s where you should sit.

Not because it’s safe. Public transportation in Abuja cannot be associated with safety!

You can get stabbed by the malicious comments of the bleached, middle-aged woman seated next to you, who keeps complaining about your wig and how it’s disturbing her. Do not be surprised. She’ll say things like: “No be even human hair sef,” “Make your sponge wig no scratch me for face oo.”

And with demonic audacity, she’ll add, “Sista, kuku comot this wig nau. Me wey no wear nko?”

Sighs.

You’ll definitely have to ignore her, because the gorimapa man on your left may decide to keep poking your arm, preventing you from responding to the woman as e dey hot. It becomes even more unsafe when you ignore him and he opens his mouth to speak. He’ll ask you to “punch ya number in ma phone.” He’ll call you ‘a fine girl’ and offer to give the driver two hundred naira as “part payment for ya transport moni.”

Then you’ll start wondering whether it’s the odour from his mouth or the words coming out of it that will make you feel nauseous.

If you choose to sit behind the driver, I’m not promising comfort either. You cannot find comfort in public transport! However, you’ll only have that one passenger next to you as your immediate challenge.

Secondly, if you sit in the front, next to the driver, you can only say a few prayers.

Psalm 23. For the entire journey, to remind yourself not to fear the evils that come walking through the valley of the shadow of death.

Then, a prayer for the sanity of the driver.

This is very important because an insane driver may deliberately rub your thighs when he wants to change gear. Then he’ll look at you with a knowing smirk, because he can tell that you know he’s insane.

He’ll start a conversation. Tell you how he plans on getting a second wife.

He’ll then speak into your ear, especially if you’re sandwiched because the person next to you seems to have forgotten that Abuja cabs make provision for two immediate companions for the driver.

Did I forget to mention that two people sit next to the driver?

Well, I’m sure I did not forget to mention 1 Thessalonians 5:17.

The third thing you should know is that the journey may end even before you get to your destination. The car may suddenly change moods and get lazy. Then everybody will alight and watch the driver cajole the car into running again.

This always happens when you’re late for work, your friend’s birthday partyyy, or a lecture.

You may continue your journey in another Abuja cab, or just go home at this point, because your fellow passengers may start a conversation on the bad roads, fuel prices, the arrest of El-Rufai, and the ongoing APC national convention. These conversations may be the last straw that breaks your back.

It may also interest you to know that every hitch during your journey becomes a subject of discussion and sparks a full-blown conversation in the yeye car.

If you don’t believe in God, do not take public transportation in Abuja!

Disclaimer: This is not one of those serious motivational stuff.

I guess.🙃😂

Hi.

I’m Idaraobonggg, and I’m in my late 10s.

Writing this, I feel like a life coach because, isn’t this what life coaches do? 🙂😂

I’m not too sure, but please, just follow me.

Let’s dive straight into the gist.

My big sisturrr turned 24 yesterday, and for some reason, I kept seeing a lot of articles like,

“Things I Wish I Did in My Early 20s”

“How to Survive Your 20s”

“Lessons for Your Mid-20s”

“Your 20s Are Not for Playing” (as if they’re for staring at the bridges in Abuja 🙃??)

And the goofy kid in me wanted to forward all of them to her.

But while I was at it, I paused.

Everybody (well, not literally) talks about the 20s.

Early 20s, mid 20s, late 20s.

Everybody reads about the 20s, 30s and beyond.

Even teenagers who are supposed to be enjoying their late teens era.

Me included.🙃

So I thought.

What if I change the narrative just a little?

What if I talk about the late teens?

Now, you might already be side-eyeing me like,

“Oh, Idara is still in her late 10s and she wants to advise us?”😭😂

Well, take it from someone who will leave this age bracket in less than 90 days.😌🤭

Take it from someone who has emotionally lived the lives of a 16-year-old, a confused 18-year-old, and a tired 25-year-old, all within the same week.😭😂

Yes. I contain multitudes.

Adjusts imaginary spectacles.😂

Clears throat like a TED Talk speaker.😂

So, what exactly is the late teens era?

It’s that strange in-between phase where you’re too old to be treated like a child, but too young for people to take you seriously.

You’re expected to “start thinking about your future, but also told, “You’re just a child, what do you know?”

It’s confusion.

It’s pressure in small small doses.😩

And just like the late 20s comes with expectations and pressure, the late 10s comes with its own version of, "What exactly is going on?"

When I was about to turn a grand age, I genuinely thought something magical would happen.

