i dunno...

i dunno what to say...i just really wanted to talk to you..

i wonder if you've read my last Substack.

i wonder if, somehow, you found your way to that little corner of the internet where i announced that i was tired of dreaming and decided to put down almost everything i've spent years trying to build.

i wonder what you thought when you read it.

were you worried, angry, suprised?

would you have sat beside me quietly, read the whole thing, and then looked at me with that face that says you know i'm not telling you the whole truth?

because i keep wondering what you would have said.

you know, i've spent so much time telling you about the kind of woman you're with. i've told you about the SDG advocate, the writer, the debater, the girl who wants multiple degrees, the girl who wants to work with the United Nations, the founder with too many ideas, the girl who will probably start three organisations before breakfast and somehow convince herself she can manage all of them.

i've made you believe you're getting the whole package and now i'm wondering what you would say if you met me at this point in my life.

what if you came home and found your ambitious baby sitting quietly, telling you that she's done?

what if i told you LuminaHub was gone? what if i told you Trybe Seven was gone? what if i told you that i had decided that maybe the dreams i've spent years talking about simply aren't worth the exhaustion anymore?

would you let me?

would you hold my hand and say, "okay, my love. if this is what you truly want, then i'm with you"?

or would you look at me and say, "Adeife, you're tired. this is not the same thing as being done."

i think i want to know what you'd say.

because right now, i'm not even sure whether i gave up because i genuinely wanted to or because i needed to make room for the expectations around me.

and that's the part i haven't quite figured out.

i chose my family first. i chose what was expected of me. i chose the things that seemed safer, more practical, more explainable. i chose to focus on my academics and to stop spreading myself across a thousand dreams because, perhaps, that was the responsible thing to do.

and maybe it is.

maybe sometimes love looks like choosing the people who raised you before choosing the dreams you want to chase?

but baby, i miss the girl who wanted all those things. oh, damn i do.

i miss her.

and maybe that's why i'm writing to you.

because i don't want you to only know the version of me who eventually became everything she said she would become. i want you to know this version too—the one who got tired, who doubted herself, who wondered if she was being unrealistic, who looked at all the things she wanted and decided that maybe wanting them was the problem. i want you to know that sometimes, i'm going to need you to remind me who i was before the world started telling me who i should be.

and maybe that's selfish.

but i think love is supposed to be a little selfish in that way.

not the kind where you own another person, but the kind where you have someone who knows the shape of your dreams so intimately that they can tell when you've genuinely outgrown one and when you've simply become too exhausted to keep reaching for it.

so if you were here, baby, what would you do?

would you tell me to keep going? would you tell me to rest? baby, would you tell me that the United Nations can wait? would you remind me that LuminaHub doesn't have to exist for me to be an advocate? would you tell me that being your baby does not require me to become smaller? would you tell me that i can love my family deeply without surrendering every dream they don't understand? or would you simply hold my hand and tell me that whatever i decide, i won't have to figure it out alone?

i think i'd like the last one. because i'm genuinely tired of making decisions alone, and i know you're not here yet. i know i can't magically summon you because i'm having a particularly difficult Tuesday. (oh, damn i wish i could, my love.)

but i wish you were.

i wish i could put my head on your shoulder and tell you everything without having to explain why it matters. i wish you knew all the dreams i've abandoned and all the ones i've pretended not to care about anymore. i wish you could look at me and somehow know which parts of me need encouragement and which parts simply need rest.

and perhaps, one day, you will.

perhaps one day, i'll tell you about the girl i used to be and you'll laugh because, to you, she'll still be sitting right there.

perhaps you'll remind me that you didn't fall in love with my résumé.

you didn't marry the SDG advocate. you didn't marry the future UN delegate. you didn't marry the founder, the writer, the debater or the girl with a hundred plans.

you married Adeife'.

and perhaps that will be enough. but i hope you never let me use that as an excuse to become less of myself. because if you love me, i hope you'll love my dreams too. even the ridiculous ones. especially the ridiculous ones.

so, baby, if you've somehow read my last Substack, i'm sorry for the drastic move, i'm just overwhelmed.

i'm still figuring things out.

and if you were here, i think i'd ask you one question before anything else:

am i actually giving up, or am i simply tired?

i hope that, when the time comes, you'll know the difference.

until then, i'll keep trying to find my way back to myself.

and maybe, somewhere along the way, i'll find you too.

oh, look, i guess i had a lot to say afterall...

with absolute, genuine and sincere love, truth and all that is in me.

your baby..♥️

how're you doing?

this is probably one of the hardest things i've had to write, not because i don't know what i want to say, but because i know exactly what i'm saying and i'm not sure how i feel about it yet.

i have thought about this for a very long time, and i've finally come to a decision: i no longer want to hold an initiative. i'm dissolving LuminaHub, and i'm dissolving Trybe Seven. i'm stepping away from the things i've spent so much time trying to build, and for the first time in a very long time, i don't want to replace them with another idea.

i'm tired.

i'm tired of having so many ideas and so little resources to bring them to life. i'm tired of being able to see exactly what something could become and then having to confront the reality of what i can actually afford to make it. i'm tired of having so much potential and constantly trying to turn that potential into vision, and that vision into motion, only for things to stall somewhere along the way.

there is a particular kind of frustration that comes with being a person who dreams a lot. people often talk about having dreams as though it is automatically beautiful. nobody really talks about how painful it can be to have a dream that refuses to become reality. it is one thing to have an idea. it is another thing to carry that idea around for years, nurture it, imagine what it could become, and then repeatedly watch yourself fail to give it the life you know it deserves.

i think that is what has exhausted me the most.

i've had ideas for LuminaHub for years. years. and when i finally launched it in October, i was so excited because, for the first time, something that had existed mostly in my head had a name, a structure and a life of its own. but after the launch, reality caught up with me. i couldn't continue the way i wanted to because there were no funds, no reliable resources and no real capacity to sustain everything i had imagined. we had one major project, and then i found myself looking at this thing i had spent years dreaming about and wondering what exactly i was supposed to do with it.

at the beginning of this year, i even wrote a letter to Seyi Makinde because i wanted to meet him. i was going to resume at the University of Ibadan and i thought it would be a good opportunity to introduce LuminaHub to him. i wrote the letter, sent it to Michael, and he encouraged me to post it on X and tag him(Seyi Makinde). i never did. i still don't completely understand why. maybe somewhere in my mind, i felt like i hadn't done enough to deserve to introduce myself and my initiative to someone like him. i had only successfully carried out one virtual project, and although i knew what LuminaHub could become, i didn't feel like i had enough to show for it.

that feeling has followed me for a while: the feeling that i need to do more before i am allowed to say, "look at what i've built."

then came the applications, the proposals, the plans, the opportunities i tried to chase, the things i wanted to attend, the people i wanted to meet, the projects i wanted to execute and all the different ways i kept trying to make something happen. eventually, it became exhausting. i was constantly trying to convince myself that the next application, the next opportunity, the next project would finally be the thing that moved everything forward.

and i'm tired of doing that.

you can call me a coward for quitting if you want. maybe there is some truth in that. but quitting these things doesn't suddenly erase the person i've always been. i will still be Adeife, the girl who dreams too much, the girl who has an idea every five business days, the girl who can hear about a problem and immediately start thinking about what can be done about it. that part of me isn't disappearing. i'm just tired of making promises to ideas that i currently don't have the capacity to keep.

because at this point, it feels like LuminaHub and Trybe Seven have names, but not enough to show for those names.

LuminaHub will be one year old in less than four months, and we can only boast of one major project. that hurts me. it genuinely does. i know what i wanted it to become, and i know what it could have been if i had the resources and capacity to keep pushing it.

Trybe Seven hurts in a slightly different way.

as much as i love reading, dissolving Trybe Seven hurts more than dissolving LuminaHub because the people i started it with were people i considered my friends. it wasn't just a reading club to me. it was something we were supposed to build together. we had plans, targets and books we wanted to read. but along the way, people dropped off. people stopped participating. people stopped being accountable. and i hated that i had to keep reminding people about something we had all voluntarily committed ourselves to.

just yesterday, someone told me she wouldn't be able to continue with the Trybe and i think i finally realized that i didn't want to keep forcing it anymore. so i'm letting everybody be. i'm dissolving Trybe Seven, and i'll continue reading on my own. i've already read over thirty books this year, so i clearly don't need a reading club to convince me to read. 😭

i'm just tired.

and i don't want to be angry at myself for being tired.

i've also had to ask myself whether i'm spreading myself too thin. i'm currently in university, and my academics should be my priority. yet i'm using the little leisure time i have after chasing one dream to chase five other dreams, and somehow i'm ending up feeling inadequate in all of them. i'm trying to be a student, a writer, a speaker, a founder, an advocate, a reader, a content creator and whatever else i decide to become that week. and when those things don't produce the results i expect, i blame myself for not doing enough.

maybe i don't need to do everything right now. maybe i need to let myself be a student. maybe i need to focus on my academics and allow myself to have interests without turning every interest into an organisation, a project or a responsibility.

maybe one day, when i'm rich all of a sudden or something, i'll come back to these ideas. maybe i'll have the resources to build them properly. maybe i'll have a team that can carry them with me. maybe i'll have the experience and capacity i don't have now.

there will always be time.

and if there isn't, then at least i know that i tried.

