because apparently once the writers decide two people are endgame, the morality of how they got there becomes negotiable. and i’m tired of it.

not because characters need to behave perfectly. some of the best tv is people making terrible decisions on purpose. but why do we have to romanticise the terrible decision just because we’re supposed to be rooting for the people who made it.

the “endgame” problem

once you know who the main couple is going to be, you start judging everything through that lens. if they hurt somebody we think about the fact that they’ll end up together anyway. if they cheat we call it complicated. if they lie we understand why. if they betray a friend wow, look at that connection though.

the relationship becomes the destination and everything on the way there stops mattering. but it should still matter. someone cheating on their partner with the person they’re “actually supposed to be with” is still cheating. the ex is not a plot device. she’s a whole person who did not consent to being someone’s character development.

Subscribe now

Jeremiah, my baby

the summer I turned pretty is where this really got me. Jeremiah isn’t some random extra who got in the way of Belly and Conrad. he loved her. for a real stretch of the story, she loved him back. and then the plot starts steering back to Conrad and Jeremiah quietly becomes the person the narrative needs us to get over.

I get the whole Conrad thing. the history, the longing, the “I’ve always loved you.” fine. but I felt the show wanted the audience to just forget Jeremiah’s feelings the second Conrad became relevant again. and he did not deserve that. 😭

what actually bothers me is the double standard Jeremiah is allowed to be jealous, messy, wrong, and it’s treated as a character flaw. Conrad does the same stuff and it’s “complicated” and “he’s been through so much.” the endgame guy gets context. the other guy gets judged. Jeremiah becomes “the wrong choice” when really he was just a person who loved someone and believed it was real. sometimes the second choice isn’t a second-rate person. sometimes he’s just the guy the story already decided wasn’t endgame.

sterling point actually gets it right

and this is why i have to bring up sterling point, because it’s the first one of these shows in a while that doesn’t need a villain to make the triangle work. Annie’s stuck between Ellis and Rory and neither of them is a green flag with an asterisk. they’re just both. genuinely. good.

no one’s lying. no one’s cheating. no one’s the “controlling” one the show needs you to dislike so you feel okay about someone else winning. it’s just two people who are both worth choosing, and Annie has to actually choose, which is so much more interesting than what most of these shows do. she ends up with Ellis this season and I don’t even think it’s because Rory did anything wrong. it’s just sometimes it’s not a moral failure, it’s a preference. and I wish more shows trusted that a choice can just be a choice.

then scandal

scandal doesn’t even pretend it’s not messy Olivia and Fitz, and Fitz is married to Mellie the entire time. the show gives them so much romantic weight that the question stops being “was this fair to Mellie” and quietly becomes “will they finally get together.” that shift says everything. the first question is morality. the second is romance. and tv almost always picks the second because it’s more fun to watch.

and TVD,

Elena, Stefan, Damon famous triangle, show ends with Damon. what gets me about this one specifically is how fast it stopped being about the people and became about ships. Stelena vs Delena. who had better chemistry. we stopped asking “was this person treated well” and started asking “did my ship win.” that’s not just a writing problem, that’s a fandom problem, but the show built the fandom that way on purpose.

the ex always becomes the obstacle

notice how the existing partner gets rewritten the second the new love interest shows up. suddenly they’re boring. controlling. don’t “get” the main character. and maybe sometimes that’s true! but usually it feels like the show needs you to dislike them so you don’t ask the annoying question why didn’t you just break up first. if your feelings changed, why make someone find out through betrayal instead of just, leaving. I know why. because that kills the drama. but that’s exactly the problem the betrayal isn’t there because the characters needed it, it’s there because the writers needed conflict, and then they still need you to think the couple who caused it is romantic.

love can be real and still be selfish

we act like if a feeling is genuine it must also be good. it’s not. you can love someone and still make a selfish call. you can be sincere and still be wrong. you can believe someone is the love of your life and still owe another person an apology. that’s not a contradiction, that’s just what people are like.

anyway

because maybe they were meant to be. maybe it was real. but if getting there meant someone else got lied to you could have broken up first. it wouldn’t have made it less romantic. it might have made it more honest.

Share

Leave a comment

My uncle drives without a seatbelt and still made it to his 90s. Go and try it and the next thing you realise you are six feet under

Can we all gather here for one minute because some of you have made "it happened to me" your entire qualification. And I need us to heal.

