Bipolar disorder is a lifelong mental health condition that causes extreme shifts in mood, activity levels, and daily functioning. This disorder is characterised by manic (excessive energy, rapid speech and racing thoughts, irritability, risky behaviour, etc) and depressive episodes (overwhelming sadness, feeling of worthlessness, sleep disruptions, fatigue, etc).

This is probably an extreme way to analogise the duality or multidimensionality of the human nature. But I find it fascinating that sometimes, when you think you know someone is exactly when they display a whole new side to them - a side you never imagined them capable of, a whole new personality carrying their faces. It can be an intoxicating experience if you actually love the person and enjoy getting to know them. Even their negative traits, however shocking, are like a brilliant scientific discovery. This discovery is only made because they're comfortable enough to let their guard down with you or because a situation demanded the exhibition of their alter.

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Captain America: Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.

Bruce Banner: That's my secret, Captain. I'm always angry.

I think my favourite Avenger/Marvel character might be the Hulk, and not because of his humongous biceps, triceps, and quadriceps. I just find it impressive that an otherwise mild, soft-spoken, and beautiful man can feel such an intense level of anger, aggression, or other such overwhelming emotion that he turns into a completely different creature.

The above dialogue is from a popular scene in The Avengers (2012) where the villains attack New York City. Dr. Bruce Banner has stopped suppressing his anger and instead, learned to control it, channeling it to destroy evil. In The Incredible Hulk (2008), they tell us how he develops this condition of turning into a big, green monster: unintentional self-injection of a poisonous serum and exposure to gamma radiation. This causes his cells to mutate and react out of proportion when he's angry hence, the Hulk. In both versions, he's unable to form deep, especially romantic, attachments because he's afraid of hurting someone he might love thereby, leading a very secluded life, formulating a way to keep his alter in check - until the world needed saving.

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We may not all have these extreme psychological disorders and we may not all be the Hulk, but we're all different people in the same individual bodies. You have done things that after doing them, you could not recognise yourself. What led you to step out of yourself and perform those actions and how you felt after tells a story about who you are.

And if you've never let go of the self you know to discover the self you don't, I think you should - it's such a refreshing mind shift. Just make sure your alter isn't green.

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What have I been reading?

1. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd: A Hercule Poirot Mystery by Agatha Christie

2. Do Not Be True To Yourself by Kevin DeYoung

3. https://acatalepsy1.substack.com/p/i-wish-i-didnt-take-things-so-personally?utm_source=direct&r=9wy2y&utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=post%20viewer

What have I been listening to?

1. Questioning Christianity: Faith and Proof Ep 1 & 2 by Tim Keller https://youtu.be/qOE6jJ4EGqg?si=N_1qL5vqsLfyhowk

2. Love & War album by Kwabs

3. Lost & Found album by Jorja Smith

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What have I been reading?

1. The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

2. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb

What have I been listening to?

1. Mirror by Madison Ryann Ward

2. I'm Sorry by Kenké

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You want everything you can get by every means possible, fighting for a life that seems to be outside your grip. A single touch and the world fades into dust seeping through your fingers.

It dawns on you the fact that no one has everything, something will always be missing, and the more you're blessed the more cursed you become. But now, you're in too deep in your desires, knees bent on an altar you constructed on which you erect the idols of your heart.

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I do not think there is any blessing that does not come with a curse. But is it possible to look past the "burden" the blessing brings and focus on the bigger picture? Like getting a new job with higher pay. This would swallow up most of your meaningful time. You might also come to the realisation that more money isn't the cure for your unhappiness. Children are the biggest blessings ever, but the weight of pregnancy and the trauma of childbirth can be very difficult realities. Also, it takes literally everything in and out of you to raise them and make sure they don't die on your watch and out of sight. They come with their own special brand of chaos that somehow adds colour to your life. The blessing of friendships comes with its own curse too. Your ugliest, most embarrassing parts are on display without your consent. It is in friendships and interactions with others that you realise you really are a bad person. Relationships mean your values, opinions, and beliefs are challenged - and not always in the best way. Finally buying or even renting a house to live in is a real blessing, but then you have to renovate, buy furniture, call the maintenance staff, make it a home - all adding to the cost of the house itself.

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But these are blessings most people pray for, aren't they? It's one of life's great paradoxes I find fascinating; the co-existence of good and evil, blessings and curses, joy and sadness. The more you get, the more you're burdened therefore, the more you want. The cycle goes on and on for we insatiable creatures. At the end of the day, I blame Adam, the pioneer of The Fall. Somehow, the blessings seem to outweigh the curses because we keep choosing the good despite the inevitable "bad" it brings. We have simply accepted that there is a cost for good things. Our bodies and minds have been stretched through experience and time to adapt and figure out how to survive while relishing the the blessings of this world.

One day though, life will no longer be this way. Those who find their ultimate satisfaction in Jesus would experience the joy of being rid from this world of endless needs and unmet desires and would be comforted with eternal contentment and pleasure at the glorious beauty of their Saviour.

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While you have your breath, maybe slow down and ponder on things with eternal value. This world is passing away.

Spending time with children formally and informally has helped me appreciate the simplicity and purity of life a little more. It has opened my eyes to embrace the child in me. Over the course of time, I've seen and continue to see God steering my desire towards impacting the lives of children one way or another.

If you pay close attention, you can have more than a hundred opportunities to experience the fascinating beauty of life afresh through the eyes of a child. My almost one-year-old niece dances bounces in sheer excitement with her hands up high to any genre of music even if it's a hymn. When she was six months old, her father tested her taste buds with a slice of red, juicy watermelon. I enjoyed watching her curious eyes light up and her tiny hands grab the air when she realised that indeed, her taste buds didn't mind. She sucked on the melon like it was the best thing after breastmilk. It really is a worthy inspiration to enjoy every new experience as much as sanity permits.