Like I’d wake up with an extra finger,

Or maybe an extra tooth,

Or at least, sense!😭😂

I anticipated that birthday likeeee!😂

Unfortunately, life said, “Be calming down.”

Four days before my birthday, my mum’s best friend passed away.

It was a devastating period.

She was a good, godly woman. The kind you expect to live long and peacefully.

In that moment, everything felt heavy.

And because of that, almost everybody in my family forgot my birthday.

Yes. My birthdayyyy.😭

This had never happened before because I used to be a birthday champion.

Forgetting my birthday used to feel like a mortal sin.😂

To show you how deep it was, I called my friend on my way to class that morning.

She said everything.

Everythinggg.

Except, “Happy birthday, Idara.”

I ended the call.

Then called again, thinking it was a prank.😭😂

It was not.😭😂

That moment, I didn’t feel my age.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Not even the week after.

This brings me to my first point.

In your late teens, it’s okay not to feel your age.

You might read stories where people turn a new age and suddenly transform like it’s a fairytale.

Let me gently burst that bubble.

Sometimes (almost everytime), nothing happens.

You might still feel 16 on your 19th birthday.

And that’s okay.

It doesn’t mean you’re behind.

It doesn’t mean something is wrong with you.

Secondlyyyy, it’s okay to want independence in your late 10s.

By independence, I mean wanting to earn your own money, live on your own, and make your own decisions.

At 14, I had already finished secondary school.

Yes. Fourteen.

So what did I do?

I decided that anybody done with school should have a job.😂

So I went job hunting.

With my Aunty’s help, I became a teacher.

Okay, assistant teacher, but let’s not focus on details.😂

I taught French and my height helped me. 😂Those children thought I was in my early twenties when most of them were even older than I was.😭

In my head, I had already planned my life, I would work, save money, and sponsor myself to study law.😂

No family money. Just me and my determination.😭😂

Now?

I look back and laugh because, I’m not studying law.

And I am very much using my family’s money in Uniabuja.😂

Life will humble youuuu.

Which brings me to this,

You may not get to do everything you planned in your late teens.

Like, study law in the university, like I wanted (or rather, my family wanted.😂Story for another day), marry at age 18 like I wanted (just kidding😂), get multiple piercings and the list goes on.

You’ll be restricted.

The “older ones” will say, “You’re too young.”

“You don’t understand yet.”

“Wait till you’re older.”

And, it’s frustrating.

But, your 20s are still there.

You can get a husband, get those piercings.

Just, please don’t study a course only because your family wants it.🙃

Now, it's not okay to avoid everything because people say you’re too young.

Like buying your dream item, solo travelling, driving your uncle's car without his permission, talking too much, questioning decisions and being mischievous.🙃😌

If you don't do these because they say so, you'll definitely regret it in your latest tens. Take it from me.

Also, it’s okay not to fall in love in your late teens.😌

Yes, my dear. Nothing is wrong with you.

Everybody around you might be in a relationship,

Or a situationship,

Or a “we’re just talking" type of confusion.😭😂

And you’re just there.

Single.

It’s fine.😂

You don’t have to rush.

You don’t have to force feelings.

You don’t have to enter a relationship because everybody else is in one.

Because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter in heaven and even on earth.🙃😂

When you’re filling a form, both of you will still tick “Single.”

There is no checkbox for “It’s complicated.”

Or "I'm in a relationship"

In conclusion, the late teens is a beautiful, messy, confusing and funny phase.

It’s okay to cry in the market because you misplaced the money your Mum gave you to buy oha leaves.😭😂

It’s okay to pretend you’re older than your age sometimes.

It’s okay to attend a toddler’s birthday party and dance to collect a balloon. 😂

It’s okay to not have everything figured out

You’re just in your late teens, after all.

And that, my dear, is an era on its own.💜

PS. I'll no longer be in my late 10s in the month of June.😌

18th of June, to be precise.🤭💜

I like bookss, fictionss. Lotss of them.🤭

You can get me some to usher me into the new era.🤭💜

Me, because I don't know why I'm crying, againnn!!!😭😂

I can't be the only one who cries because my lecture got cancelled when I just got to class.😭

Or, because I have to wake up.🙂

Or, because I can't find my pen.😭😂

I'm not the only one, right???🙃

Few months back, I discovered that my sister still saved my contact as “Cry baby😭.”🙂

Yes, with the wailing crying emoji!😂

I want to justify her action because, recently I broke down in tears because the queue at my school's shuttle stop was too long.😭😂

As a child, I've always cried my way into and out of trouble.