so, yes, Adeife is no longer the founder of Trybe Seven because there is no longer a Trybe Seven. Adeife is no longer the founder of LuminaHub because there will no longer be a LuminaHub. i'm also letting go of the pressure i've placed on myself to become someone who works at the United Nations, advocates for sustainability, builds initiatives and changes the world before she's even had the opportunity to figure herself out.

for now, Adeife just wants to do her.

she wants to study. she wants to read. she wants to write. she wants to speak when she has something to say. she wants to make videos because she enjoys making them. she wants to have ideas without immediately turning them into responsibilities. she wants to exist without constantly feeling like she has to prove that her potential is real.

i don't know whether this is giving up. maybe it is. but i also don't think giving up on something is always the same thing as giving up on yourself.

sometimes, you can love something and still realize that you cannot carry it anymore.

sometimes, putting something down isn't an admission that you were incapable of carrying it. sometimes, it's simply an acknowledgment that you have been carrying too much for too long.

so i'm putting some things down.

not because they weren't important. not because i stopped caring. not because i suddenly stopped being the girl who dreams. i'm putting them down because i'm tired, and for once, i think i should be allowed to be tired without turning that exhaustion into another project.

maybe i'll dream again.

just not right now.

for now, i want to rest.

bye, my Lumi. 💕

~L. 🪻🫧

how're you doing?

during my birthday party two days ago, Charis said something during her presentation that basically summed up something i know but have never been able to describe.

for context, i had a PowerPoint presentation party, and Charis' topic was "Jack of Many Trades, Friend of Many People: Does Versatility Make You More Relatable?" at the end of her presentation, Charis made us watch a video and said, "i'm a mosaic of everyone i've ever loved." how true is that? so true!! 🥹

anyway, i've been thinking about the things i do because of the people in my life, and i'm honestly awed by the beauty of humanity. 🥹

i have reasons here.

1. i don't cross over food in the kitchen because my grandma didn't like it.

2. i listen to old-school music because it reminds me of my grandfather.

3. i like to haggle because my dad does it so well.

4. i like to learn because my mom is a teacher and she prioritizes education.

5. i revived my interest in astronomy because Charis loves to talk about it.

6. i don't lie anymore because my mom beat the hell out of me for being such a chronic liar.

7. i leave my small change with the market woman sometimes because my mom does it.

8. i believe i can achieve my dreams because i see the things Michael does and i'm motivated.

9. i forgive people who hurt me because i stole Momo's savings and she forgave me.

10. i love to sing because Mr Tafu noticed i had a good voice in primary three and made sure i was in the choir.

11. i love art because of my mum.

12. i love the English language because of my English teachers from primary school to secondary school.

13. i like coffee because my dad drinks it and i steal from him.

14. i like teabags because my grandfather used to take them.

15. i like to eat new things because my dad does too, and it didn't kill him.

16. i like to cover my hair because i like how Jeminat and Soliah look when their heads are covered.

17. i like hymns because of my home church.

18. i like fast drivers because Uncle Sam drives fast.

19. i like hair pins because Sindara likes them.

20. i write 0 and 6 well because Mrs Akinsanya beat me until i got them right in primary 3.

21. i started posting memes again because of Vanessa.

22. i overcame body dysmorphia because of Davida.

23. i appreciate beauty because of my beautiful, beautiful, beautiful friends.

24. i make a conscious effort to watch movies because Charis likes movies.

25. i love to wear long and covered clothes because my Muslim friends always look so modest in them.

26. i started using Snapchat because of Adediwura.

27. i love public speaking because of the teachers who invested in my confidence from primary school to secondary school.

28. i know sign language because Mrs Abiodun made sure i learnt it properly in JSS 1.

29. i maintain my interest in many things because Sindara indulges my weirdness and is happy when i'm excited.

30. i would rather use oil and shea butter or Vaseline to rub my body because that's what my mom used for us as kids.

31. i say "your network is your net worth", because Abdulhazeem taught me.

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in less than 20 minutes, i've come up with thirty-one reasons why i'm a mosaic of everyone i've ever loved. how much more if i took more time? 🥹

and perhaps that is what makes being human so beautiful.

we like to think of ourselves as individual people. separate. distinct. self-made. "this is who i am."

but how much of who we are actually began with us? how many of your favourite songs did you discover because somebody you loved played them around you? how many of your mannerisms did you inherit without realizing it? how many of your beliefs were planted in you by conversations you barely remember? how many of your dreams became possible because someone else believed they were possible first?

we are constantly taking pieces of one another.

sometimes intentionally.

sometimes without knowing.

sometimes from people who stay.

sometimes from people who leave.

sometimes even from people who hurt us.

and perhaps the most beautiful part is that these pieces don't remain exactly as we received them. we carry them into other relationships, into other rooms, into other lives. we modify them. we combine them with other pieces. we turn them into something uniquely ours.

my grandfather gave me tea.

my father gave me coffee and the courage to try new things.

my mother gave me education, art and, apparently, a healthy fear of lying. 😭

my friends gave me memes, astronomy, hair pins, movies, covered clothes and the audacity to believe in myself.

my teachers gave me language, confidence, music and the ability to write my numbers properly. 😭

and somewhere along the way, all of these things became me.

isn't that fascinating?

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we spend so much of our lives trying to find ourselves, as though there is a complete version of us hidden somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

but maybe we aren't found.

maybe we're built.

piece by piece.

conversation by conversation.

memory by memory.

person by person.

maybe finding yourself is sometimes just noticing the people who helped create you.

and suddenly, you realize that the person you call "me" is actually a crowded room.

there's my grandmother in the way i arrange food.

my grandfather in the songs i listen to and the tea i drink.

my mother in the things i value.

my father in the things i'm willing to try.

my teachers in the confidence with which i speak.

my friends in the things i have learnt to love.

there are people i've forgotten whose names i may never remember again, but whose influence still lives somewhere in me.

there are people who probably have no idea that they changed me.

there are people who may never know that something they said once became a sentence i carried for years.

and there are people who have left my life completely, yet somehow, they never left me.

perhaps that is what it means to love and to be loved.

to leave something behind.

not necessarily a grand legacy. sometimes it's just a song. a phrase. a habit. a recipe. a silly inside joke. a way of looking at the world.

a little piece of yourself that someone else carries long after you've gone.

and now i'm wondering...

how many people are living inside me?

how many parts of me are not really mine?

how many things do i love because somebody else loved them first?

and, perhaps more importantly,

what parts of me have i unknowingly left in other people?

because if i'm a mosaic of everyone i've ever loved, then maybe everyone i've ever loved is also, in some tiny way, a mosaic of me.

and that thought makes me want to be gentler with people.

because you never really know what you're leaving behind.

someone might remember you because you taught them how to pronounce a word.

because you encouraged them to speak.

because you introduced them to a song.

because you forgave them.

because you let them be weird.

because you believed in a dream they were too afraid to say out loud.

because you loved them well.

maybe we are all walking museums of one another.

carrying exhibits from people who loved us, people who taught us, people who hurt us, people who stayed, people who left.

and perhaps life is just the beautiful, messy process of collecting pieces.

so, yes.

i am a mosaic of everyone i've ever loved.

and the more i think about it, the more i realize that i wouldn't want to be anything else.

because if i took away every piece that came from someone else, i'm not sure how much of me would remain.

so, my Lumi, tell me. what is one piece of your beautiful mosaic? i want to know. 🤭

Leave a comment

i hope to hear from you soon. 💕

~L. 🪻🫧

this is the video Charis showed us during the party. 🫠💕

how're you doingggg???

here's the gist about my dissection practical, as promised in my last letter. 😗

the day before our practical, a message dropped on our class group.

"come with a dissecting kit tomorrow."

that was it.

the problem? a dissecting kit is not cheap. 🥲

now imagine getting that kind of notice less than twenty-four hours before the practical. what if i didn't have the money? what if someone genuinely couldn't afford one?

i showed up the next morning without a kit, hoping i wouldn't be sent out.

thankfully, i wasn't.

we were told that as long as each table had two or three dissecting kits, everyone would be able to participate. immediate relief.

after the briefing, we got started.

our specimen was an albino rat.

i named mine ratatouille.

don't ask me why.

i'm weird like that. 😂

what surprised me the most wasn't the rat.

it was the people.

before we even touched a scalpel, before a single incision was made, some people were already emotional. 😂

one was in tears just from looking at the introductory slides. at first, i genuinely thought she wasn't feeling well.

apparently, the images had simply gotten to her.

then i looked at myself and thought,

"am i the heartless one?" (maybe)😂

because i was fascinated.

completely fascinated.

i loved every minute of it.

i wanted to hold the scalpel scissors.

i wanted to use the forceps.

i wanted to cut.

i wanted to see what was beneath each layer.

i wanted to understand how everything fit together.

i didn't feel disgust.

i felt curious.

and maybe that's one of the biggest lessons university has taught me so far—that curiosity and discomfort can exist in the same room.

someone else looked at the rat and saw something too painful to touch.

i looked at it and saw an opportunity to learn.

neither reaction was wrong.

they were simply different.

at some point, i wished each of us had our own rat to dissect.

our instructor quickly explained why that wasn't possible.

with our class size, it wouldn't be ethical—or practical—to use that many animals.

fair enough.

still...

a tiny part of me wished i could have spent another hour with ratatouille.