Every rule has exceptions. Cool. Nobody is arguing that. But why have we decided that because YOU happened to be the exception, the rule has expired? Sis... you are not the rule. You're the plot twist. We thank God for your testimony, truly. But testimonies are not public policy.

Someone says, "Never confess to your crush first." Then one babe appears: "I confessed first and now we're married." Congratulations. May your marriage continue to flourish. Should we all go and confess tomorrow morning? Absolutely not. Because for every one of you, there are about fifty people whose confession was received, screenshotted, discussed in the boys' group chat and replied to three business days later with, "Aww, you're so sweet." One person says, "Mine said yes." Another says, "Mine blocked me." Another got, "I see you as a sister." Now what?

Or someone says, "Don't date potential." Immediately somebody jumps in with, "But my husband had nothing when we met." Aww, that's beautiful. We genuinely love that for you. Now ask the people who financed a grown man through three business ideas, two podcasts, one clothing brand, one forex phase, a sudden calling into music ministry and, for reasons nobody can explain, a photography era. How did that end? Exactly.

Then there's, "I texted him first and now we've been together for four years." Cute. Someone else texted first and has been staring at 'Seen 8:42 p.m.' since February 14. Another sent "Good morning ❤️" and received a thumbs-up. A thumbs-up. Both stories happened. Only one is common. That's the difference.

This is why I start laughing when people use themselves as evidence. "I didn't study and I got an A." Okay... should the rest of the class throw their books away? "I never wear sunscreen and my skin is fine." Congratulations on your genetics. Some of us stand in the sun for twelve minutes and come back looking like roasted plantain. "I invested all my savings in crypto and doubled my money." Amazing. The rest of us are still pretending not to remember 2022.

Anecdotes are dangerous because they're entertaining. Statistics don't trend. Stories do. Nobody says, "Well, based on the available evidence..." They say, "My cousin did it," or "My auntie said..." and suddenly one family member has overruled years of common sense. Respectfully... that's not data.

The funny thing is, your story isn't fake. It happened. It's real. It's just not a blueprint. It's an exception wearing a name tag that says 'advice.' And somehow people keep mistaking it for a universal life hack. It's giving, "Worked once, now I'm hosting a masterclass."

So no. The fact that your situationship eventually committed doesn't mean situationships are misunderstood. The fact that your ex came back after you posted one soft-life picture doesn't mean Instagram is now relationship therapy. The fact that your first business made you rich doesn't mean everyone should resign on Monday morning. The fact that your uncle smoked for forty years and is "perfectly healthy" does not mean lungs have suddenly changed their minds.

Sometimes... you just got lucky.

And luck has a very annoying habit of convincing people it's wisdom.

You are not the rule, sis. You're just the story everyone remembers because exceptions are louder than patterns. And if we're going to give advice, let's at least make sure it's based on the pattern not the plot twist.

I was a certified dog-fearer. I mean full hereditary terror. My mom hated dogs and cats, my twin sisters hated them, so naturally I inherited the family tradition. I disliked animals in general, no exceptions.

In primary school, I used to walk to school since it wasn't far from home. On the last stretch, there was an old man who let his dogs out every morning exactly the time I was passing. And omo, those dogs looked fierce. I started walking on the opposite side of the road to keep my distance, but one day that clearly wasn't enough, because one of the dogs started closing in on me.

I don't know what came over me, but I blurted out, "Lord Jesus, it is your daughter who is very much afraid of dogs, please help me." And just like that the dog left my sight. Just like that.

Ever since, that became my go-to prayer. Every dog, every time: "Lord Jesus." Worked like a charm until one unfortunate Sunday. Little me decided not to wake up early for church, so my mom left without me. And in my household, if mom leaves first, it means you're walking to church. My church wasn't far either, so I didn't stress it. I wore my flower-patterned dress, my little pencil heels, feeling like the finest thing to ever walk that road until we hit a particular stretch and I ran into the little devils themselves. One of them decided I looked interesting enough to follow. From behind. I started praying immediately: "Lord Jesus, it's me again, please send this dog away." Nothing. I upgraded to bargaining offered to add my own pocket money to the offering if God would just handle this one dog. Still nothing. Tongue out and everything, this dog was not moving. So I took matters into my own hands. I don't know how it happened, but somehow my heels and my bag ended up on the road, and I was already gone. Sprinting. When I finally looked back, the dog had left me alone and my cousin was standing there holding my belongings like she wasn't sure what had just happened either. I waited for her at the end of the road because there was no way I was walking back past the people who had just watched that show. And there were people. Laughing. To this day I have never touched that route again.

