I love her.

I've said those words so many times that sometimes I wonder if she knows how much they actually mean coming from me.

Because when I say I love you, I'm not just saying it because it's something couples are supposed to say.

I'm saying, I care about you more than I know how to explain.

I'm saying, your happiness matters to me.

I'm saying, when you're hurting, some part of me hurts too.

I'm saying, even on the days when I don't know what to say, I still want to be there.

And honestly, I don't think she knows how much I think about her.

There are moments when I'm doing something completely normal and somehow my mind finds its way back to her.

• I'll hear a song and think of her.

• I'll see something she'd like and wish she was there.

• I'll have something happen during my day and instinctively want to tell her.

Sometimes I'll look at my phone hoping her name is there.

And sometimes it isn't.

That's when I realize how much space someone can take up in your heart without even being physically beside you.

I love her.

But loving her has also made me realize how vulnerable a person can become when they genuinely care. Because when someone matters to you, their distance hurts differently their silence feels louder.

A short message can make you overthink.

A change in their energy can have you wondering what you did wrong.

And suddenly the person who can make your entire day with one message can also be the reason you're lying awake at night wondering if they're okay.

I've had moments where I've wanted to disappear for a little while.

Not because I stopped caring but sometimes because I care too much.

Sometimes I get tired of trying to find the right words.

Tired of wondering if I'm saying too much or not enough.

Tired of pretending that certain things don't hurt when they actually do.

But even then...I still love her.

That's the part I struggle to explain.

I'm not saying she's perfect.

I'm not saying we never hurt each other.

I'm not saying loving someone means accepting everything or forgetting the things that hurt you.

I'm saying that despite everything, my feelings for her are real.

And sometimes I wish she could see herself through my eyes maybe then she'd understand why I worry about her.

Why I check in.

Why I notice when something feels different.

Why I want to know if she's okay.

Why I can be having the worst day myself and still ask her if she's doing alright.

Because somewhere along the way loving her became less about what she could give me and more about simply wanting her to be okay.

I don't need her to be happy every second.

I don't need her to have everything figured out.

I don't even need her to know exactly what to say.

I just want her to know that she doesn't have to carry everything alone. If she ever feels like she's too much, I hope she remembers that she has never been too much for me.

If she ever feels like she's not enough, I wish I could hold her face in my hands and make her see what I see.

If she ever feels like nobody cares, I hope she remembers that there is someone somewhere thinking about her and quietly hoping life becomes a little kinder to her.

Me.

I don't know if I'll ever find the perfect words to explain what she means to me.

Maybe there aren't any that's why I keep coming back to the same three words.

I love her.

I love her in the quiet.

I love her in the distance.

I love her when everything feels right.

I love her when things feel confusing.

I love her when she knows exactly what she wants.

And I love her when she doesn't even know what she's feeling.

I love her enough to give her space when she needs it even when every part of me wants to stay close.

I love her enough to care about her peace even when I'm hurting too.

And maybe the hardest part is that sometimes loving someone means accepting that you can't fix everything for them , you can only be there.

So that's what I want her to know.

I'm here.

• Not because I expect anything in return.

• Not because I think love is supposed to be perfect.

But because she's someone I genuinely care about and if one day she looks back at everything and wonders whether I ever really loved her...

I hope she remembers the little things.

The times I stayed when it would've been easier to walk away.

The times I worried about her while I was fighting battles of my own.

The moments I didn't have the right words but tried anyway.

I hope she remembers that there was someone who loved her quietly, loudly, imperfectly, and completely.

Someone who didn't always know how to show it the right way but meant it every single time.

And if I could tell her one last thing, without fear, without pride, without worrying about how it sounds, I'd simply say:

I LOVE YOU 

I hope you know how deeply you are loved.

Because I don't just love the version of her that smiles.

I love the girl behind the smile too and no matter how difficult it gets to put that love into words.I'll always know what my heart is trying to say.

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There's a sentence I heard recently that completely changed the way I think about healing.

"The people who need therapy don't come to us. Their victims do."

And honestly, I hear it.