(i know. that sounds slightly concerning.)

what i didn't expect was what happened after the practical.

i left the laboratory wanting to study.

not because there was a test. (i actually do have a test tomorrow.😭)

not because i was afraid of failing.

but because i had seen the relevance of what i was learning.

there's something about holding a scalpel after reading about anatomical structures for weeks.

suddenly, the textbook isn't just information anymore.

it's preparation.

this semester has been very different from my first.

last semester, i studied because i had to. (it didn't go well.🙂)

this semester, i find myself studying because i genuinely want to know more.

the practicals have done that to me.

they've reminded me that veterinary medicine isn't just lectures and handouts.

it's hands.

it's observation.

it's precision.

it's curiosity.

it's knowing where to make an incision—and understanding why.

and yes...

i still want a bigger dissecting kit.

i still want to work on larger animals.

don't get me wrong, ratatouille was great. 🤭

but i also can't wait for the day i'm standing over a crocodile, a dog, a horse, or a cow, forceps in one hand and a scalpel in the other, realizing that this was what all those lecture notes were preparing me for.

until then, i'll keep showing up for the practicals.

because if there's one thing i've learnt these past few weeks, it's this:

the quickest way to make me fall in love with learning is to let me touch it.

how about you?

if you studied science, what practical made you fall in love with your course? have you even fallen in love with what you're studying? 🫠

i'd love to hear your story.

fun fact: the length of your intestine is about 8 times your actual height. 🤭

alright now, don't forget to write me back. ✨

bye, my Lumi. 💕

~L. 🪻🫧

in my last post, i wrote to you about what it means to be a student of the University of Ibadan. i wrote about crowded lecture theatres, impossible timetables, endurance, and how admission is often more of a warning than a celebration. it was an honest essay, and i stand by every word of it.

this, too, is an honest essay.

because honesty does not only demand that we criticize what is broken; it also requires that we celebrate what is beautiful.

for the longest time, university had begun to feel like survival. wake up. attend lectures. chase lecturers. copy notes. read. sleep. repeat.

somewhere in the middle of all that, i had almost forgotten why i wanted higher education in the first place.

i love learning.

not grades. not GPAs. not cramming forty-page lecture notes the night before an exam. learning.

there's a difference.

then came our blood grouping practical.

it sounds almost laughably ordinary.

a lancet. a glass slide. three antisera. a tiny drop of blood.

yet, somewhere between pricking my finger and watching the reactions on the slide, something shifted.

for the first time in a long while, learning did not feel like survival.

it felt like discovery.

blood groups had always existed for me as words in a textbook. a concept. something lecturers explained and examiners tested.

then I watched my own blood become evidence.

theory suddenly became personal.

the science was no longer happening inside a lecture note.

it was happening on a glass slide, with my own hands.

that was beautiful.

later, we learnt that this practical had not been conducted for several years. i don't know all the reasons why. logistics, resources, class size—i'm sure there were many.

but i do know how it felt to finally experience it.

it reminded me of something i had almost forgotten.

education was never meant to stop at memorization.

it was always meant to invite curiosity.

i have often said that Nigeria makes school harder than it needs to be. many students spend so much energy trying to survive the system that they barely have enough left to enjoy learning itself.

when that happens, education quietly becomes performance.

read.

write.

pass.

move on.

but every once in a while, a lecturer hands you a microscope. or a dissecting kit (yes, we had a dissection practical yesterday, i'll gist you later). or, in our case, a lancet.

and suddenly, you're no longer studying science.

you're doing science.

the difference is impossible to describe unless you've felt it.

it is the difference between reading about the stars and looking through a telescope for the first time.

between studying music theory and hearing an orchestra live.

between learning about blood groups and discovering your own.

perhaps that is why the practical left such an impression on me.

not because finding out my blood group changed my life.

but because, for a few hours, university felt exactly the way I had imagined it would.

curiosity returned.

wonder returned.

joy returned.

if you've read my previous essay on the University of Ibadan, you'll know that i have never believed a premier university should be romanticized. institutions are not above criticism, and excellence should never become an excuse for unnecessary hardship.

i still believe that.

but i also believe that when something is done well, it deserves to be acknowledged.

the blood grouping practical reminded me that beneath the crowded lecture halls, the endless schedules, and the exhaustion that often accompanies university life, there are still moments that make you whisper to yourself,

"this is why i came here."

i hope we have more of those moments.

because if education is going to shape lives, it should occasionally leave us in awe—not just exhausted.

and for one practical session, it did.

bye, my Lumi. 💕

~L.🪻🫧

how've you been?

me? i'm, okay…

the essay you're about to read was my entry for a competition i didn't win. 😗

Admission is often celebrated as an achievement, but in reality, it is also a warning. Long before I became a student of the University of Ibadan, I noticed a pattern: no one critiques a university more harshly than its own students. Across different schools, the message was the same—“you will see shege.”

At first, this was both confusing and unsettling. If every university promised difficulty, then what exactly was I choosing between? But upon reflection, I realized something deeper: the problem was not the institution alone, but the reality it existed within. Nigeria itself is not easy, and no serious institution within it can afford to be.

With that understanding, I made my choice deliberately. I chose the University of Ibadan—not because it would be easy, but because it would demand something of me. And now, as a student of what is called the “Premier University,” I have come to understand that beyond admission lies a more important question: what does it truly mean to belong here?

The University of Ibadan is the school of my dreams, and it has, so far, lived up to my expectations. Personally, I did not imagine a perfect institution. I did not imagine a system without flaws or a structure without gaps. Rather, I imagined a place that would stretch me—intellectually, mentally, and personally—and in many ways, that expectation has been met.

To be a student of the University of Ibadan is to constantly confront the reality of capacity—both the institution’s and your own. Lecture theatres are often filled beyond comfort, forcing students into spaces that demand endurance as much as attention. Time is compressed, lectures are intense, and understanding is not always guaranteed. Yet, within that pressure lies an unspoken expectation: you must rise above the limitations around you.

In this sense, being here feels almost like a lived expression of the theory of natural selection—not merely in its biological sense, but as an academic reality. Resources may be limited, systems may be imperfect, but the responsibility to survive, adapt, and excel ultimately rests on the student. It is not always convenient, and it is rarely easy, but it is undeniably formative.

Beyond the physical and academic demands, there is also the intellectual culture that defines the university. The University of Ibadan is not merely a place where information is received; it is a space where thinking is required. As someone who values debate and public speaking, I have come to appreciate environments that do not simply teach what to think, but how to think. A premier university must produce individuals who can question, articulate, and contribute meaningfully to society—and this expectation is deeply embedded in the identity of its students.

However, to belong here is not only to endure and to think—it is also to represent. The title “student of the premier university” carries with it a weight of legacy. It is a reminder that one is part of a long line of individuals whose ideas and actions have shaped conversations far beyond the walls of the institution.

As the immediate past Students’ Union President of the University of Ibadan once said, “Dear Freshman, the people who leave this school change Nigeria, and the ideas that leave this school change the world.” This is not merely a welcoming statement—it is a standard. It is a reminder that to belong here is to be shaped for impact, whether one is prepared for that responsibility or not.

Yet, there is a subtle danger that must be acknowledged. In many ways, students have grown accustomed to hardship, sometimes even glorifying it as a rite of passage. Phrases that warn of stress and struggle are repeated so often that they begin to sound like expectations rather than challenges to be addressed.

There is, however, an uncomfortable contradiction that must be confronted. A university cannot continually pride itself on being “premier” while normalizing systems that do not reflect excellence. Overcrowded lecture halls, strained facilities, and a culture that romanticizes unnecessary hardship raise an important question: are we truly upholding a standard, or merely surviving within a reputation? To belong to a place like the University of Ibadan is not only to adapt to its realities, but to critically engage with them. Because excellence is not proven by how much discomfort one can endure, but by how intentionally an institution—and its students—refuse to settle for less than what it claims to represent.

Ultimately, to be a student of the University of Ibadan is to exist within a balance of pride and pressure, opportunity and responsibility. It is to recognize that admission was only the beginning, and that the true task lies in becoming worthy of the title one now holds.

Because beyond admission, belonging here is not proven by presence alone—it is proven by growth, by contribution, and by the willingness to rise to the demands of a name that has long stood for excellence.

my Lumi, daz all.

byeeeee. 🤭

~L. 🪻🫧

No, seriously.

What happened?

A few months ago, it was podcasts. Before that, it was YouTube. Then everyone wanted to become a content creator. Somewhere along the line, the internet collectively decided that if you're "intellectual," you must have a Substack.

Can we... not?

This is not an anti-Substack post. In fact, I love Substack. I love the idea of a platform where words matter more than trends, where long-form writing still has a home, and where people can sit with ideas instead of endlessly scrolling fifteen-second videos.

That's exactly why I'm irritated.

Because why are we turning this into another trend?

The moment something becomes trendy, people stop asking themselves, "Is this for me?" and start asking, "Is everyone doing this?"

Those are two very different questions.

Maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but not everybody needs a Substack.

Just like not everybody needs a YouTube channel.

Not everybody needs a podcast.

Not everybody needs to become a TikToker.

And that's okay.

Some people thrive on YouTube because they're incredible storytellers on camera. Some belong on TikTok because they can communicate complex ideas in sixty seconds. Some have built amazing communities on Instagram, Reddit, WhatsApp Channels, or LinkedIn.

The platform is not the point.

The work is.

What worries me is that we've started treating platforms as personalities.

Suddenly, opening a Substack has become an aesthetic.

It's giving, "Look at me. I write now."

But...

Do you?

Lately, my WhatsApp has been flooded with messages that say,

"Hi guys! I just opened my Substack. Please subscribe!"

Forgive me, but...

Subscribe to what?

I don't know what you write.

I don't know what you think.