For years after that, "Lord Jesus" kept working, until JHS 3 decided to test me. Quick context: my school closed at 8pm in our final year because of the upcoming BECE. So one evening, instead of my usual route home, I took a different one. Rookie mistake. I didn't notice my neighbour's gate was open until I was right in front of it, and by then it was too late the gate was wide open and the dog came out at full speed. This was not a small dog. It had long legs and its teeth……

Everything happened so fast: I was running, the dog was chasing, my legs were starting to give up , my left shoe flew off into the bush, my bag landed somewhere on the road, and I just kept going. Long story short the owner finally called the dog back, and a good Samaritan found my shoe and returned my bag to me. I was the topic of discussion for a whole week.

That same dog wasn't done with me though. Another day, my mom sent me to call my brother from that same neighbour's house. I walked in, the gate lock clicked shut behind me and the dog appeared out of nowhere. We locked eyes. One second of pure mutual understanding. Then it came for me. I have never moved that fast in my life. The Flash himself would have struggled to keep up with the speed I used to fling that gate open and get out of there.

And that is the gospel according to every dog that ever chased me: apparently, “Lord Jesus” works but sometimes the answer to your prayer is simply running for your life and leaving any hindrances( belongings) behind.

Amen.

PS: I am an adult now but i still say Lord Jesus at the sight of a dog

This story sounds fake until you realize every boarding school has its own “Dingles.”

Back in high school, there was one name every girl feared: Dingles.

Before I even settled into school life, I had already heard stories about him. Some girls swore he was a spirit. Others said he was a real human being who used juju powers to sneak into the girls’ dormitories and steal belongings. By the time I had spent a few months in school, I realized one thing nobody truly understood who or what Dingles was.

Our school had a stretch of bush behind the dormitories with no proper wall or gate, so outsiders could easily enter the compound at night. That was how Dingles came.

He usually appeared deep in the night, dressed in the exact nightie prescribed for the girls in the school, almost like he wanted to blend in. He would knock softly on dormitory doors, calling out common girls’ names in a calm voice. Most dorm rooms were never fully locked because girls constantly moved in and out to use the washroom, especially at night.

Sometimes, he would quietly slip into a room and lie on an empty bed, watching to see who was awake. Other times, he stole bags, books, and anything new he could find. Freshers were his favorite targets. A new semester meant new girls with new trunks, new bags, new books, and untouched belongings. Somehow, he always knew the perfect night to strike the one night nobody expected him.

At one point, the entire school was on edge. Dingles had become almost legendary. He was caught once, and everyone thought the nightmare was finally over. But the very next day, another theft happened. More bags disappeared. More books vanished. That was when fear truly settled into the dormitories. Girls started sleeping with sticks hidden beneath their beds, waiting for Dingles to appear. Even when we slept, our ears stayed alert.

Then came the night almost everybody remembers. One girl had gone to the washroom late at night. When she returned to her bed, she noticed someone lying there in the darkness. At first she froze, unable to scream. Then she realized who it was.

Dingles.

The entire dormitory erupted in chaos. Girls jumped from their beds, grabbed their sticks, and chased after him. They nearly caught him too. But somehow, he escaped again. People later claimed he had used some kind of charm to disappear into the dark. After that incident, he vanished for almost two semesters.

Then, unexpectedly, he returned.

One night, we woke up to frantic screaming. A girl was crying that Dingles had locked another student inside the washroom. Everyone rushed toward the scene, terrified. But nobody wanted to force the door open recklessly because we feared he might hurt her.

The school security eventually arrived and managed to get inside.

But Dingles was gone.

Again.

That was the strangest part of the whole thing. Even when one Dingles was caught, another always seemed to appear. It was almost as though “Dingles” was less of a person and more of a role passed from one person to another.

There was even an old story seniors told us during our first days in school. According to them, one brave senior once caught Dingles and struck him unconscious with a metal pole. To make sure he wouldn’t escape, she locked him inside a trunk and went to sleep, planning to hand him over to the authorities the next morning. When she woke up, the trunk was still locked.But it was empty.

And somehow, that was the story that scared us the most.

“I searched for him for 5 hours… and still didn’t get the ending I expected 😭”

I don’t fall easily.

But when I do, it’s never simple.