Children have a wild imagination and may bite your ear off with countless made up stories of monsters, warrior princesses, super heroes, and incredibly unrealistic scenarios. Plus, they say the darnest things in the most matter-of-fact way that make you question your authority as an adult.

When my niblings were a little younger, and I was on babysitting duty without their parents, they would follow me everywhere around the house, including the restroom. It was hard to sneak out for a solo walk; they were like robots programmed to raise an alarm at the slightest movement. They still do sometimes, but they now know better than to enter the restroom with me. If you're planning to have kids, just gladly mark out "privacy" from your dictionary.

Children tail your every move like little detectives because they are curious, soaking in details of your actions and words because this “mundane” world is fascinating to them. They also do this because they feel safe in your presence - which is the biggest compliment. They may be going through a developmental milestone or an illness or in an unfamiliar environment, and your presence is what soothes and comforts them.

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The problem with sin is that it never acts in isolation; it begets itself and there will always be victims.

All these and more make me wonder and empathise with what the recently forty-six abducted school children and staff in SW Nigeria must be going through at every waking moment. They have been brutally pulled away from the sense of safety they are familiar with into something deep, dark, and sinister - something way beyond the grasp of their wild imaginations. They did not choose to be in the haunting presence of their abductors yet, there they are. The secure attachment of the children is shut down and in its place, a searing anxiety. The world that was once fascinating and a home to explore has now become a deep, ugly crater of cold fear and grief etched in the ground of uncertainty. This is a major traumatic life event that will most likely leave them scarred for the rest of their lives. How would this play in their adulthood if they make it out alive? Would Children's Day always be a nightmare for them? Would they be moved to become agents of positive change in society? Or would the leaders of tomorrow become like their oppressors?

They have witnessed the gruesome executions and terror of those in their midst which tells them that there's no one to protect, no safety net to fall on. It's a shocking reality they're forced to come to terms with from an age as young as two years. No one can even begin to imagine what the families of all these victims must feel - the constant apprehension, the sleeplessness, the prayers choked out through hot tears of despair, the hopelessness, the anger.

This is not the first time, nor the tenth, nor the one hundredth time such a tragic and appalling phenomenon of insecurity is happening in our nation, and a lot more continues to happen everyday. They say, “play your part.” But we don't have the script. The only actors are those in the seat of power, the very ones directing the whole show.

How long can we protect our children from the evils of the world? How long can we keep them safe?

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As I let out the steam from my anger and frustration, I'm left with nothing but a pathetic cry to the only One who can thwart the plans of evil doers and rescue the little children he so proclaims to love and every other vulnerable individual. They are made in his image, an inheritance from God himself, a gift he gives as a reward to those who seek them. Surely, he will fight for the weak. I can trust that the King of the universe is in charge of even the kings of this world who are disillusioned with a god complex. I don't know how nor do I have a say in his wisdom to overthrow these perpetrators. But God is who He says He is and that is all that matters.

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What have I been reading?

How to Help People Change: The Four-Step Biblical Process by Jay E. Adams

Whenever my nephew wore his packet shirts, he would struggle with this same problem, but he seemed to enjoy the process of learning to figure out where the holes for each button belonged, as he would refuse any help whatsoever because "I know what I'm dooweeennn". He didn't always get it right, but now, he never gets it wrong. And that's growth.

How do we grow? By enjoying the process, being patient with it, trying again when we fail, and learning from our failures. It is very interesting to observe how simple this is from the experience of a preschooler. They seem to be born with a natural inclination for growth, where they are barely thinking about it.

If this is so, that means we all have what it takes to grow in every facet of our lives - physically, spiritually, intellectually, emotionally. And it's ironic that growth demands patience, calm, and consistency, which many of us struggle with. But we're learning and growing, aren't we?

My favourite thing about growth is how it happens without you noticing. Like magic. But it's never magic, it's just you working through the process over a period of time and coming out on the other side a sounder and more mature individual. The evidence of growth is in comparative retrospect; you look back and ask, “Would the me of X years ago be proud of the me of today?”

I didn't always enjoy my female friendships as a child and teenager, what with the cliques and favouritisms. Because of them, I tried to get into Barbie, but I preferred huge stuffed animals and toy airplanes and red jeeps, and Legos. Honestly, they were more practical and provided a vaster room for the imagination. If I was ever disliked in a new school, it was by girls like me, with biting remarks or feigned ignorance of my existence. Fitting in was hard and I only had a couple female friends in church who often had one childish beef or another. Somehow, I always ended up in the position of peacemaker. Anyway, blessed are the peacemakers. Most of these female friendships didn't make it to adulthood due to toxic atmospheres that nearly drowned my (our) self-esteem.

But over the past few years, I've been very fortunate to have good women around me. I've come to understand that there are certain traits and expectations amongst ourselves. For example, some women like physical contact, to hold each other in public for no obvious reason. This one was a bit awkward for me at first, but the more I liked someone, the easier it got. We also like to talk, really talk, investing in each other's lives like we could solve all our problems and trauma from the past. I think there's just something very comforting about sharing with someone like you; the empathy feels a lot more concrete than if it were a man. And my personal favourite is the unspoken rule of being a female stranger's escort when she needs to relieve herself in the absence of a restroom or acting as her bodyguard in the eye of potential danger.

It was women who taught me deeper aspects of God's ways that have changed my life, who let me cry on their shoulder in my most despondent state, who prayed me back to life, who were always generous to me with their time, presence, and possessions, who have stood naked before me and let me poke holes into their most vulnerable parts just so I could learn how to grieve, who have also seen my nakedness, the scars and the awkwardness of my body and yet tenderly covered me with garments of affection, who looked at me with all my flaws and decided they wanted me in their lives for life. I've learnt to see and appreciate the beauty of womanhood and femininity through their own world. I've come to sit with and love the hardness, pain, joy, sacrifices, and satisfaction of it all.