I don't know what you're passionate about.

I don't know what conversations you're trying to have.

So what exactly am I subscribing to?

The link?

Because I don't subscribe to platforms.

I subscribe to people whose words make me think.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I don't think readers owe anyone their attention simply because they created an account.

Attention is earned.

Trust is earned.

Readers are earned.

There's a difference between wanting readers and wanting the appearance of having readers.

And I think the internet has started confusing the two.

We've become obsessed with launching things before building them.

We announce.

We brand.

We create logos.

We design banners.

We share links.

Somewhere in all that excitement, we forget the most important part:

Creating.

We want newsletters before we have anything to say.

Communities before we've built relationships.

Subscribers before we've earned readers.

The internet has become a place where people curate identities faster than they cultivate them.

And maybe that's why so much content feels the same.

Not because people lack talent.

But because everyone is running toward the same trends instead of running toward themselves.

Here's the irony.

The people I enjoy reading on Substack aren't interesting because they're on Substack.

They're interesting because they have something to say.

If Substack disappeared tomorrow, I'd still read them.

If they moved to a personal blog, I'd follow.

If they wrote on the back of a receipt, I'd probably read that too.

Because it has never been about the platform.

It has always been about the person.

So before you open a newsletter because everyone else is doing it, ask yourself a few questions.

What conversation am I trying to have?

What perspective am I bringing that is genuinely mine?

Would I still write if nobody subscribed?

If the answer is yes, welcome.

Write your heart out.

I'll probably read you.

But if you're opening a Substack because someone told you it's where intellectuals hang out...

Respectfully,

You're already starting for the wrong reason.

Substack is not a personality trait.

It is not a badge of intelligence.

It is not proof that you're a writer.

Writing makes you a writer.

The platform is just where the words happen to live.

how're you doing??

the amount of thinking one can do to think the kind of thoughts that birthed this article is crazy. 😂 anyway, carry your popcorn and settle down.

“whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God”. funny enough, that's exactly what i'm trying to do.

one sunday, it hit me.

if God gave me the ability to write, why is everyone so determined to tell me what i should write?

apparently, every poem must become a sermon.

every spoken word must end with "Jesus."

every story must have a salvation altar call.

every song must mention God at least seven times before heaven approves.

otherwise...

"you're using your gift for the world."

pastor, rest.

i have a question.

when God created language, did He create it only for preaching?

when He created melody, was it only for worship sessions?

when He created colour, did He intend paintings to exist only inside church auditoriums?

when He created storytelling, was every story supposed to begin with "once upon a time, Jesus..."?

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no.

because the God who created the heavens also created humour.

He created romance.

He created architecture.

He created sunsets that have never preached a sermon yet still declare His glory.

the Bible itself is proof that God isn't interested in one genre.

it contains poetry.

history.

lamentations.

romance.

prophecy.

political intrigue.

songs.

letters.

proverbs.

even an entire love poem that barely mentions Him.

so why have we reduced christian creativity to one acceptable format?

somehow, we've created this invisible hierarchy.

if you sing gospel, you're serving God.

if you write devotionals, you're serving God.

if you design church flyers, you're serving God.

but if you write novels...

compose film scores...

paint landscapes...

write love poems...

direct movies...

build video games...

research medicine...

...suddenly someone is asking whether you're "using your gift for God."

who told us that? because i cannot find it.

the irony is that we consume secular art every single day without noticing.

the chair you're sitting on?

someone designed it.

the phone you're reading this on?

someone engineered it.

the typeface displaying these words?

someone created it.

the music played at your wedding?

the photographer who captured your memories?

the architect who designed your church building?

most of them weren't standing behind pulpits.

yet their work still serves humanity.

is service only holy when it happens on a church stage?

i write because i have something to say about being human.

i write about grief.

friendship.

politics.

mental health.

justice.

identity.

love.

failure.

hope.

those things are not outside God's concern simply because they don't end with hallelujah.

human experience matters.

in fact, Jesus spent most of His ministry talking about... human experience.

what worries me is not that christians want artists to glorify God.

i agree with that.

what worries me is that we've confused glorifying God with mentioning God.

those are not the same thing.

a truthful story glorifies God.

an honest painting glorifies God.

excellent research glorifies God.

a beautifully written novel can glorify God without containing a single bible verse.

because excellence itself is an act of worship.

integrity is worship.

beauty is worship.

truth is worship.

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not every assignment belongs on an altar.

some belong in libraries.

some belong in cinemas.

some belong in museums.

some belong in concert halls.

some belong in laboratories.

some belong on substack.

maybe the greatest testimony isn't that everyone knows you're christian because every sentence contains "Jesus."

maybe it's that they encounter excellence, compassion, honesty, and beauty through your work—and later discover the person who shaped the artist behind it.

so no, pastor.

i'm not abandoning my gift.

i'm using it.

i'm simply refusing to believe that the only art acceptable to God is the art that fits neatly into a sunday service.

i'm a writer.

not every page i write is a sermon.

but every page, i hope, is an act of worship.

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~L. 🪻🫧

hi, my Lumi. 😗💕

how're you doing?

if you didn't know, i've always been single. yes, i've never been in a relationship.

don't get me wrong, there have been a good number of guys, but it's never a long time before i realize that i'm not interested in being romantically involved with them. some, i don't even want anywhere near my existence. as a matter of fact, not long after i cut them off, i'm usually very, very glad i didn't date them. always.

the concept of being someone's partner just doesn't sit right with me. for a while, i believed i was aromantic (a part of me still does), but love is too beautiful for me not to welcome it. so i stopped calling myself aromantic. (what even was i thinking?) i'm open-minded now. maybe something will change.

remember i said there have been a couple of guys? yes.

lemme gist you about some of them and why i'm grateful i never said yes.

Exhibit A.

A was a toxic entanglement that started in SSS 2.

he liked me, but i barely knew him, so i told him no.

however, we kept talking and became very good friends (keep in mind that he still liked me... allegedly).

he is—or was—a very fun person to be around, and i genuinely enjoyed his company.

unfortunately, it wasn't all great.

there were times we wouldn't speak for weeks... months even. usually because of something ridiculously petty. that wasn't even the main issue.

A is very lustful and promiscuous. while he never failed to remind me how much he liked me, he was entertaining other girls too. it's not jealousy, i'm just curious. why are you constantly reminding me that you want to date me if you're saying the exact same thing to other girls? he was also very petty. telling me not to send him stickers or certain emojis because they annoyed him.😭😭😭

it was toxic, yet i stayed friends with him. why? because he was fun to be with, and we had mutual friends. it wasn't easy to detach from him. after secondary school, i found out he had been asking other girls out—my friends inclusive.

and he lied. my God, he lied a lot. WHY ARE YOU LYING??? it's not like i'm your girlfriend. just say the goddamn truth. 😭 the funniest part? he would lie unprovoked.

another thing.…he could ghost you for months, then randomly reappear, apologize, remind you how sweet he could be, get offended over absolutely nothing, disappear again...

rinse and repeat. it was a cycle.😭

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and then there was this group of friends who discussed literally everything about the girls they liked. imagine i kissed him and one of his boys was teasing me about it.🙂

you can now see why i'm grateful i wasn't his girlfriend.

Exhibit B.

i met B in the hostel during the summer of SSS 2 too.🫠

he liked me.

i thought he was cool and maybe i'd like him too.

i was wrong.

i didn't like B.

i just thought he was cool...

and he had a really, really nice name.

this one was looking suspiciously like a situationship, so i quietly removed myself from the equation. ASAP.

he was far too invested in gaming to commit to anything serious.

not that i was going to date him anyway. he just liked me.

my reasons?

1. he never had anything to say.

he wasn't a great conversationalist.

i'm not the best conversationalist either, so that combination was already a disaster.

i never knew what was happening in his life.

our conversations either went nowhere or felt painfully forced.

2. B would ask me to send pictures of myself...

only to react with one emoji.😭😂

emi? ME??? EMOJI??? ahhh.😂

3. he once told me he had to quit gaming before thinking about getting a girlfriend...

and he wasn't quitting anytime soon.😗

so...

what exactly was i doing there?

next abeg.

Exhibit C.

this one ehn...

LOL.

C is older, and if you know me, you know i generally get along well with older people.

he entered my life as a harmless, helpful friend.

until he asked me out.

i was angry.

and i'm honestly still a little annoyed.

because it was glaring that i wasn't going to date you.

it was glaring that we wouldn't work.

yet you still asked.

the whole conversation became incredibly uncomfortable because i didn't want to say the obvious outright. he kept putting words in my mouth.

i knew—just like every other guy i'd turned down—that it would affect the friendship.

so i expected things to become awkward.

they did.

the next day was awkward as hell.

then i got home and received this text:

"Even though we are not boyfren girlfren...

If something is wrong with you tell me nau...

At least we are still friends and I care about you a lottttt🌝✨

I was close to you because I like you, your personality and the way you talk and then when I heard about LuminaHub 😂 you bought me completely 🌝✨

When I say I worked on LuminaHub designs because I love what you are doing, I'm serious 🌝

I never had a thing for you then when I worked on LuminaHub designs 🌝 it was mainly out of interest and respect to your initiative not sentiments.

I don dey talk another thing.

In conclusion sha, always tell me when something is wrong.