Let me explain…😂

When I was much younger (and now I am getting old😭), I'd cry when I misplace my stuffs, and trust me I'll miraculously find them. Not miraculously sha, because everybody around my crying territory will start the search party.😭

So, I'll definitely find the missing item (except that one time I forgot my whole luggage of clothes and books in a taxi in Abuja 😭).

Now, crying my way into trouble????😂

This happens when the adults around become fed up with my hysterical crying and I get good spanking.😂

Technically, it may be safe to say that I used to be a cry baby and now, I'm a “cry-teen😭”.

To the main gist…

What happens when I'm crying for one of my many petty exalted reasons😂, and a concerned person asks what the problem is?!😭😂

Like that one time I cried in front of the class because the lecturer was taking too long to come?😭

Or, when I cried in a meeting because attending the meeting prevented me from eating the food I just cooked?😭😂

Or, the one hundred million times I cried for reasons that still makes me feel cringe?

Am I supposed to say to those who ask that, “Oh, I'm crying because Mr. Lecturer is not in class yet”.

Or, “I'm so sad that I wasn't able to eat the food I prepared because I was in a hurry to attend this meeting, that's why I'm crying.”😂

Now, you don't expect me to bluntly say “nothing!” to the concerned people, do you?🙃😂

And you don't expect me to tell them the genuine reasons either!😂

So, I genuinely do not know because.....

Hey! You may not believe that the only reason I'm crying because I can't find my pen that makes my cursives appear soo perfect , that's why I don't know.😭😂

Puhleeeaseee, don't start telling me that I'd be lying to my concerned people when I say I don't know because, honestly, that's the honest response.😂

You don't see why it is??😂

Stress no further. I'll explain, again.😌😂

Firstly, "I genuinely do not know" because, I'm as surprised as you are!😭😂

I can't believe I'm crying because I washed my clothes and there's no space on the cloth line in my hostel, to dry my clothes.😭😂

I can't believe I'm crying for petty reasons and I do not know whyyy!

Secondlyyyy, “I do not know” what you want to hear.

What you'd believe.

Do you really want to hear the reason?🙃

Will you believe me if I'm profusely crying and I blurt out in tears that the reason for my hysterical wailing is because I've been trying to style my hair for hours and I can't just get the perfect style?🙃

Thirdly, “I don't know” because, you do not expect me to wipe my face and begin to explain to you in chronology, the many petty reasons I cry.😂

I do not know what you'd think of me.🙃😂

I do not know..

I genuinely do not know.

Aside the jokes, I'm aware that, there remote causes for my tears, the main causes.

And these petty reasons are just the triggers.

I'm veryyyy well aware.🙃

But , crying because I got injured seems like a major and very serious reason to cry.😩

Don't you think??😂

And life's too serious, alreadyyy.🤲🏾😂

Instead, can you let me cry because I paid for a full candy and a candy, roughly splitted into half is sitting pretty in the wrapper, staring right back at me?🙃

PS. This is a random picture of me after crying for one of my petty “exalted” reasonssss.😌🤭😂

Five years ago, Faceless by Amma Darko was our literature text in secondary school.

The main character, Fofo, once told her friend Odarley that she had seen poverty face to face.😌😂

What made it even funnier was that she began to describe poverty from head to toe.😂

I still remember laughing so hard at that scene.😂

Well…

I'm Idaraobong, and I think I have seen Love from head to toe too.😌🙃

And it may interest you to know that Love is bald.😌

Before you panic, this write-up is definitely not inspired by any bald person I know.

It is simply the product of my very strange imagination.😩😂

But humour me for a second.

If love were a person, what hairstyle would it wear?🙃

Would it have thick curls?

An afro?

Braids long enough to start a new life?

For me, each time I think about love, it appears as a gorimapa, bald and dark-skinned. 😭😂Forgive my imaginations.🤲🏾

Yes. Completely bald.🙃

A few days ago, I was having a conversation with my roommates about love. The conversation started because I saw a post online that said:

"Love is a beautiful thing."

Now, I have a very unusual perspective on most things, including love.🙃

To me, that statement felt a little misleading.

Not because love isn’t beautiful.

But when we say “love is a beautiful thing” too confidently, we sometimes forget that love also comes with thorns.

Love has beauty.

But love also has tests.

I have always known love to be a risk. And I want people to know it that way too, so that when the storms arrive, they are not shocked.

During the conversation, my friends were not very impressed with my constant description of love as a risk. Apparently, it sounded too serious.

So I began searching for a cooler adjective for love.🙃😂

After much deep thinking (and probably unnecessary drama), I arrived at one conclusion:

Love is bald.😌

Yes.