It started at inter-school games. I saw him, liked him, and did absolutely nothing about it because I was shy. So I did what any shy girl would do: I told my friend. She linked us.

At first, he was quiet. Almost too quiet.But he seemed nice. Calm. Easy to talk to.I thought, okay… maybe this could be something.

Then life moved on.

Fast forward to my senior year another inter-school games.

This time, I was determined.

I spent five whole hours looking for this boy.

Five. Hours.

At some point, I even asked a random guy to help me find him. That’s how serious I was 😭

When we finally found him, he said he was studying. Fair enough we were about to write an external exam. But when we spoke, something felt… off. I was doing all the talking.

He was just there. Responding. Barely. Still, I told myself maybe he was just shy.

Maybe I needed to give it time.

The next day, I didn’t go looking for him again. I convinced myself he was busy.

On my way back to school that same day, I saw someone else.

Tall, Dark,Beautiful smile.And just like that, my brain said new target.

The next day, I saw him again at his school. This time, I didn’t overthink it.I walked up to him. And he was… sweet. Like, genuinely sweet.He offered to show me around his school. We talked, laughed it felt easy. Natural.

Then he told me he was a junior.

I was shocked.Because how are you this fine and this young at the same time? 😭.I was a senior, about to graduate.

We were not on the same level—literally. But somehow, it didn’t even matter in that moment. Then reality stepped in. One of his seniors called him out.

He had duties. And apparently, he wasn’t even allowed to be talking to seniors like that.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

After graduation, I went back to the first guy. Don’t ask me why. I asked my friend for his number. She gave me one.I texted it.Only to find out… it wasn’t even him. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me.

Eventually, I got the actual number. We started texting but if I’m being honest, I was the one carrying it. Starting conversations. Keeping it alive.

And when I noticed that, I stopped. He didn’t text. Not once. Months later, he came back.Just to “check up.”

Then disappeared again.

A week before my 20th birthday, he texted me again.

This time, he was consistent.

Replying. Engaging. Acting like someone who actually wanted to talk. And I won’t lie I started to think maybe things were finally different. The day before my birthday, I asked how his day was. He said he was busy.

But later that night, we’d talk.

In my head, I imagined a call.

A proper conversation. Something real.

Instead, I got a 20-second voice note. Talking about… hustling.

That’s it. I cried.

He wished me happy birthday the next day. And just like that, everything went quiet again. No follow-up. No effort. Nothing.

A month later, I blocked him.Because at some point, you have to be honest with yourself.

You can’t keep forcing something that clearly isn’t choosing you. And the funny thing is… I still think about him sometimes. But not because of what we had. Because if I’m being real we didn’t really have anything.

I miss what I thought it could be.

The potential.

The idea.

The version of him I created in my head.

I don’t think I miss him.

I think I just miss the feeling of being almost.

I thought I enjoyed my own company until the silence started talking back.

This is about that confusing space between peace and loneliness.

I used to think i was the kind of person who loves being alone.

And to be fair, I do

I like my space. I like not having to explain myself.I like doing things at my own pace, in my own time without anyone disturbing my peace.

There's something really comforting about being by yourself and not feeling like you have to perform or impress anyone. No noise, no pressure just you.

But here’s the part no one really talks about

Sometimes……..it gets too quiet

Like, you’re enjoying your alone time, scrolling, maybe watching something, and then it suddenly hits you - there's no one to talk to.

No one to send random thoughts to.

No one to laugh with about something small.

No one who actually knows how my day went.

And the funny thing is, you start missing people you didn’t even like that much. You’ll find yourself thinking about texting someone you know is not even good for your peace, just because you’re bored or lonely for a moment.

And it's confusing because weren’t you just enjoying your solitude 5 minutes ago.

That's the weird balance

Wanting space, but not wanting too much space.

Wanting peace, not silence.

Wanting independence, but still craving connection.

I think a lot of us are stuck in that middle place. We’ve learnt how to be alone, how to protect our energy. But we’re still human. We still want real people,real connections, not just surface-level interactions.

And maybe that’s the hardest part - admitting that you can enjoy your own company and still want someone else’s. Because for some reason, it feels you have to pick one.

Either you’re “ independent” or you’re “needy”

But what if your just……both?

What if you like your own space, but you also want someone who fits into it without disturbing it?

Someone who doesn’t feel like noise, but like comfort .I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

I think we’re all just trying to figure out how to be okay on our own……. without pretending we don’t want anyone at all