Yh... I love you 🫠 and I know we can't work out but still... I care about you 🌝 so talk to meeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

yes. those were his exact words. (copy and paste is a beautiful thing.)🙂

now...

ladies and gentlemen,

my precious Lumis...

what if i told you we didn't speak for three months?

during those three months, i almost lost my mind wondering what exactly i had done wrong.

eventually, i swallowed my pride and reached out because i genuinely hoped there was something to apologise for.

alas. nothing.

he simply... felt okay not talking to me.

mind you, this was someone who used to text me all the time.

someone who had been incredibly sweet.

apparently, all of that sweetness existed because he thought we'd eventually date.

not because we were actually friends.

because how else do you explain that switch?

he brushed everything aside with little to no accountability.

i got angry. deleted his number. cut him off.

i thought i'd be fine.

turns out...

i actually missed my friend.

so i told myself, "Adeife', swallow your pride. be the bigger person."

😭😭😭

you guyyyyyyssssss.

you know when people say there are lessons only embarrassment can teach?

i'm living proof. moving forward, to hell with being the bigger person!

i messaged him.

we started talking again.

still... no accountability.

it wasn't even up to a month before i started wishing i had left things exactly the way they were.

i should've listened to Davida.

she told me he didn't respect me enough for that friendship to continue.

i went behind her back and reconciled anyway. lesson learnt.

C has this... forced maturity vibe.

i hate it.

i have genuinely mature older people around me.

they're nothing like him.

he tries so hard to appear calm and emotionally evolved—even when the situation clearly requires actual communication.

it's irritating.

these days, i get annoyed just remembering everything i did trying to preserve that friendship.

i genuinely want to forget he exists.

why i'm grateful i didn't date him?

1. he doesn't communicate.

how exactly am i supposed to date someone who refuses to talk?

2. his "maturity."

trust me.

i know what emotional maturity looks like.

this isn't it.

3. i simply don't like him. 😭

NGL, i'm already vexed from writing this.

looking back, i'm grateful that none of these relationships happened. not because these people are terrible, but because they weren't right for me. every "no" taught me something about what i value—honesty, communication, consistency, friendship before romance, and someone who genuinely likes me, not the idea of dating me. Maybe that's why I've stayed single this long. My standards aren't impossible; they're just becoming clearer.

until then, i’ll keep collecting exhibits instead of exes.

bye, my Lumi. 💕

~L. 🪻🫧

Share from L. 🪻🫧

hi, my Lumi. 💕

it's been a while... and it's been a lot.

how've you been?

me? not so good. but i'm okay.

moving on, i have something to ask of you: read this as though you've never heard about me. let this be a reintroduction of some sort. after all, it's been a while.

is that okay?

thank you.

my name is ADEROJU ADESOLA ADEIFETIJESUNIMI, and i'll be taking you on a journey of how i found myself, got lost, and got here.

grab a snack.

on the 11th of october, 2022, there was a convergence of female students from all over town at the Cultural Centre, Abeokuta. they had gathered to celebrate one thing—the International Day of the Girl Child.

i was there. i sat in that room as women of class and calibre spoke to us, their audience. during the Q&A session, one slender man, probably in his forties, stood up and asked a question.

he said,

"we keep empowering the girls and clamouring for the girls. are we forgetting that these boys will end up with these girls? they need to be trained right too."

then it hit me.

INCLUSION

that's what we lack.

not just in conversations around gender, but also in politics, economics, advocacy, fairness, and equity. name any topic that should be discussed to make the world a better place, and i'll tell you the conversation is far from inclusive.

i wish i could say i did something with that realization then. i didn't.

the vision wasn't clear. but it was there.

fast forward to early 2023.

EcoClub was introduced to my secondary school, and i became a member.

for context, EcoClub is where we were taught about our ecosystem and how the things we do every day affect it.

this was when i fell in love with sustainable development. this was when the 17 SDGs became my love language.

this was it. the vision was there.

still, i did nothing.

then came my gap year. arguably the best decision i've made so far.

during that year, the vision became clear. it was there.

and this time, i did something.

i successfully hosted a two-day webinar tagged "The Gender Agenda 1.0," and on the 26th of october, 2025, i officially launched my initiative.

today, there's LuminaHub.

and she's everything SSS 2 me could only dream of.

she was birthed from two things:

inclusion and sustainable development.

so yes...i found myself.

how, then, did i get lost?

earlier this year, i resumed as a freshman at the University of Ibadan, and nothing has been the same since. if you know me, you know how deeply i love education. you know how badly i want multiple degrees to my name. however, i'm barely six months into the Nigerian tertiary education system, and i'm scared. learning is fun. surviving it?

that's another conversation entirely. so far, i can't honestly say i'm thriving. i can't even lie.

i'm scared that i'll be forced to focus solely on academics and abandon the other things that make me happy. just one semester in, and i found myself contemplating stopping my Substack, quitting public speaking, shutting down my reading club, and giving up on LuminaHub altogether.

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i didn't know what to do. everything became so loud.

and i...i got lost in the chaos. it was tough.

but after speaking to a few people whose opinions i deeply respect, i'm certain it's a game i'll get better at.

there's a lot to be done, there's a lot i want to do. the journey is far but i'm definitely going to get it right! that people would hear sustainable development and think of me. that one day, i would reach my zenith.

today is the 1st of July.

there are still six months left.

six months to make things right.

and i intend to maximise every single one of them.

this...

this is my first step.

my name is ADEROJU ADESOLA ADEIFETIJESUNIMI, a Nigerian change maker who's going to become a delegate at the United Nations through Sustainable Development Advocacy.

and, i have a question.

when did you find yourself?

or perhaps a better question is:

have you found yourself at all?

if you have, how?

i'd genuinely love to hear your story.

Leave a comment

bye, my Lumi. 🪻🫧

Share from L. 🪻🫧

please understand that by reading this essay—or while you're reading it—you're not just my reader, you're my best friend, because this is quite vulnerable for me to put out here. is that okay?

okay, so before i gained my admission, i promised God that if i gained admission, i wouldn't complain or have regrets, because i prayed for it after all. i've always hated it when university students complain so much and just make their entire life centered on the university. i also told myself that i'll not narrow my content down to school stuff and i won't lose myself to "being a student." i don't know how far about that, but i am doing well enough.

if you ask me, school is not hard. Nigeria is just difficult, and the lecturers and administrators are just frustrated adults who think being difficult gains them a lot of aura. (news flash: i don't know about you, but to me, they just look like frustrated people who need loads of therapy.) i love being in school, i love being a student (except when i don't have money), and i don't need anyone making it extra difficult.

lemme tell you a few things i've been struggling with, in and out of school.

— money.

for some reason, there's always something to pay for, and it's frustrating because anytime i call home, it's always like i'm a spendthrift and i don't know how to manage money. meanwhile, here i am, living hand to mouth like a pauper. okay, i'm not a pauper but stillllll!!!

— church.

i am going to spend six years in this school. i don't want to attend a church just because my friends are going there or the vibes are fun. i want to attend a church where i'll be grounded and i'll see significant growth in my spiritual life. i want to be fed!! and to attain this, i want to be sure i'm in the right place. at the same time, i need to be sure i'm not being a church prostitute. God will help me, amen.

— reading.

i like reading, so much. but i'm so scared of not reading the right thing. what if we do tests or exams and my reading doesn't show? it's one thing to read well, it's another thing to read the right thing. i don't want to fail.

— psychologically.

for about six months now, i've been dealing with a deep sense of self-doubt. it started around november, after i held my first online webinar and launched my initiative. this is one of the longest periods i've had to deal with an issue for, and it's getting at me, even more than i would ever admit.

being in school just made it not better. i'm just smart and intelligent, not academically exceptional, so i make up for academic validation by doing the things that interest me (extracurriculars), and it seems as though i'm not excelling at those either.

one of my goals when i was resuming was to speak during the oratory contest for freshmen week. damn, i didn't even get selected to represent my hall. why? i'm a calm speaker (non-aggressive), and that's not what they wanted. is this how i'm going to speak at JawWar???

i've not done anything about my initiative since the beginning of this year, even though there are plans. and my book club isn't thriving as well as it should because out of the stipulated fourteen members, i had to evict four. i hate it so much when people mix familiarity with work, and it hurt that these people were my friends and they didn't take the reading club seriously. our review sessions are presently on hold because the majority of the participants are writing a major exam, and i really want them to focus and do well.

all in all, i've been contemplating just giving up on everything and being a regular person without dreams and all. it's better than committing suicide. i can't suffer on earth and still go to hell. God forbid.

— socially.

i've met a lot of people since i got to school, and it's been fun. my classmates, in particular, are a very lovely set of people (the majority), and i'm glad that i don't have to spend the next six years of my life with people i'm never happy to see.

however, there's been a problem. and it's a guy. 🙂

so, there's this guy i used to be friends with, and he designs for my initiative (i just realized i've never talked about LuminaHub here, i'll dedicate a different post to that). it was his sole decision to help with the designs and all. however, we've drifted apart, and i feel like asking him for the designs is like using him, considering the basis on which we just stopped talking.

i tried once to fix the drift, but it happened again, and no, i'm not going to have that conversation again because what exactly is the issue??

i tried asking him if he'll still be willing to design for LuminaHub, and the conversation didn't go well. i'm actually still very mad at the response i got (you know that exhaustion when you're angry with someone but you can't express it and you can't channel the energy elsewhere? yeah). i'm very angry, but it's fine.

(pardon me for not giving enough context, i don't know if it's proper, as this is my first time sharing things like this online.)

in short, if you're reading this and you'll be willing to design for my initiative, kindly reach out to me. i'll love to work with people i don't have personal relationships with.

that aside, i've met pretty chill people, and i really want to see how things will unfold with them.