My mother and I never saw eye-to-eye on many things, growing up. I was angry with her as a child because she was the type to impose her will on you especially if you were under her care. And what child doesn't want their taste of independence, to slip from the grip of their African parent and be free? I guess it's difficult to bond with your only daughter who thought she was very wise, much wiser than you, and set in her ways.

Perhaps, it was after I graduated university that I realised she was right about a lot of things. Maybe her approach wasn't the best, but it was the way she knew. Sometime after my national service, I also started to realise that every grown woman, including my mother, is just a little girl inside. Some are little girls who were forced to grow up too soon and had to bury some past trauma beneath the struggle to keep up with adulthood, some are little girls pausing their dreams to cater to higher things like family, living vicariously through children who would be better than they are. Maybe some grew up learning that love was pain; maybe they had too much love to give and therefore, too much pain to inflict. And maybe some of these women figured out a way to heal their inner child and ooze that love to their own children.

I wouldn't choose my mother to be my mother in another lifetime, I'd rather be her mother. I'd allow that little girl to grow free and secure, I'd lead her to the Cross, and she would never need to fix her inner child because she wouldn't be broken.

I watch with fascination at my niece, who's now three years old, when she plays “mummy” with her teddy, wrapping it with a piece of cloth on her back while pretending to make dinner with her toys. Or when she picks her mother's scarf and asks her to tie it on her head while slyly making sure everyone is watching. Or when she steals my handbag and parades round the house with it the way she's seen older women do. She reminds me of when I would also steal my mother's jewellery and lip gloss because it is our universal right as daughters to steal our mother's prized possessions. Somehow, in these moments we're making memories of, we're also teaching the next generation things about womanhood. And yes, it's more than cooking and babies and fashion. It is a matter of where the heart is. These elements will only serve as background to accompany what the heart already believes.

I love women and I love being a woman. We are such a unique craftsmanship of God's image (and maybe that's why I tend to “blush” more to compliments from women). I look at all the women in my life and I see, for each of them, a well of many lives lived with stories worth more than gold. For every woman I meet, I know small talk won't do; I want to scratch the surface of their existence and like I said, we really like to talk to each other.

If I ever have a daughter, I will tell her that “charm is deceptive, beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised”. I hope she's better than me in her faith and morals. I hope she sees that I've learned so much and am learning more because she deserves the best version of me. I hope she feels my prayers carry her as God establishes his relationship with her. I hope she's everything I never will be.

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What Have I Been Reading?

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

What Have I Been Listening To?

Thank you Jesus For the Blood by Charity Gayle (https://youtu.be/dhU-Omwg2rU?si=CJJpu_NM9tNbbXN8)

State Lines by Novo Amor was just ending and Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran was just about to start when I noticed a little grey pigeon waddling on a fence. I love capturing birds - with my camera, that is. I see them as the vibrance of the animal kingdom: gorgeous, vicious, majestic, nurturing, humorous, and free. I held still as if it would hear me breathing and fly away. Carefully, but quickly, I unlocked my phone and touched the camera icon. I took a few shots in random succession before the creature got bored of posing for me and hopped into the air, spreading its wings into the golden sun.

Listening to love songs while finding something I love in a random way is how I think I'm going to fall gracefully in love one of these days. I find that randomness is exciting in its serendipitous nature. But love isn't just about the excitement, is it?

To love is to suffer, they say. Loving forces us to care about people or things that will hurt and disappoint us. Yet, we cannot help it. It is embedded in our psyche, our instinctive need for survival and belongingness.

Sometimes, we love things that won't stay, things that we cannot hold down. It forces us to realise that you can simply love something without owning it, without touching it, only from a distance; like the sun, like the bird. Maybe what they say in Nollywood is true: to love is to let go. And oftentime, we're not really given a choice in the matter. The pain knocks you down before you can process it. Yes, indeed, to love is to suffer.

I like to believe I'm a romantic without the hopelessness. I believe in love, but I don't think we are eternally tethered to a one. We're all very replaceable one way or another. This is why we mustn't replace God with people. God never leaves those who love him.

I question my desire to randomly find love because nothing is random on God's green earth. His providence is sovereign and that's what I'm really excited about: what new phase of my life is about to unfold next?

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What have I been reading?

1. More academic materials (all under duress)

2. Keep A Quiet Heart by Elisabeth Elliot

What have I been listening to?

1. Storm by Antonio Vivaldi, Aaron Sinclair https://open.spotify.com/track/6JNrZTngsgMzHVxKXAUt4A?si=CFK8NkvQTAeMUu4e6wwW1Q&pi=s1nr9BREQA-O9

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The first work week of January was pure, undiluted torture for me. I felt like I was being forced to stay alive, almost as if someone had a gun pinned to my head, ironically forcing me to keep living and bear the burden of existence. If I didn't live, I was going to die. I just wasn't ready for time to go yet. I wanted to stay still, pause time, have a conversation with "2026", telling her about my plans and dreams and how I wish life had stopped at 2015 or 2019 or 2024. I never knew 2026 existed until the 1st of January. Ten years ago, 2026 would have sounded like 2040 now. I didn't know I would live this long. I wonder how much more time I'll be granted.

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In a recent teaching of The Unprofitable Servant by one of my pastors, the slothful servant buried his one talent and allowed time pass him by until his master returned (Matt 5:14-28). The realization hit me like a sand bag that most of the time we waste is actually out of laziness. We can be so lazy to the point of deceiving ourselves into not doing what we ought to do. The servant gave the grand excuse that his master was wicked, reaping where he did not sow and whatnot meanwhile, it was because of his laziness (as the master addressed) that he convinced himself that his master was wicked and didn't deserve a multiplied talent. This reminds me of Prov 26:13: The sluggard says, “There is a lion in the road! There is a lion in the streets!” I've had to ask myself the uncomfortable question - "Am I unready to face the new year because I still need time to reset or am I just reluctant/lazy to stand against all its demands?" Time isn't going to wait for me and I must not meet my Master empty-handed.