Bald.

To be honest, the events of the past week heavily influenced this new discovery.

Firstly, love is bald because true love is raw.

Nothing hidden.

Nothing dressed up.

Nothing decorated to impress an audience.

Just the truth.

Last week, I had a very heated argument with a good friend of mine.😭😂

Yes. Another argument.

😩😂

I promise I am not a fighter😂🤲🏾, but recently life has been presenting situations that demand emotional honesty.

The funny thing is that I love this girl so much that the last thing I ever wanted was for us to fight.😭😂

But because love is bald, we did.😭

You see, even though we had been friends for years, our love for each other had always worn a very stylish hairstyle.😩

By hairstyle, I mean the things we used to keep the friendship looking perfect:

external opinions,

hidden grievances,

forced politeness,

and sometimes even a little gossip.

All those things made the friendship look good.

But now we are in our final year at the university, and life is moving faster than all our pretence.

There are real frustrations.

Uniabuja stresssss.😭

Real changes.

Real absences.

My friend has also found her "prince charming" and you know...…😂

Suddenly, the friendship lost its celebrity hairstyle.

Everything we had hidden began to show.

And just like that, love became bald.

Raw.

Exposed.

Honest.

It hurt.

But here is the strange question:

When love loses its decoration and stands there bare and uncomfortable, what do we call that feeling?

I mean, this stage I am with my friend, what do we call it??

It is still love… right?

Weird.

Secondly, love is bald because it is vulnerable.

Being bald exposes the head completely.

Nothing to hide behind.

Love does the same thing to the heart.

It removes the armour.

It strips away the performances.

It asks you to stand there with all your sincerity and say, “This is me. Please don't break it.”

Recently, I watched two people I admired deeply end their relationship.😩

They were one of those couples that made you believe in soft lifeeee, that make you see all the characteristics of love as stated in the Bible.

And then suddenly, they were no longer together.

It was shocking.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realised something.

Sometimes, love doesn’t fail because it was fake.

Sometimes love simply becomes too exposed.

Too real.

Too honest.

Too difficult to maintain once the decorations fall away.

And that is the risk of love.

It asks you to show your head when everyone else is still wearing wigs.

So yes, love is beautiful. (Maybe 🙃)

But love is also brave.

Because to love someone is to risk standing there completely bald, with no guarantees.

No filters.

No safety nets.

No rehearsed script.

Just the quiet hope that the person standing in front of you will choose to stay.

And offer bald love too.

So, if love must be described in one word, I will not call it perfect.

I will call it "Bald."

And strangely enough…

that might be the most honest hairstyle love has ever worn.

I'm not Fofo. I'm Idaraobonggg and I've seen Love, head to toe.

Love is bald.

You know how it's always easy to pass judgement when you're not the one wearing the shoe?🙂

Easy to complain about the stench coming from a shoe when it’s not your own foot inside it.

Have you ever been in that situation where you feel your anger is completely justified?

Where the offender is obviously wrong and does not even deserve the courtesy of explaining their side of the story?

Hi, I'm idaraobonggg and I'll share my experience.🙂

I'm not a fighter at all, I promise.😂🤲🏾

(I mean, I'm a tiny little girl.😂🤲🏾)

But last month, I got into quite a number of fights.🙃

One of the most remarkable ones was with my friend who happens to be in a position of authority.😭😂

For the sake of this narration, let's call him “Boy.”

Boy and I are veryy, veryyy close friends. We've been friends for quite a long while.

So what made us fight?

I'll tell you.

Actually… I can't tell you, because I honestly don't know what happened.😂

What I can remember is getting into an argument with him, yelling, and then dramatically walking away like a character in a poorly directed movie.😭😂

In history, when we discuss Causation, my lecturer always speaks of remote causes and immediate causes.

“Remote causes,” he says, “are underlying causes. They build the foundation for the immediate cause, which eventually triggers the event.”

Looking back now, what caused my fight with Boy was merely the immediate cause.

The real issue had been building for a while.

Truth is, I had been angry with Boy for quite some time and said absolutely nothing about it.

I felt he wasn't taking enough responsibility and was being somewhat lackadaisical as a leader. To me , this is an attribute that shouldn't accompany leadership. To make matters worse, I heard people say things about him neglecting his duties.

And what did I do?

Because I already had assumptions about him, I simply bought other people's opinions instead of speaking to him directly.

Remember, he is my friend.