— also, i miss my friends, so much. everybody is in university and going through a lot, and it's like we all don't have any consolation for one another. i've not even reached out to them. i really hope we all pull through. if you're seeing this and you're my friend, i'm rooting for you and i want you to get to the top. 🪻

— tomorrow, the ninth of april makes it two years since i lost my sister.

you know, grief is funny. it just randomly hits you, and the person you want to talk to about how you're feeling is not even there. i know that if ij was here, she'll know what to tell me, and i wouldn't have to deal with this much. the fact that i'm using past tense when talking about her is crazy. what a world.

if you're reading this post, it's one of three things:

— you're a subscriber to my substack.

— you came across this on your feed.

— you got the link from my whatsapp status. (i'm going to share this on my whatsapp status because it's an explanation for how absent i've been from everything recently. i've thought about it, and i need to step back from a lot of conversations, so i won't be using whatsapp as much. in former times, i'd have deleted the app and gone AWOL, but i'm a student now and i can't afford to do that so my classmates won't graduate without me.🙂)

if you read up to this point, i'm using this medium to ask you to pray for me, please. i need you to pray that i leave this place i am, and that i don't end up mediocre. pray that i actualize the life God has laid out for me and that i'll not give in to the devilish thoughts in my mind. pray that i don't backslide. pray that my mind is at peace and i get surrounded with love and i'm reminded of who i truly am. just please, pray for me.

send me money too. i'll appreciate it, but i really want prayers now.

if you have my contact, no—don't call me and don't send me any epistle on whatsapp. kindly drop anything you have to say under this post.

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once again, if you read up to here, pray for me, send me money, or send me good food.

i'll still post on substack and TikTok occasionally, as i don't particularly have a community there like whatsapp. besides, the only two things that keep me sane now are making videos and writing. i don't even have words in prayer anymore, i just bawl my eyes out through playlists.

writing this feels heavy, but i'm glad i'm taking this step and talking about it. six months is a long time to deal with something alone, and i'm tired. sharing this feels like a warm hug to myself, even though i really wish i was bawling my eyes out into my best friend's shoulder.

i'm going to be fine, i hope.

i'm writing this at 3:13 a.m. on the 8th of april. let's see when i'll eventually post it.

bye, my Lumi.

~L. 🪻🫧

if i was asked to describe what love feels like, i'd talk about you nonstop.

it’s funny how love seeps in through the smallest things.

like how i reach for my earbuds just to hear you properly,

because i love how your voice fills my head…

like it belongs there.

i think about you when i want to write love notes.

which is funny, because it means

i think about you more often than i admit.

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look… the thing is—

i’m finished.

a finished woman. 😅

i think i’ve always been,

i just didn’t know what i was finished for

until you.

i love you.

i love how you look at me

when i run my fingers along your jawline—

like you’re trying not to react,

but you always do.

i love the way you steal glances at me,

like i won’t notice…

but i do. i always do.

and sometimes i don’t even need to look—

i can feel your eyes on me

from across the room,

and it does something to me every time.

i love how you hold me

in the moments i’m breaking,

like you’re not trying to fix me,

just… stay.

and i love that you trust me enough

to be soft with me.

to let me see you without all the walls.

i love the way you look at me when i’m talking—

like i’m not just making noise,

like every word matters,

like i matter.

and maybe that’s what gets me the most…

that with you,

i don’t feel like i have to fight

to be seen.

i just… am.

and you’re there. 🤍

~L. 🪻🫧

My name is Adeife’, and I want to tell you about the University of Ibadan of my dreams.

To explain why, I must begin from the beginning. You should grab a drink and something to munch on, I have quite a story.

I was born to a woman who values the education of her children more than anything in the world. As a result, my academic journey has never been taken for granted. If I am to explain why the University of Ibadan is the school of my dreams, it is only fair that I give a brief history of my academic background.

I attended Charis Nursery and Primary School, where my academic foundation was laid, and later African Church Grammar School—a government secondary school that shaped my life, defined my discipline, and gave me direction. Moving from a structured private school to a classroom of over one hundred students was a shock, but in hindsight, it was necessary.

My mother made the right decision. I do not think my life would have made this much sense without that experience. I might have remained a gullible, overly dependent child, waiting for others to do things for me. Instead, I was forced to adapt, to think, and to grow.

That experience shaped my understanding of education—not merely as a system, but as a force that builds character, resilience, and perspective. It is from this understanding that I imagine the University of Ibadan of my dreams.

Every great institution begins as a dream in the mind of someone who believes it can be better than it is today. The University of Ibadan, Nigeria’s premier university, was once such a dream—and the University of Ibadan of my dream is one that continues to evolve in excellence, innovation, and purpose.

When the time came for me to choose a university, I assumed my mother would make the decision for me, as she always had. But this time, I was given autonomy.

I was presented with a list of prospective universities, and after careful consideration, I chose the University of Ibadan.

My criteria were simple: proximity to home, a serene environment, a relatively unfamiliar social space, and most importantly, a platform for something I love—debate. I have always been a debater, from primary school through secondary school, and it only made sense that I would aspire to speak on one of the biggest debate stages in Sub-Saharan Africa.

Unlike many others, I did not choose the University of Ibadan solely because of its “first and the best” reputation. While that legacy is significant, my decision was more personal. There may be other great universities, but for me, the University of Ibadan is the best choice—and that, in itself, makes it first.

Three weeks into my academic journey, I can confidently say that the University of Ibadan is living up to my expectations.

However, beyond meeting expectations, a truly great institution must intentionally shape what can be.

The University of Ibadan of my dream is one that understands that education is not merely about attendance, but about experience. I imagined it to be a school where Darwin's theory of natural selection is made practical – where the ratio of students to facilitates is not palatable and every student is compelled to maintain the space they struggled to earn. It's the survival of the fittest.

In the University of Ibadan of my dream, I expect lectures to be crowded, seeing different fine people, the ones who slay, the ones who just wear anything and the ones that are effortlessly pretty. i love seeing pretty people. i also expect to feel less intelligent after lectures (my motivation to study harder!)

I have heard stories about how UI is a boring school and most people are bookworms, I don't have a problem with it considering the fact that i'm not a very social person. however, there are quite a number of content creators in this set and i hope many of them are able to break that stereotype, myself inclusive. UI will not take our spark!! .

Beyond academics, the University of Ibadan of my dream fosters a culture of intellectual expression. It is not a place where students merely strive to pass examinations, but a space where ideas are questioned, voices are heard, and perspectives are sharpened. Debate, public speaking, and critical thinking are not sidelined—they are central. Because a university that does not teach its students how to think has failed, no matter how well it teaches them what to think.

The University of Ibadan of my dream is also one that preserves the individuality of its students. It does not suppress creativity or reduce them to rigid definitions of “bookworms.” Instead, it allows excellence to exist in different forms—academic, creative, intellectual, and expressive. It is a university that understands that brilliance is not one-dimensional.

Equally important is the relationship between lecturers and students. In my dream university, lecturers are not feared for cruelty, but respected for their knowledge and humanity. They challenge students without breaking them, guide without belittling, and teach with the awareness that their students are human beings navigating life.

Furthermore, the University of Ibadan of my dream rejects the glorification of suffering. Discipline and resilience are important, but unnecessary hardship should not be normalized as a rite of passage. A healthy learning environment does not weaken students—it strengthens them. Students should not have to constantly endure discomfort to prove their seriousness; rather, they should be supported in ways that allow them to thrive.

Ultimately, the University of Ibadan of my dream is a place that produces more than graduates—it produces thinkers, leaders, and changemakers. As rightly said by the immediate past President of the Students’ Union, Covenant Odedele, “Dear Freshman, the people who leave this school change Nigeria, the ideas that leave this school change the world. Welcome to the University of Ibadan.”

The University of Ibadan of my dream is not a distant fantasy—it is a continuous responsibility. It is built in the quality of our thoughts, the courage of our ideas, and the standards we choose to uphold.

And as I walk the grounds today, I do not only see what it is—I see what it can become.

how about you? what's the University of your dreams? doesn't have to be UI. what did you imagine your current university to be like?

listen to this song by Aimee Carty. 💕

hi, my lumi. 💕

how are you doing? 🙃

i don’t think i was ever truly excited about resumption. it started with indifference—quiet, almost stubborn indifference. then suddenly, urgency. rushing to the market because i had not gotten the things i needed. stuffing my life into bags the night before. folding, unfolding, remembering, forgetting. and before i could properly process it all, i was on the road—travelling from Abeokuta to Ibadan.