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In a scene from The Equaliser 2, Robert McCall, played by Denzel Washington, says, "If you don't remember someone out loud, they die twice." If you know me and have had some lengthy conversation with me, you probably know that I have a brother who passed away from his earthly body ten years ago. Talking about him, especially with people that knew him, sort of relives his beautiful life and sets a reminder that he's only gone from here below, but his soul is still very much alive above and in our hearts. To commemorate his ten-year passing, my younger brother miraculously dug up old pictures and memories I thought we'd buried with him. Pictures of us all from before that fateful year when we were "complete". I was ravaged by a deep sense of grief and nostalgia. So many memories that I could feel, but never quite touch. Memories of voices, sounds of laughter, words spoken, music played, the scents of my mother's cooking; memories of happier times and sad times masked by happy times.

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Time is such a beautifully painful concept, very rude in the way it shows no mercy. It is said that time heals all wounds, but someone once said to me that it is not time that heals, but what you do within that time. I wonder, though, does the grief ever end? Or does it just metamorphose into something different? Ten years is a long time. Twenty years is even longer. But the years are also short because you look back wistfully and you can still see clearly who you were smiling back at you.

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It is a new week, in a new month, in a new year. So I guess I'll take this as my sign to move on from 2025 and embrace the joys, losses, and lessons waiting for me in 2026, while, by God's grace, redeeming the time...

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What have I been reading?

Lots of academic materials (very much against my will).

What have I been listening to?

Check out my jazz playlist on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4S8HJuU4DsbLNUVzPJB76k?si=Eo3seDEyQeml0IbpCPEmqQ

This year, I learned how to dive, convinced myself that 10ft. in the deep end wouldn't kill me as long as I could apply the physics; positioning every inch of my body, streamlined against the current so that the water would bend its waves to my will. Instead of dying, I only got a bit of water in my sinuses and continuous practice saw my muscles building endurance, which some might call fighting for dear life (what doesn't kill you only makes you -).

In 2025, life has forced me to dive into the deep end. Several times, I've had to just let go and find out what's under the water. I've also learned to live the paradox of plucking myself out of the picture and showing up when necessary, because it was never about me in the first place. I've learned that I'm the biggest threat to my goals. I make myself so big and the center of my world in the moments where I'm supposed to show up for other people, on behalf of God, and for my benefit. And why? Because I'm too shy or paralysed by anxiety. But when I flip my view, it becomes less about me and more about something higher - which is why it was possible for me to shock myself when I performed on stage in different capacities more than twice, took a trip to a strange land for a good cause, lost my luggage on the way - but moved on, learned to drive, took on a Masters program, made amazing friends, etc. In this life, you can just do things. One of my pastors says, "Think less of yourself and let your thoughts be consumed with Him." If you limit your scope to be about you all the time, one of two things will happen: (1) you wouldn't do much at all or (2) you'd do everything for the wrong reasons.

One of my brothers used to say, "Don't think, just do". And contrary to popular belief, I find some wisdom in that. Sometimes, take a plunge into the deep without hesitating for a second because a second will turn into minutes, and minutes have a funny way of turning into years. And of course, I'm not saying you should take hasty, unassessed decisions and neither was my brother. But there are times that you already understand the physics and, yet, refuse to dive.

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I'm grateful for several things in this year, like family. Being able to spend a lot of time with my niblings and be involved in their lives as they grow has given me so much satisfaction and a deep sense of joy. Listening to them repeat what they learn consciously and subconsciously has really tickled me. One night, my five-year-old nephew chastised me gently when I didn't join them for prayers, "Next time, you have to pray with us so that your soul doesn't get weak and hungry." I haven't missed one evening of devotion since.

I'm learning to thoroughly enjoy the little moments, so if you ever find a photo of me on the Internet shouting with passion in the middle of a game, try to understand. I want to feel my feet against the ground, press them into the sand, wiggle my toes in the dirt, and remember that I'm alive right now - this moment will never come again. Inhale. Exhale.

This has been one of the most challenging and emotionally taut years for me, but in retrospect, one of the very best. Counting your blessings actually works, guys.

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Swimming is the closest thing to flying. Spread your wings and enjoy the moments that come, live outside of your comfort zone for a bit. Dive into the deep end of the water and see how high it carries you. If you can't fly, swim!

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Top songs in 2025 according to Spotify Wrapped: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37i9dQZEVXcZAZgEm3N3QT?si=_PDWgYFMQm-EYKFjb3iD1g&pi=1oX1gesPQ4We4

What have I been reading?

1. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

2. Why You Act The Way You Do by Tim LaHaye

3. The Reckoning by Beverly Lewis

What have I been watching?

1. Solo Levelling (anime)

2. All Her Fault (limited series)

3. Attack on Titans (anime)

4. Insomnia (limited series)

5. Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery (full length movie)

...

Since I became aware of the human existence, I've been faced with the idea of death or as popularly called, "resting in peace". Life is full of loss, chaos, and heartaches and I've found that the longer you live on this earth, the more grief you must carry - which is why I don't understand people who want to spend up to 120 years here. According to the world, to rest in peace is to sleep forever without the interruption of waking up to the daily challenges of life. The phrase is meant to be a comfort to those who are left bereft, but I've often wondered how many people are actually resting in peace.

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A wise woman once told me, "death is in our pockets." We carry it throughout our lives as it awaits God's time. Yes, God's time. It is a vividly scary reality people often try to avoid like a child trying to run away from his shadow. We must settle the matter here and now.

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We are understandably scared of the unknown - of starting over or ending things, or attempting things for the very first time. They are unknown because we haven't done them before and therefore, cannot tell the result or else, we would have a measure of control over how these things would affect us. Just like death. Only if we had people come back to tell us what heaven or hell is like - or if there's an afterlife at all.