On the day of the fight, we were supposed to attend an event. We waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

I spoke to Boy, and he reassured me that the event would still hold. He encouraged me to keep waiting.

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though just the day before, the day before that, and sometime last week, he had said similar things and the event never held.

So I waited.

And others waited too.

We were all gracefully kept waiting throughout the entire day until Boy finally came late in the evening to inform us that the meeting would not hold anymore.😭😂

That was it.

Something in me snapped.😂

I felt justified.

I started expressing how displeased I was, and not just about that day, but about everything I had silently been displeased about for weeks.

Boy tried to explain how hard he had tried to make the event a success.

But I would not have it.

Then he looked me straight in the eyes and asked,

“Is it my fault?”

That was Trigger Number Two.😂

What does he mean is it his fault?

Whose fault is it then? Mine?

That question, to me, confirmed everything I had already believed, that he was refusing to take responsibility. And I wasn't going to let that slide.

Immediately, I retorted with brutal sarcasm and absolutely no effort to soften the impact.

“No, Boy. It's my fault.”😭😂

Now that I think of it, it was a very funny experience.😭😂

By this time, a crowd had already begun gathering.

The funny thing was that most of the people forming that crowd were already displeased with him. And I, unfortunately, used that moment as a platform to pour out all my frustrations.

Without restraint.

Without consideration.

Afterwards, I walked away.

But I didn't just walk away from him.

I kept talking.

Talking about how inactive I believed he was.

How irresponsible I thought he had become.

Deep down, though, I was hurt.

And I did feel guilty.🥲

Hurt that I had lashed out that way. But beyond the hurt, I was mostly surprised.

Surprised at how everything escalated so quickly.🥲

Hours later, I had already forgotten about the entire incident.

Until I received a text message.

Someone who hadn't even been present during the argument told me that Boy had been visibly pained. Apparently, he felt hurt that a friend had judged him based on popular opinion.

Immediately, guilt washed over me.

I should have spoken to him earlier when my frustrations began.😩

I should have listened to his side of the story.

I felt terrible knowing that my words and actions had hurt him.

Yes, I still believed I had valid reasons to be angry.

But perhaps if I had expressed those feelings in a more considerate manner, things wouldn't have unfolded the way they did.

The guilt was so heavy that I couldn't even read.

Yes.

I couldn't read for my test the next day.😂

That is how much of a deep feeler I am.😭😂

I felt awful.

I sent Boy multiple messages, apologizing and called him.

Thankfully, we patched things up.

Now you might be wondering why I'm sharing this story.🙃

Well, I have always believed in karma.

And maybe, just maybe, the universe wanted me to experience Boy's predicament firsthand.😂

Because just yesterday, I wore the second pair of Boy's shoes.

In the most unexpected way.

I went somewhere to see some people without the slightest idea that I would run into Boy.

But there he was.

And this time, I saw something different.

I saw him trying very hard to ensure that everyone's interests were being met.

This was him taking responsibility.

This was him being active.

This was him being a good leader.

I quietly observed, with a strange mix of guilt and understanding, as he was insulted and blamed while trying his best to make things work.

And then I remembered how quickly I had judged him.

To make matters worse, despite his efforts, things did not turn out the way everyone hoped. And almost immediately, people began speaking ill of him again.

Even a colleague who had been with him through most of the process quietly threw him under the bus.

And in that moment, I remembered what I had done.

I remembered my own voice.

The loudest voice among those who criticized him.

Sometimes, we really do need to wear the shoe ourselves before we feel where it pinches.

I learned quite a lot from this experience.

That leadership is often lonelier than it looks.

That assumptions are dangerous.

And that sometimes, the people we judge the quickest are the ones trying the hardest.

So yes.

Maybe I really do owe Boy a million apologies. 🙂

You know how it's always easy to pass judgement when you're not the one wearing the shoe?🙂

Easy to complain about the stench coming from a shoe when it’s not your own foot inside it.

Have you ever been in that situation where you feel your anger is completely justified?

Where the offender is obviously wrong and does not even deserve the courtesy of explaining their side of the story?

Hi, I'm idaraobonggg and I'll share my experience.🙂

I'm not a fighter at all, I promise.😂🤲🏾

(I mean, I'm a tiny little girl.😂🤲🏾)

But last month, I got into quite a number of fights.🙃

One of the most remarkable ones was with my friend who happens to be in a position of authority.😭😂

For the sake of this narration, let's call him “Boy.”

Boy and I are veryy, veryyy close friends. We've been friends for quite a long while.

So what made us fight?

I'll tell you.