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and just like that, i resumed to the University of Ibadan.

this is my third week here.

and honestly? it has been… nice. calm. unexpectedly gentle.

i resumed on the 1st of march, a sunday. when i got to my hostel, i was the only one in my room. my roommates didn’t arrive until about four days later, so for a while, it was just me.

and the silence.

it wasn’t exactly peace—it was more like solitude. the kind that makes you aware of yourself. your thoughts echo louder. your presence feels heavier. but it was not bad. just… new.

eventually, people started to come in. conversations began. faces became familiar. and slowly, school started to feel like something i could settle into.

i have met quite a number of people. and they have been kind. genuinely.

one thing about school: you will walk.

my hostel is far from where i have my lectures—far from my faculty. so every morning feels like i am training for a marathon i did not sign up for. i walk, and walk, and keep walking, questioning my life choices with every step.

it stresses me out sometimes. i cannot lie.

but then, there is something about the rhythm of it. the movement. the quiet moments in between destinations.

and at night, i take walks too.

in fact, as i am writing this, i am outside. it is 9:28 p.m. i am somewhere along the road leading to the faculty of technology. the air is soft and breezy. the night sky is stretched wide above me, scattered with stars. there are about three couples around, existing in their own little worlds.

somewhere in the distance, there is the sharp, persistent sound of hammer against metal—construction still ongoing, even at this hour.

it is an odd combination of calm and noise. but it feels… alive.

my roommates are here now. there are three of them.

one is a fellow freshman, from the department of communication and language arts. the other two are in 400 level—engineering and law.

i do not have friends in my hostel yet.

not really.

but i think that is okay for now.

i miss my gap year.

i miss it more than i expected to.

if i am being completely honest, if i had the chance, i would take a gap year again without thinking twice. but life does not always pause just because you want it to.

so, we move.

my classmates are actually very chill. easy people. and that has made things lighter. i have taken some really nice pictures too—small, soft reminders that i am here, that i am living this moment.

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but not everything has been pleasant.

one thing that genuinely annoyed me when i resumed was the number of people constantly inviting freshmen to one fellowship, one conference, one programme, or another.

it was overwhelming.

everywhere you turn, someone is asking you to join something. attend something. commit to something. and even when you clearly say you are not interested, they persist.

and i kept wondering—why?

i understand that these conferences can be helpful. truly, i do. but expecting one person to attend twenty different programmes, all saying similar things, is unrealistic.

honestly, i even had an idea: why don’t they collaborate? organize one large, well-structured conference for freshmen. bring all these insights together in one place. create something intentional, something less overwhelming.

because sometimes, it just feels like noise.

and then there is the word “fresher.”

i don’t like it.

i don’t know why, but something about it just feels… off. i would rather be called a freshman, please. but i suppose this is nigeria, and some things are simply cultural.

still.

another thing that unsettles me is how normalized suffering seems to be.

you decide to buy food because you are tired, and someone says, “ah, fresher, you’re spending money.”

and i am just there, wondering—why do we romanticize discomfort so much?

yes, discipline is important. being mindful of money is important. but choosing convenience sometimes is not a crime. and it should not be something to be mocked.

if i am tired, i will eat.

and it will not be because i am a freshman. even in 500 level, i will still choose rest when i need it.

some of these mindsets… they bother me.

that being said, there are also behaviors i have seen that genuinely surprise me. the diversity of minds here is something else entirely. sometimes, you meet people and you cannot help but wonder how they think.

truly.

academically, it has not been as overwhelming as people made it sound.

yes, it can be stressful. for example, just yesterday, i had lectures from morning to 7 p.m. i was in school for almost twelve hours. it was exhausting.

but today? i had just one class.

i even dressed up early for a 9 a.m. lecture, only to find out it had been cancelled after i arrived. so, instead of going back, i made the most of it. i took pictures. let the effort count for something.

small wins.

one thing i am still unsure about is joining the literary and debating society in my hall.

a part of me wants to. deeply. it feels like home already. but another part of me is wondering if it is too early. should i wait till second semester? or even 200 level?

but then again, i want to speak during freshmen week.

so now, i am stuck between waiting and beginning.

overall, though, school has been… good.

not perfect. not extraordinary. but good in a quiet, steady way.

and maybe that is enough for now.

i will tell you more as it unfolds.

for now, this is me. here. adjusting. observing. becoming.

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bye, for now. 🙂

~L. 🪻🫧

this is for the women,

women of every land and every language,

women shaped by different skies and different histories,

yet bound by the quiet miracle of being.

this is for the women.

the african woman, crowned in melanin and heritage,

her waist adorned with beads that whisper tradition,

her strength rooted deep like the ancient earth beneath her feet.

the asian woman, graceful and enduring,

carrying centuries of wisdom in gentle eyes

and the quiet resilience of generations before her.

the european woman, bold and thoughtful,

her voice shaped by history, her stride marked by independence.

the british woman, dignified and composed,

walking the fine line between tradition and transformation.

the philippine woman, warm-hearted and steadfast,

her laughter bright as island sunlight,

her spirit soft yet unbreakable.

the brazilian woman, radiant and vibrant,

dancing through life with color, rhythm, and fearless joy.

the women whose hands build homes,

whose minds shape ideas,

whose hearts carry love into places the world forgets.

different languages, different cultures, different stories—

yet every woman holds within her the same quiet splendor:

the ability to create, to nurture, to endure, and to rise.

today, we honor the beauty of womanhood in all its forms—

soft and fierce, gentle and powerful,

ever becoming, ever shining.

happy international women’s day.

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~L. 🪻🫧

hi, my Lumi.😊

on the 22nd of November,2025. i posted this essay:

however, i've been thinking about it for a while so let me break it down for you. feminism is not about hating men. no, not at all. it’s about women being treated like humans—like actual humans—with dreams, goals, and the freedom to live their lives without being controlled, belittled, or underestimated. that’s it. simple, right? but here’s the problem: many people have twisted it. they’ve turned it into a game of who’s angrier, who can shout the loudest, who can post the most viral tweet about injustice. and in the process, the real point gets lost.

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see, God made men to lead, to be responsible, to protect. but many men, in the past and even now, have failed at that. they have misused that position, ignored it, or abused it. so, naturally, women step in. they step up to take care of what’s been left broken. they lead, they manage, they hold things together, and then the world points a finger and says, “ah, see what feminism did?” no. feminism didn’t break it. the failure was already there. the work feminism does is to fight for balance, fairness, and dignity.

here’s another thing: feminism is also about accountability. yes, even for women. yes, sometimes women fail too. sometimes we are complacent. sometimes we stay silent when we should speak. the problem isn’t always men. the problem is the system, the culture, the habits, and the choices we make—and yes, young girls, sometimes that includes us. part of being a feminist is noticing that and doing better.

and young men, listen: feminism isn’t here to make you feel attacked. it’s here to ask you to grow. to teach you responsibility, integrity, and respect. to prepare you to be a man who doesn’t abuse power but uses it wisely. because the world needs men like that, just as much as it needs women who are free to dream.

so when i say i’m a feminist, i mean i believe in equality, in fairness, in accountability. i mean i will call out wrongdoing, but i won’t use anger as a weapon. i mean i see the complexity of the world, and i refuse to oversimplify it into a war of men versus women.

feminism works when it fights for justice, not when it fights for clout. it works when it teaches young men to be better, when it encourages young women to know their worth, when it helps everyone navigate the broken systems we inherit. if we forget that, if we just scream and rage, then we are not building anything. we are simply repeating the mistakes of the past.

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so remember: feminism is not about being angry (you need anger sha). it’s about being aware, responsible, and brave. it’s about holding ourselves and others accountable. it’s about fixing the broken pieces without creating new cracks.

because if we don’t, we will always be fighting ghosts of our own making.

i feel like i'm not giving my exact thoughts in this essay, but it's fine.

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bye, my Lumi. 🤭

oh, how are you? 🥹

~L. 🪻🫧

hi, my Lumi. 🤭

when i was in secondary school, i was a member of the literary and debating society. not just a member — a top debater.

there was a friend of mine, also a top debater, who had a habit. a signature, really. she would begin many of her debates with the same quote:

“when the purpose of something is unknown, abuse or misuse is inevitable.”

back then, it made perfect sense. it still does.

if you don’t know what something is for, you will almost certainly use it wrongly.

but lately, that quote has been echoing in my head in a different way.

because what i am seeing now is not just the misuse of things whose purpose is unknown — it is the abuse of things whose purpose is very clear.

and that, somehow, feels worse.

we live in a time where purpose is not always hidden.

you join a group knowing what it stands for.

you accept an opportunity knowing what it demands.

you enter a relationship knowing what it requires.

you step into a role knowing the weight it carries.

and yet, people still treat these things carelessly. casually. selfishly.

that’s not ignorance.

that’s indifference.

i’ve come to realize that many of us do not lack understanding — we lack reverence.

we don’t lack information — we lack discipline.

we don’t lack clarity — we lack the will to maintain what we touch.

think about it.

people join communities for the title, not the responsibility.

they enter friendships for convenience, not commitment.

they accept leadership roles for visibility, not service.

they take opportunities “just to try,” without any intention to show up fully.

and when things fall apart, we say, “it didn’t work out.”

no.

it was mishandled.

personally, i try not to commit to what i cannot be consistent with.

that doesn’t mean i am perfect — i am human, and errors are inevitable.

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but there is a difference between human error and habitual negligence.

there is a difference between stumbling and not caring where you step.

psychology tells us that people value what they invest effort into.

things that cost us nothing are easier to discard.

and that explains a lot — why people mishandle access, relationships, platforms, even people.

they did not earn them, so they do not maintain them.

but knowing this does not excuse it.

because abuse is still abuse, even when it is common.

misuse is still misuse, even when it is normalized.

what bothers me most is this:

some people see opportunities not as responsibilities, but as experiments.