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Don't misunderstand me, I'm not praying to die. I'm too excited about life right now to desire death. However, I mustn't live like this is my final bus stop. I'm a pilgrim in this world which means sometimes, as I go, I'm going to lose my possessions because nothing actually belongs to me and I'm not taking anything with me when I leave anyway. It also means I can't pitch a tent here when I have a mansion waiting for me.

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All this talk of death may give you gossebumps, but it should also make you question your mortality, what really matters now, and your standing with God.

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What have I been reading?

1. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

2. Cursed Daughters by Oyinkan Braithwaite

What have I been listening to?

Song album: in defence of my own happiness by Joy Oladokun

https://open.spotify.com/album/3dzxXQLyHYrhKYWcKrnFAZ?si=vid6v2WhT0GViCdD6C7v3g

These friends see you for who you are - flaws, quirks, temperaments - and simply decide that they want to invade your life (in a good way, of course) because in you, they see the beauty you may be unable to see in yourself. God has so imbedded in our make-up the desire for community and love - He said it was not good for Adam to be alone, Elijah was suicidal because he thought he was the last righteous prophet on Earth, Paul had faithful friends during his darkest days in prison, and Christ, with his many disciples, was abandoned at the moment he needed them most. He felt the compounded weight of loneliness and grief from Judas' betrayal to Peter's denial, and to his Father turning his back on him. Disappointments or heartbreaks in any relationship is inevitable, but in friendship, it can be excruciatingly traumatising.

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In theatre, a character must let go of self, his ego, in order to play his part, and embrace the personality of someone else as if he were the one. But in true friendships, one must drop the act, strip the façade that pretends to be a person and instead, bask in the confident acceptance of another. In this kind of relationship, there is no overthinking or anxiety about how to act, you simply are with the people that would love, refine, and sharpen you. Subconsciously, we often give a version of ourselves to people, depending on what we believe their opinions are about us.

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When I think of friendship, a few people immediately spring to mind - those that somehow made their way into my life without any warning, knocked on the door of my heart but didn't wait for a response - because one may never have come - and sat with me in the deafening silence, danced with me in the chaos, and persisted through the distance. And there are those of whose soul my heart gradually grew to adore, almost like the experience of falling in love; the awareness of their presence in a crowded room and the eagerness to make my way to them, being there for them in thick and trying times. It really is such a privilege to be loved and to love.

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Recently, I've been thinking about the best way to make friends; is it OK to, when you've known someone for a period of time and gotten to like them, ask for their hand in friendship or, as is more common, simply let the relationship evolve into whatever it is meant to be? So far, I have concluded that either way works depending on how both parties feel about each other.

Some of the friendships I really enjoy watching blossom are two young men who are as comfortable with each other as blood brothers; an elderly person and a much younger person - one learning from the past and another embracing the future; two young women investing in and intentionally loving each other; a group of little children that find themselves at a tender age and persist through decades of storms, victories, tears, and love.

Friendship is such a covenantal experience. It is making a sacred vow to never leave or forsake the other person. Sounds familiar? I think of several Biblical examples of friendship and there is one that particularly stands out to me which is James 2:23. It highlights the relationship between God and Abraham. God himself called Abraham “my friend” - the highest title given to a human being - because of his obedience and faith, which gave birth to unquestioned devotion and intimacy. One can almost be envious of their friendship. The fact that God called him friend even in other Scriptures reinforces the importance of the covenant between them.

...

As much as we love our friends and friendships, we must be careful not to idolise them. At the end of the day, they are just people. Flawed men like you. Imagine being friends with the sinless God. He really is the best friend you could ever have, what with him dying for your sake - he said: greater love has no one than this, than someone lay down his life for his friends. He knows what it's like to be abandoned by friends, forsaken by a Father, and judged wrongly by the world for crimes he didn't commit. Such a friend can sympathise in our weaknesses. You don't need to be envious of Abraham, you can also gain that intimacy with Christ through his blood if you believe.

…

What Have I Been Reading?

1. The Heirloom by Beverly Lewis

2. Jazz by Toni Morrison

What Have I Been Listening To?

1. Cheers to the Fall album by Andra Day

2. Embody Me by Novo Amor

https://spotify.link/eki0yIMXUXb

https://spotify.link/svx48CKXUXb

When you’re younger, you can hop from place to place and not care too much where you end up next. You can spread your wings and jab at anyone who tries to clip them. When you’re younger, change isn’t so scary, it’s adventurous. You get to embrace new things, leave your mark everywhere you go (shout out to MTN), carrying the souls of people without the responsibility of keeping them.

Eventually, you start to lose that spark. The excitement for lone adventures starts to ebb, and before you know it, you’re craving more stability - someone to do life with, a place to settle in instead of living out of a duffel bag, people to call family instead of meeting strangers you'll never see again on the bus. You slow down on life and look for a community to join, hoping to find your happily ever after.

...

Someone once made an analogy between people and trees, referencing Psalm 1. I don’t remember exactly the words that were used, but they said something along the lines of: “some trees are rooted in place, planted at the best location - by the rivers of water. They fruit well and flourish in due season because of that. And this is how some human beings are or desire to be.” Of course, there's a prerequisite for “flourishing like a tree planted by the rivers of water” in Psalm 1. But imagine the roots of a tree stretching along underground, clutching the earth, its epidermis absorbing all the nutrients needed for it to grow. It’s the same way we humans want to be attached to a place to find nourishment and growth. We all desire it one way or another, despite the fear that makes us defensive or erodes our trust or makes us shield our vulnerabilities from others.

Change is actually very inevitable, the constant phenomena in all our existence. Some of us would be called to go on certain life adventures that require us to leave those we’ve come to care about, some of us would adventure into the “Great Beyond” and break the hearts of those who love us, while some of us would have to make tough life choices that may rock our world in the most unimaginable ways. But these are the very things that will shape us into our most true selves.