Actually… I can't tell you, because I honestly don't know what happened.😂

What I can remember is getting into an argument with him, yelling, and then dramatically walking away like a character in a poorly directed movie.😭😂

In history, when we discuss Causation, my lecturer always speaks of remote causes and immediate causes.

“Remote causes,” he says, “are underlying causes. They build the foundation for the immediate cause, which eventually triggers the event.”

Looking back now, what caused my fight with Boy was merely the immediate cause.

The real issue had been building for a while.

Truth is, I had been angry with Boy for quite some time and said absolutely nothing about it.

I felt he wasn't taking enough responsibility and was being somewhat lackadaisical as a leader. To me , this is an attribute that shouldn't accompany leadership. To make matters worse, I heard people say things about him neglecting his duties.

And what did I do?

Because I already had assumptions about him, I simply bought other people's opinions instead of speaking to him directly.

Remember, he is my friend.

On the day of the fight, we were supposed to attend an event. We waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

I spoke to Boy, and he reassured me that the event would still hold. He encouraged me to keep waiting.

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though just the day before, the day before that, and sometime last week, he had said similar things and the event never held.

So I waited.

And others waited too.

We were all gracefully kept waiting throughout the entire day until Boy finally came late in the evening to inform us that the meeting would not hold anymore.😭😂

That was it.

Something in me snapped.😂

I felt justified.

I started expressing how displeased I was, and not just about that day, but about everything I had silently been displeased about for weeks.

Boy tried to explain how hard he had tried to make the event a success.

But I would not have it.

Then he looked me straight in the eyes and asked,

“Is it my fault?”

That was Trigger Number Two.😂

What does he mean is it his fault?

Whose fault is it then? Mine?

That question, to me, confirmed everything I had already believed, that he was refusing to take responsibility. And I wasn't going to let that slide.

Immediately, I retorted with brutal sarcasm and absolutely no effort to soften the impact.

“No, Boy. It's my fault.”😭😂

Now that I think of it, it was a very funny experience.😭😂

By this time, a crowd had already begun gathering.

The funny thing was that most of the people forming that crowd were already displeased with him. And I, unfortunately, used that moment as a platform to pour out all my frustrations.

Without restraint.

Without consideration.

Afterwards, I walked away.

But I didn't just walk away from him.

I kept talking.

Talking about how inactive I believed he was.

How irresponsible I thought he had become.

Deep down, though, I was hurt.

And I did feel guilty.🥲

Hurt that I had lashed out that way. But beyond the hurt, I was mostly surprised.

Surprised at how everything escalated so quickly.🥲

Hours later, I had already forgotten about the entire incident.

Until I received a text message.

Someone who hadn't even been present during the argument told me that Boy had been visibly pained. Apparently, he felt hurt that a friend had judged him based on popular opinion.

Immediately, guilt washed over me.

I should have spoken to him earlier when my frustrations began.😩

I should have listened to his side of the story.

I felt terrible knowing that my words and actions had hurt him.

Yes, I still believed I had valid reasons to be angry.

But perhaps if I had expressed those feelings in a more considerate manner, things wouldn't have unfolded the way they did.

The guilt was so heavy that I couldn't even read.

Yes.

I couldn't read for my test the next day.😂

That is how much of a deep feeler I am.😭😂

I felt awful.

I sent Boy multiple messages, apologizing and called him.

Thankfully, we patched things up.

Now you might be wondering why I'm sharing this story.🙃

Well, I have always believed in karma.

And maybe, just maybe, the universe wanted me to experience Boy's predicament firsthand.😂

Because just yesterday, I wore the second pair of Boy's shoes.

In the most unexpected way.

I went somewhere to see some people without the slightest idea that I would run into Boy.

But there he was.

And this time, I saw something different.

I saw him trying very hard to ensure that everyone's interests were being met.

This was him taking responsibility.

This was him being active.

This was him being a good leader.

I quietly observed, with a strange mix of guilt and understanding, as he was insulted and blamed while trying his best to make things work.

And then I remembered how quickly I had judged him.

To make matters worse, despite his efforts, things did not turn out the way everyone hoped. And almost immediately, people began speaking ill of him again.

Even a colleague who had been with him through most of the process quietly threw him under the bus.

And in that moment, I remembered what I had done.

I remembered my own voice.

The loudest voice among those who criticized him.

Sometimes, we really do need to wear the shoe ourselves before we feel where it pinches.

I learned quite a lot from this experience.

That leadership is often lonelier than it looks.

That assumptions are dangerous.

And that sometimes, the people we judge the quickest are the ones trying the hardest.