“let me try.”

try what?

try wasting time? try occupying space you won’t respect? try being present without being invested?

not everything is for trial and error.

some things require intention before entry.

relationships suffer from this deeply.

people want intimacy without accountability.

connection without consistency.

benefits without responsibility.

systems suffer too.

schools. churches. organizations. movements.

people understand the mission — and still show up late, half-hearted, entitled.

then wonder why nothing grows.

it’s not that the system failed.

it’s that the people within it refused to nurture it.

and here’s the uncomfortable truth:

if you keep mishandling good things, you will eventually stop being trusted with them.

not because life is unfair — but because stewardship matters.

so this is my challenge — to myself, and to anyone reading.

before you say yes, ask yourself if you’re willing to sustain it.

before you join, ask if you’re ready to contribute, not just consume.

before you accept, ask if you respect what is being handed to you.

because knowing the purpose and still abusing it is not ignorance.

it is carelessness dressed up as participation.

and we can do better.

we must.

you must, my Lumi. you must.

byeeee, my Lumi. 🥹🤭

~L. 🪻🫧

hi, my Lumi. 🤭

there are sentences that sound like explosions when you say them out loud.

this is one of them.

not because it is true for me in the literal sense, but because it unsettles something we have been taught to keep very tidy. it interrupts the quiet assumptions we carry without ever examining. it makes people uncomfortable enough to stop scrolling.

and that is the point.

i am not gay.

but i am deeply interested in why most of us are so certain that we are straight.

from the moment we are born, the world hands us a script. pink and blue. prince and princess. husband and wife. every love story we consume before we can even articulate desire is already decided for us. heterosexuality is not just common—it is assumed. defaulted. reinforced so consistently that it begins to feel like nature instead of culture.

psychology actually has a word for this: heteronormativity—the idea that heterosexual attraction is the normal, expected baseline of human experience. it is not neutral. it is taught.

research in developmental psychology shows that children begin to internalize societal norms about gender and attraction very early, often before adolescence. by the time desire awakens, it does not awaken in a vacuum—it awakens inside a pre-written story.

this makes me wonder:

how much of what we call “sexual orientation” is discovery, and how much of it is inheritance?

because here is my honest confusion:

i am a woman. i think men are beautiful. breathtaking, even. men are poetry in bone and voice and presence. so when someone asks me to imagine being romantically interested in another woman, my first response is genuinely—what is there?

and yet, i pause.

not because i secretly desire women, but because i realize how little space i have ever given myself to even consider the question. not seriously. not curiously. not without judgment.

most of us do not arrive at straightness through exploration—we arrive there through exposure. repeated, consistent, unquestioned exposure.

this is not a radical thought. even Alfred Kinsey, whose research shook the 20th century, argued that human sexuality exists on a spectrum rather than in fixed categories. his studies suggested that many people experience attraction that does not fit neatly into “straight” or “gay,” but cultural pressure often forces them to identify with what is most socially acceptable.

in simpler terms: people feel more things than they are allowed to name.

and no, this does not mean everyone is secretly gay. that would be another rigid story, just flipped. what it means is that certainty is often less explored than we pretend.

we live in a world where questioning your sexuality is seen as evidence that something is “wrong” with you. but questioning is not confusion—it is awareness. curiosity is not rebellion—it is honesty.

what fascinates me most is not desire, but permission.

who gets permission to explore without consequences?

who gets permission to wonder out loud?

who gets permission to say, “i don’t know yet,” without being rushed into a box?

for many people of faith, this question becomes heavier. desire is not just social—it is moralized. framed as obedience or rebellion. purity or perversion. and yet, scripture is full of a God who meets people in process, not conclusion.

God has never been afraid of human complexity.

we are.

psychologically speaking, repression does not erase desire—it distorts it. studies in mental health consistently show that suppressing parts of one’s identity, whether sexual, emotional, or relational, increases anxiety, shame, and internal conflict. curiosity denied does not disappear; it turns inward and becomes fear.

so maybe the question is not “am i gay?”

maybe the better question is “how much of myself have i actually allowed to be examined?”

this essay is not an invitation to abandon faith, values, or boundaries. it is an invitation to honesty. to admit that many of us did not choose straightness as much as we inherited it. that certainty sometimes arrives before self-knowledge.

and perhaps God is not as threatened by our questions as we think.

if God is truth, then truth cannot be afraid of investigation.

if God is love, then love cannot be fragile.

if God is present, then He is present even in our wondering.

you do not have to change your identity to ask better questions.

you do not have to cross lines to acknowledge that they exist.

you do not have to arrive anywhere today.

sometimes, the holiest thing you can say is:

i want to understand myself honestly.

and maybe that is not rebellion at all.

maybe that is reverence.

if you're reading this,i have a question.

what do you think makes people believe that they're gay?

i really want to understand. 😊

~L. 🪻🫧

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hi, my Lumi. 🤭

i’ve been thinking about broken things lately.

not the dramatic kind we post about when we want to sound deep, but the quiet kind—the kind you carry without announcing. the tiredness that settles in your bones. the parts of you that didn’t turn out the way you prayed they would. the cracks you learned to live around.

there’s a japanese concept called wabi sabi. it’s the art of finding beauty in imperfection, in things that are worn, cracked, unfinished. it doesn’t try to fix the crack. it highlights it. it says: this is where the story lives.

and honestly? God has always been wabi sabi.

scripture never presents Him as a collector of flawless people. He seems deeply uninterested in the polished, self-sufficient version of us. instead, He keeps showing up for the bruised, the uncertain, the ones who know they are lacking. “the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” not tolerates. not manages. close to.

psychology would say it makes sense. we only begin real healing when we acknowledge what hurts. repression delays healing. honesty invites it. vulnerability is not weakness—it is the doorway to integration. even therapists will tell you that wholeness is not the absence of wounds, but the ability to hold them with compassion.

God knew this long before psychology named it.

think about it. Jacob limps and becomes Israel. Moses stutters and becomes a spokesman for God. David is reckless, emotional, and deeply flawed—and still called a man after God’s heart. Peter denies Jesus publicly and still becomes the rock of the church. Paul calls himself weak, and God responds, “my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” not in strength. in weakness.

that sentence alone changes everything.

we spend so much of our lives trying to be presentable for God, as if He requires a résumé instead of a heart. we hide the mess. we pray edited prayers. we approach Him like a performance review instead of a relationship. but the pattern in scripture is clear: God does not recoil from brokenness. He is drawn to it.

maybe because brokenness is honest.

maybe because it doesn’t pretend.

maybe because cracks are openings—and light needs openings.

Jesus Himself was described as “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” God did not choose to enter humanity through comfort and control. He chose vulnerability. hunger. loss. pain. if God incarnate did not avoid brokenness, why do we think we must?

this isn’t me saying brokenness is good. pain hurts. loss wounds. disappointment reshapes you. i know. you know. God knows. but i am saying this: brokenness is not disqualifying. it is often the very place where God begins His most intimate work.

so if you feel like you are behind.

if you feel unfinished.

if you feel like parts of you are chipped and fragile and unworthy of being seen—

this is not the moment to hide from God. this is the moment to try Him.

not with fancy words. not with rehearsed faith. just with the truth. the kind you whisper because saying it out loud feels too heavy. “God, this is where i am.” that prayer alone is enough to begin.

God has a thing for broken things, Lumi.

He always has.

and if wabi sabi teaches us anything, it’s that the cracks don’t ruin the beauty—they reveal it.

maybe you don’t need to be fixed before you are loved.

maybe you are loved here.

and maybe—just maybe—that’s where healing starts….

~L. 🪻🫧

it will feel like arrival for me.

not the loud, cinematic kind — not fireworks or declarations shouted into the wind — but the quieter miracle of realizing i am no longer bracing myself for the ending before the beginning has fully settled. i will still be careful, yes. still aware that love is fragile and life is unkind. but with you, the fear will no longer sit in the driver’s seat. it will exist, acknowledged, but gently restrained.

for me, being in a relationship will feel like choosing softness without abandoning wisdom. it will feel like letting someone see the rooms of me i usually keep locked — the doubts, the faith, the strange thoughts i never edit before speaking. i will love with intention, not impulse. i will stay aware, emotionally present, and deeply honest, even when honesty costs me comfort.

i will feel safe enough to rest.

and for him — for you — being in a relationship with me will feel like learning patience without boredom. like being with someone who thinks deeply, feels intensely, and asks questions that do not always come with easy answers. it will feel like being seen closely, sometimes uncomfortably so, because i will notice everything: tone shifts, silences, hesitation, joy you try to downplay.

he will feel chosen.

not because i am loud about love, but because when i commit, i do so deliberately. my affection will not be scattered. my attention will not be careless. i will love him in ways that feel steady, thoughtful, and anchored — the kind of love that says i am here without needing to repeat it constantly.

for him, loving me will also mean learning my fear without trying to conquer it. understanding that when i worry about loss — about endings, about death, about loneliness — it is not because i doubt him, but because i have known absence too well. and he will feel trusted, because i will allow him to soothe those fears without surrendering myself to dependency.

for me, the relationship will feel like growth. like accountability lived out gently. like being challenged without being diminished. i will feel encouraged to become softer where i am rigid, braver where i hesitate, and more hopeful where i have learned to expect disappointment.

for him, it will feel like responsibility — not the suffocating kind, but the meaningful one. the kind that comes with knowing he is loving someone who believes that love is sacred, intentional, and worthy of effort. someone who believes God must be honored not only in prayer, but in behavior, restraint, and choice.

we will both feel seen.

we will both feel slightly undone — not broken, but altered. stretched into better versions of ourselves by proximity, by honesty, by care. being in a relationship will feel like learning each other slowly, reverently, without the violence of rushing.

and when the world grows loud, or uncertain, or cruel — it will feel like having someone who does not disappear. someone who stays not because it is easy, but because it is chosen.

that is what it would feel like.

for me.

and for him.

~L. 🪻🫧