The timbre of my voice lulls her to sleep as I watch her two older siblings play. Hours later, she's up and needs to feed. Thankfully, her mother is also now awake or else, poor baby would be searching for milk where there's none. After a round of feeding, diaper change, and simply adoring her breathtaking beauty, I leave her with her mother and go to stretch my limbs and spine.

If you ask me, "How has life been lately?" I might respond with the above and maybe add "trying not to let capitalism finish me." I enjoy looking after my niblings although, it sometimes comes with a bit of awkwardness. For example, my nephew asked me, the other day, why my skin is always so "black." I responded that it's because God created me this way by adding extra melanin. This child dared to ask why, but I told him to take it up with God Himself.

...

Throughout the year, my heart has dangled between an enthusiasm for this life and a desire for the afterlife. Truthfully, I confess that the pendulum of my heart leans significantly more towards the latter. I have thought that life is vain, pointless, and ultimately tragic. I had to wrestle with the fact that life is also a gift from God, a privilege I get every time I peel my eyes open in the morning. So, I've settled to make my every activity and pursuit have eternal meaning, even as He helps me. The uselessness of life is removed when the Creator of that same life is placed at its center.

...

In my head, I like to romanticise rainfall - when I'm safely under my roof. I'll wear an oversized sweater, have a mug of hot black tea, and sit close to the window, simply enjoying the birth cries of pregnant clouds. When I get bored, I may pick a book and allow myself to doze off. It is very satisfying, really.

But not everyone likes the rainy season. It comes with many sicknesses like the flu, malaria (somehow, the mosquitoes decide to be particularly fruitful and multiply), fever - and many inconveniences like the sudden and unexpected heavy rainfall in the middle of public transit. I've experienced all of these, but the season is still my favourite Nigerian weather. The gloom is demanding and suffers no resistance. In a warped (perhaps) manner, this is simply comforting.

The best part about the rain is what happens after - the sign of the rainbow which is sometimes shockingly vivid and sometimes achingly faint. It is a mercifully constant reminder that the Lord is a covenant-keeping God!

...

I'm looking forward to certain endings, because with them come new beginnings. And those new beginnings will end again, paving ways for more new beginnings. I'm starting from the end and ending at the beginning because I'm saving the best for last.

.……..

What have I been reading?

1. Signed, Sealed, Delivered by J. V. Fesko

2. Fifty-fifty by Steve Cavanagh

3. Sacred Bond: Covenant Theology Explored by Michael G. Brown & Zach Keele

What have I been listening to?

• My friend created a pretty cool Spotify playlist for music lovers:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3IMf8y3KYjCCTYYMtJbkQI?si=MVEmpUCpSyCFEnUIjAqAHA&pi=okKaSWSKT_66j

They say never Google your symptoms, but what if I suffer from procrastination, ADHD, executive dysfunction, depression, or just plain laziness? Whatever it is, it all seems to be layered under the cloak of anxious paralysis, a consequence of grief.

I call time a midget with quick limbs. It never catches up to me nor I to it. There's a deep sense of wasting away in sadness that builds a quiet storm within, the only expression is a paradoxical vision of me sitting still while anxiously tapping my foot against the floor.

Loneliness. No one talks enough about the loneliness that comes with grief and the exhaustion from trying to stay happy. People surround me in comfort, but I'm still the only one experiencing this trauma they're blessed to never understand. I see their eyes, confused about what to say. Suddenly, I'm an eggshell to tip-toe around; they can't stand the burden of cleaning up spilled yolk. They hold my hand, but my hands are calloused from scratching the surface, trying to claw my way out for air. After a while, they leave with their questions and whispered prayers. I see them from afar chattering amongst themselves, happy in their ignorant bubbles. They possess a connection in their midst that keeps the melancholy away. But I can't get a word in because I don't know who I am without this sadness; I don't want to be the joy killer even as my joy is already dead. So I have to find a way to engage, rise above myself, discuss things I don't care about, laugh on demand, nod appropriately, smile to temper the awkwardness. The loneliness deepens. I have no space to grieve enough for my soul to be dragged out of my body and experience a sense of catharsis. I'm expected to be this and that, here and there. And perhaps, I once saw it as a good distraction, but you cannot fix a bullet wound with a band-aid.

It comes with the grief - the guilt; wrapped together like a packaged deal. The guilt of not being a good enough friend, daughter, sister, team player. How do I carry you when I cannot even hold myself up? You look at me with anger, entitlement. I'm trying, Mother, I am! You gaze at me with pity - but I'm trying, my brother, close your eyes! You stare at me, attempting to decipher my thoughts, wondering why I'm useless, a glimpse of disdain in your eyes. But you must see that I'm trying, my friend, don't you see?!

When I can't get a grip on my life, I spiral into an unending loop of overlapping thoughts. I curse myself, curse everyone in my life and everyone remotely connected to me, curse my childhood and the people who existed then, be disgusted by the slightest expression of folly, curse the world, and wish for death - the only reprieve in the current circumstance. This affair is like a mad man digging the ground with a knife, senselessly hoping to strike gold.

Grief is an earthquake that has shaken my world and crushed into debris everything I love along with all my idols. To crawl from under the rubble and save myself is damn near impossible. Grief is such a wicked thing - it chokes you, makes your heart bleed, your soul ache, and folds you into itself, consuming you with all the love you never got to give right up until you beg for death.

We all have our little gods, idols positioned somewhere in the corners of our minds. These little gods that seem so big and impossible to live without. What a shame that it makes us irreverent and averse to the one, true God.

The waiting. The aching. The gasping. The sighing. They are all part of the time-bound cycle we must live through. I must admit that some days are good. Never particularly beautiful. Just good enough to not want death. But it's one day at a time, isn't it? Still, I must anticipate a curveball. We never actually stop fighting, do we?

The paper has won again; I write these secrets, although, in broken thoughts. It is the only way I can shake off the paralysis, the stroke that holds my muscles taut and chokes the oxygen from my lungs. Even then, I manage to live.