So yes.

Maybe I really do owe Boy a million apologies. 🙂

You know how it's always easy to pass judgement when you're not the one wearing the shoe?🙂

Easy to complain about the stench coming from a shoe when it’s not your own foot inside it.

Have you ever been in that situation where you feel your anger is completely justified?

Where the offender is obviously wrong and does not even deserve the courtesy of explaining their side of the story?

Hi, I'm idaraobonggg and I'll share my experience.🙂

I'm not a fighter at all, I promise.😂🤲🏾

(I mean, I'm a tiny little girl.😂🤲🏾)

But last month, I got into quite a number of fights.🙃

One of the most remarkable ones was with my friend who happens to be in a position of authority.😭😂

For the sake of this narration, let's call him “Boy.”

Boy and I are veryy, veryyy close friends. We've been friends for quite a long while.

So what made us fight?

I'll tell you.

Actually… I can't tell you, because I honestly don't know what happened.😂

What I can remember is getting into an argument with him, yelling, and then dramatically walking away like a character in a poorly directed movie.😭😂

In history, when we discuss Causation, my lecturer always speaks of remote causes and immediate causes.

“Remote causes,” he says, “are underlying causes. They build the foundation for the immediate cause, which eventually triggers the event.”

Looking back now, what caused my fight with Boy was merely the immediate cause.

The real issue had been building for a while.

Truth is, I had been angry with Boy for quite some time and said absolutely nothing about it.

I felt he wasn't taking enough responsibility and was being somewhat lackadaisical as a leader. To me , this is an attribute that shouldn't accompany leadership. To make matters worse, I heard people say things about him neglecting his duties.

And what did I do?

Because I already had assumptions about him, I simply bought other people's opinions instead of speaking to him directly.

Remember, he is my friend.

On the day of the fight, we were supposed to attend an event. We waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

I spoke to Boy, and he reassured me that the event would still hold. He encouraged me to keep waiting.

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though just the day before, the day before that, and sometime last week, he had said similar things and the event never held.

So I waited.

And others waited too.

We were all gracefully kept waiting throughout the entire day until Boy finally came late in the evening to inform us that the meeting would not hold anymore.😭😂

That was it.

Something in me snapped.😂

I felt justified.

I started expressing how displeased I was, and not just about that day, but about everything I had silently been displeased about for weeks.

Boy tried to explain how hard he had tried to make the event a success.

But I would not have it.

Then he looked me straight in the eyes and asked,

“Is it my fault?”

That was Trigger Number Two.😂

What does he mean is it his fault?

Whose fault is it then? Mine?

That question, to me, confirmed everything I had already believed, that he was refusing to take responsibility. And I wasn't going to let that slide.

Immediately, I retorted with brutal sarcasm and absolutely no effort to soften the impact.

“No, Boy. It's my fault.”😭😂

Now that I think of it, it was a very funny experience.😭😂

By this time, a crowd had already begun gathering.

The funny thing was that most of the people forming that crowd were already displeased with him. And I, unfortunately, used that moment as a platform to pour out all my frustrations.

Without restraint.

Without consideration.

Afterwards, I walked away.

But I didn't just walk away from him.

I kept talking.

Talking about how inactive I believed he was.

How irresponsible I thought he had become.

Deep down, though, I was hurt.

And I did feel guilty.🥲

Hurt that I had lashed out that way. But beyond the hurt, I was mostly surprised.

Surprised at how everything escalated so quickly.🥲

Hours later, I had already forgotten about the entire incident.

Until I received a text message.

Someone who hadn't even been present during the argument told me that Boy had been visibly pained. Apparently, he felt hurt that a friend had judged him based on popular opinion.

Immediately, guilt washed over me.

I should have spoken to him earlier when my frustrations began.😩

I should have listened to his side of the story.

I felt terrible knowing that my words and actions had hurt him.

Yes, I still believed I had valid reasons to be angry.

But perhaps if I had expressed those feelings in a more considerate manner, things wouldn't have unfolded the way they did.

The guilt was so heavy that I couldn't even read.

Yes.

I couldn't read for my test the next day.😂

That is how much of a deep feeler I am.😭😂

I felt awful.

I sent Boy multiple messages, apologizing and called him.

Thankfully, we patched things up.

Now you might be wondering why I'm sharing this story.🙃

Well, I have always believed in karma.

And maybe, just maybe, the universe wanted me to experience Boy's predicament firsthand.😂

Because just yesterday, I wore the second pair of Boy's shoes.

In the most unexpected way.