I hope I can accept the burden of my existence contently without depending on whether I live or die. I hope I can accept change whether it ravages me or makes me beautiful. I hope I can learn to grieve alongside the One whose grieving sandals I could never walk in. I hope I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.

I remember the time a friend asked me, “So when was the last time you embarrassed yourself?” We were planning to do something for fun and he came up with the idea of an amusement park, the adventurous person that he is. I also believed I was adventurous, that I was daring and could take on the world by storm. We went on a pendulum that swings from extreme left to extreme right and goes ridiculously high that it nearly makes a 360 degrees turn before it suddenly and wickedly brings you back down with such force and without time to recover, then goes up again on the other side and does the same thing for the whole of six minutes.

For six minutes, I endured the terrifying feeling that I was really going to die at each turn, anticipating being thrown out of my seat which was only held by a shaky handle and a flimsy seatbelt. I couldn’t recognise the noise coming out of my mouth and the tears flying out of my eyes. Beside me, my friend sounded as terrified as I was, but he also sounded like he was having the time of his life. When the swing finally slowed down to a stop, I knew I was about to truly embarrass myself; I puked. I refused to go on another ride. My days of adventure were over.

I believe the scariest experience for anyone to go through is falling into the unknown and feeling like you’re going to die because there’s no anchor. Many people make solid plans, plan Bs, plan Cs, they make fortresses of their jobs and families and wealth and, yet, the world shifts under their feet and gives way to nothing but the air around them as they freefall their way into anxiety and soul-crushing grief.

I have found that loss of different kinds - death of loved ones, loss of job, relationship hurt and breakup, loss of identity/existential crisis - is a sure way to profoundly distabilize the psyche and be overwhelmingly overcome by this sense of freefalling.

As a retired adventurer, I’m forced to take on real life adventures and, as you may imagine, I hate it. The good thing though, is that whenever I feel like I'm freefalling, I’m actually falling into the arms of God who's always there to break my fall. The freefalling adventures are there to test my faith and give me an experience I can use to inspire others. If you're a Christian, I hope you see it this way too.

His arms are like an anchor that fetches me back to safety.

…

What have I been reading?

1. The Road to The Country by Chigozie Obioma

2. Devoted by Dean Koontz

3. The Associate by John Grisham

What have I been listening to?

1. Contentment by Melissa Kruger (YouTube)

2. Saints In Wait Podcast (Spotify)

3. Believer’s Guide to Sad Songs (Spotify)

If you were to ask me to describe my year in one word, I don't think I would be able to. My life this year has been like a series of different movies with the same actor playing different characters. Therefore, it's difficult to concisely summarise into one word what the experience has been like. And in each new movie, there is a lesson to be learnt.

I once tweeted that five years ago, I used to think I knew everything. I now realise how foolish I was. Actually, the things I thought I knew last year, I now realise how extremely foolish I was. This makes me a little nervous about what I would say next year.

And I think that's the great thing about growth; it's painful now but beautiful in hindsight. There's a certain amount of grace it takes to change, however violently, from something into another. It humbles you into being gracious with others.

Growth is painful because it strips us of ourselves in order to form new selves. It sometimes feels like what some might term a “midlife crisis” or “quarter life crisis” for younger people, seeing that you're struggling with the philosophy of what you knew versus what you now know. Some refuse to let growth happen; they'd rather stay in their old skin and rot away, while others embrace the challenge and become, not just a newer version of themselves, but a realer one.

I want to grow into the woman I was created to be. I don't feel like I'm there just yet. Maybe I'll never feel like that exactly. But everyday, it feels like there's something new I'm discovering about God which somehow shapes my view of life, the world, humanity, womanhood, and myself. I struggle with the constant knowing of God, sometimes wrestling with him in the dark about who I think I'm meant to be instead of accepting who he is. This year, I have learnt in a defining way that God is sovereign in life and death and we humans have no control over anything in the grand scheme of existence.

So maybe if you ask me, I can actually sum up my year in one word: growth. Growth spiritually and growth psychologically. I can say I'm already perceiving the beauty of growing, of the forceful stripping away of skin, and becoming new. The beauty of growth is more enjoyable than the pain is endurable.

So, as you stride into the new year, remember that everyone experiences growth on different levels. Your approach to it would either aggravate or soothe the suffering that inevitably comes with it.

Merry Christmas and see you next year, Lord willing!

The rain starts suddenly and heavily, immediately snatching away the power supply. I feel a surprising sense of nakedness as the wind from the fan gasps to a stop. Thunder claps with such force that it draws me into full consciousness. I try to sleep back, but I remember scorpions. I must be vigilant. I try to think good thoughts like imagining that Instagram man was holding me in the middle of the storm, an imagination I know will never come to pass because I only toy with the idea on a surface level.

The rain continues to pour heavily like it is trying to replay something from Noah’s day. I close my eyes and try to find sleep while praying for protection from scorpions and for “allawee” to arrive on time so I can buy Sniper. Thunder roars from a distance and I know it is about to hit hard. It claps so ferociously like it is demanding obedience. The hair on my skin stands in reverence. Lightning strikes and I feel the light blind the darkness through my closed eyelids. God is angry at something, you can’t tell me otherwise.

I get up, giving up hope of sleep for at least the next two hours. I pick up my iPhone from where it is charging: 1:25am. I sigh. At least, thanks to the Muslim holiday, there is no work today. I will sleep in. I turn on my internet and ignore all messages and notifications. I instinctively check Instagram to see if he has been active on my stories or not. I am sure that this temporal "crush" is one-sided and I want it to stay that way until I get over it. There is something tantalising about far-off admiration. Imagine having what you can't actually have. Am I compensating for something? Pathetic. I refuse to psychoanalyse myself tonight. Anyway, it looks like he is inactive for the day. I turn on my audio Bible to Exodus and stare at the ceiling, listening to God give details to Moses about building an ark for the temple, making the Sabbath day holy. As the rain gradually ceases outside my window, I know it is the finger of God turning off the taps of heaven just like his fingers wrote the words on the tablets of stone.

I feel the need to write down this brief experience in my journal, but I don’t feel like standing up to get it. I think of postponing it to daybreak, but I may forget details. So, I grab my iPhone and pause the audio, open Notepad, and start: “God is angry at something, you can’t tell me otherwise”. I never intended to write a whole story, only just a thought of what my night is like. But the writer in me has other plans.

The rain has finally stopped and power is restored at 2:04am. I hear an animal outside sigh in relief. I anticipate the fresh air of my standing fan, but now instead of just a comforting caress, it sharply contradicts the quiet silence of the night after the rain. I continue to write anyway; I better get this moment out of my head.

I think about the wonder of God’s creation and where we are on the food chain. Apparently, polar bears rank first while humans are somewhere in the middle with pigs and anchovies. We are as unsafe as the grasshopper on a tree. But we seem to be even more unsafe with ourselves. Humans can be vile, toxic, and murderous. Just when you think people are kind and altruistic, something goes wrong; a backstabbing occurs (literally and figuratively), nations turn against each other, and children are abducted. It’s rather piteous that we decide to sometimes live like animals, ranking even lower on the food chain.

Obviously, genuinely kind-hearted people exist. The difference between us and lower creatures is that we don’t always act based on instinct, else we would have gone extinct a long time ago (ignore pun). It turns out that evil does not exist without good and vice versa. They both exist for the purpose of countering each other. So, if you ever find yourself in a bad situation, look for the good within it and let it save you (except you’re kidnapped by terrorists, then I don’t know what to say).

…

The event with the grasshopper gives me a whip of inspiration and I get back to typing, not knowing how the words will shape themselves or how the essay is going to end, but I write anyway. At least, I have something to write. Now, is this an essay on the depravity of man or finding inspiration in nature or a motivation for living life? It doesn’t matter. However you decide to read it is what it is.

PS. Here’s a snippet of what I’ve been listening to:

1. Goodbye Road by JohnnySwim

2. Verse by Verse Teaching (Book of Ruth) by Gary Hamrick

3. Ghost of a King album by The Gray Havens

Here’s what I’ve been reading:

1. Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis

2. The Murder After the Night Before by Katy Brent

Months. That is how long I stay away from publishing. Maybe it’s an expression of my uncertainty. I don’t stop writing though, one way or another, even if it’s scribbled from a chaotic mind. Thankfully, I have been able to stay sane enough to write this one for your consumption. Every time I write, I wonder how you perceive the parts of myself I choose to expose. If only I could live outside my body and see what a spectacle I am from the showglass containing my words. Is it worth it?

One day, out of the blue, a friend asked me to share some of the experiences that have shaped me into who I am today. In a beat, my life seemed to flash before my eyes - in more ways than one. My breath caught and I felt my heart rate speed up. My discomfort eluded him, of course; it ended in the twinkle of an eye and something distracted our conversation. But I went home that day and realised that it wasn’t really the question that triggered that reaction in me. It was the suddenness of it, the fact that I was caught unawares by such a sensitive topic. I was vulnerable without choosing to be.

The experiences that mould, carve, and shape us have a way of eating deep into our unconscious, festering in our psyche, and rearing their heads at the most unexpected periods. At least, that’s what psychology tells us. These experiences can be quite pleasant too, but in retrospect, often feels nostalgic - a sense of longing for something you can never have again. These experiences will live with us and become us. Confusions about life will set in because of them. Doubts about your sanity will set in because of them. And because of them, you will develop an existential crisis. See, uncertainty is the bone of confusion upon which the sinews of doubt are woven, and the muscles of depression strengthened.

Uncertainty. You think you know what you want from life, who you want to be friends with, how you want to spend your day, how to prioritise your expenses, what career path to take. You’re asked a question and you have a pre-programmed response for it, but deep down, you’re not sure if you spoke the truth or if it’s simply a product of your imagination or what you wish was real. Dealing with uncertainty is a bit harder when you’ve always known what you wanted. Now, you’re questioning your intellect and identity.

All of this simply points me to one place of clarity - the strong scarred hands of Christ holding my own trembling ones. Nothing has been clearer to me than the assurance that I am his. This certainty settles the storm brewing inside of me. Don't expect life to always go your way, he says. Lean on me, I am the author of life.

Two weeks or two months. Only one Person knows how long it will take before I publish again. I love writing, but I am sorry that it drains me.

...

I wasn’t too keen on joining the yearly Snap Photography Competition initially, but my mother thought it was worth a shot (pun unintended). After years of creative freelancing with phone photography, I finally saved enough to purchase a second-hand Nikon D3500.

Of course, the camera was launched on my mother’s 60th birthday, and ever since then, she hasn’t stopped chattering about her “cameraman daughter” to her church friends, especially those with children getting married, graduating, and marking significant birthdays. At 25, I am the go-to “camerawoman” for members of Children of Jireh Pentecostal Church.

We look out for each other, my mother and I. She’s relentlessly supportive of my craft and with her failing heart, I want to give back to her everything I can. Everything my father couldn’t.

...

My screen lights up, causing me to open my eyes. There are two notifications on my photography page from @philphotosofficial – one of the most influential photography pages on Instagram run by Phil Rice, a renowned Canadian photographer. How did he notice me when he has almost 1 million followers?? I sit up on my bed to have a better look at the liked photo: a black and white shot of my late father’s library, papers and books strewn everywhere. I remember how particularly impressed I was with the angles of the frame. Then, a comment. My heart soars as I read: @aminashootshershots words fail me in describing this image and yet, it is full of them!

Looking through my page again through the eyes of Phil Rice gives me an epiphany – I really am good at what I do. I feel foolish for ever thinking otherwise. Photography is who I am, I better make it worth the shot.