I went somewhere to see some people without the slightest idea that I would run into Boy.

But there he was.

And this time, I saw something different.

I saw him trying very hard to ensure that everyone's interests were being met.

This was him taking responsibility.

This was him being active.

This was him being a good leader.

I quietly observed, with a strange mix of guilt and understanding, as he was insulted and blamed while trying his best to make things work.

And then I remembered how quickly I had judged him.

To make matters worse, despite his efforts, things did not turn out the way everyone hoped. And almost immediately, people began speaking ill of him again.

Even a colleague who had been with him through most of the process quietly threw him under the bus.

And in that moment, I remembered what I had done.

I remembered my own voice.

The loudest voice among those who criticized him.

Sometimes, we really do need to wear the shoe ourselves before we feel where it pinches.

I learned quite a lot from this experience.

That leadership is often lonelier than it looks.

That assumptions are dangerous.

And that sometimes, the people we judge the quickest are the ones trying the hardest.

So yes.

Maybe I really do owe Boy a million apologies. 🙂

I am delighted to serve you all.🤭😂

To me, moi-moi is equivalent to true love in many ways.😌

I’ve heard people say not-so-nice things about moi-moi, but it hasn’t made my love for it waver one bit.😂

Sometime last semester, my friend declared that I’m obsessed with moi-moi.😂

Yes. I am.🤭😂

She said this because every conversation I had with her that day somehow found its way back to moi-moi. 🙃

I can’t really remember when this obsession started, but I do remember insisting that my mum prepare moi-moi for everyone who attended my sixth birthday party.😭😂

Last week Wednesday, my roommate prepared moi-moi, and I kept ranting to the whole room about how the concept of moi-moi is sacred.

You may think I’m overreacting.

But I can explainnn.😂

To me, my moi-moi is sacred because the process determines the result.

It should never be rushed.

Savour the process.😌

The soaking.

The peeling. Yes, the peeling.😂

The blending.

And definitely the steaming.

Maybe I’m just dramatic.🙃

Or maybe I’ve realised that anything requiring this much patience deserves reverence.

Like love.

Try to imagine the careful feeling of watching moi-moi steam.

The fear of opening it too early.

The perfect aroma when it’s finally ready.😩💜

You cannot rush moi-moi.

You cannot skip a step and expect a perfect result.

And then you take a bite and sigh out loud,

“Ah. My patience paid off.”😩💜

You might wonder why I’m placing moi-moi and love side by side.🙃

Darl, my Bible tells me that love is patient. And as I said earlier, whatever requires patience deserves reverence.😌

I think we’ve made love too casual.

Too fast.

And maybe, too accessible.

Love is sacred.

Love is intentional.

Love is not hasty or messy.

Because when life happens (and it will), a love built in haste becomes chaos.

When I was younger, I once ruined a whole meal of Amala because I was in a hurry to go outside and play. 😭😂

I’m not comparing love to amala (though I absolutely can with moi-moi😂), but imagine someone loving the way that amala turned out, rushed, clumpy, uneven.

That’s not beautiful.

When preparing moi-moi, you don’t throw in ingredients carelessly. You start with care and you end with care.

Every ingredient matters.

Every step matters.

Every bite reflects the effort.

The same applies to love.

Love involves effort, time, and genuine care. It costs vulnerability. Emotional exposure. Trust. Your inner world.

That’s not something you give out in haste.

And in my obsession with moi-moi, I’ve decided something else: the food is not for everybody.🙃😂

Just like love.🙂

Not everyone deserves the process.

Forgive me if I’m shaking tables.🙃😂

If I ever make you moi-moi, just know I don’t do that casually.😌😂

Love is sacred because it involves the heart, and the heart is sacred territory.

Love is responsibility.

When someone gives you access to their heart, they are saying,

“Here is something fragile. Please don’t mishandle it.”

Imagine making moi-moi for someone and it isn’t respected.

Now imagine your love being treated that way.

Love carries consequences beyond the moment. If moi-moi burns, you can try again tomorrow.

But love?

When mishandled, it can distort so much.

It can affect how people see themselves.

How they approach relationships.

Even how they approach God.

That isn’t light.

And yet, love is meant to be light, because it reveals the best parts of the people involved.

Maybe that’s why we say “love and light.”😂

Well.

My moi-moi is sacred.😌

And so is love.

Some things are not meant to be rushed.

Not moi-moi.

And definitely not love.

P.S. I’m not even a lovey-dovey girl. 😂 I’ve just always wanted to compare moi-moi with love.😂

And now I finally have.🤭😂