Because when you really think about it, it's true more often than we'd like to admit.

It's funny how the people who tell everyone else to "go to therapy" are often the ones already sitting in the waiting room.

Meanwhile, the people who probably need it the most are convincing themselves they're fine.

They're the ones who say, "It is what it is."

The ones who laugh everything off.

The ones who tell you they're just tired, when in reality they've been carrying years of hurt on their backs.

Not because they don't believe therapy works but because somewhere along the way they were taught that surviving was enough. And I might just be talking about you in question.

Some people have become so used to functioning through pain that they no longer recognize it as pain.

• They wake up.

• Go to work/Uni .

• Reply to messages.

• Smile in photos.

• Crack jokes.

And everyone assumes they're okay because they're still standing.

But surviving isn't the same as healing.

The hardest part is that unhealed pain rarely stays with the person carrying it.

It spills over.

It finds its way into relationships, friendships, families, and even strangers.

It shows up in the way people lie instead of communicating.

• The way they manipulate instead of taking accountability.

• The way they shut down instead of opening up.

• The way they leave people questioning their own worth.

And then something happens, the people causing the damage often keep moving through life convinced they're okay...while the people they hurt are the ones sitting in therapy trying to understand

Reading articles about trauma, attachment styles, and emotional manipulation.

Replaying conversations over and over again, wondering,

"Thinking about what could I have done differently?"

They're the ones apologizing for things that were never their fault.

The ones carrying guilt that doesn't belong to them.

Meanwhile, the person who created the confusion might be sleeping peacefully, never questioning their own behavior.

That's one of the most unfair parts of healing.

You didn't create the mess and yet somehow you're the one cleaning it up.

You're the one learning healthy boundaries.

You're the one rebuilding your confidence.

You're the one teaching yourself that love isn't supposed to feel like survival.

Maybe that's what therapy is really for.

Not proving there's something wrong with you.

Not "fixing" yourself because you're broken.

But untangling all the things someone convinced you were your fault.

Sometimes therapy isn't about healing from yourself but more about healing from what someone else's actions taught you to believe about yourself.

The truth is, many people don't even realize they're hurting.

They think,

"I've always been like this."

No , you've always been carrying something and carrying it doesn't mean it belongs on your shoulders forever.

Unhealed pain has a way of introducing itself, even when you never speak its name.

It appears in the way you love.

The way you argue.

The way you push people away before they can leave.

The way you struggle to trust someone who's done nothing wrong.

The people who hurt you may never change.

They may never apologize.

They may never even realize the damage they caused but you don't have to wait for their healing before choosing your own.

That's the perspective that changed everything for me.

Going to therapy isn't proof that you're the broken one. Sometimes it's proof that you're the only one brave enough to stop the cycle.

The one willing to face the pain instead of passing it on. The one who chooses healing over denial.

Because the strongest people aren't always the ones who stay silent but they're the ones courageous enough to say,

"I can't keep carrying this alone anymore."

And maybe that's what healing really is.

• Not making excuses for the people who hurt you.

• Not waiting for an apology that may never come.

But making sure their pain doesn't become someone else's and making sure that it ends with you.

Fine…

So I woke up the morning after thinking about everything that happened when we met and this time? It wasn't hard for me to wake up.

• No negotiating with myself

• No trying to convince myself to get out of bed.

I just got up, showered, got dressed and left the house. But this time I was the one running behind. So for once she got to experience what it felt like to be me. Never mind that.

I saw her again and honestly, we just picked up where we left off. It felt natural like we'd never even said goodbye the day before.

The only catch was PDA and I wasn't planning on going to jail for love so we had to keep it together.

So I ended up staying way longer than the time I'd originally planned to leave. It's like I completely forgot I had things to do. At some point the time I'd told myself I'd leave had come and gone, and I was still there. But eventually the time came to say goodbye so rightfully so, I hugged and kissed her goodbye and got into the Uber.

Now, where am I going that's so important you might ask yourself?

Wellllll remember Girl back home? . YEEEEAAAAAA.

I went to buy us matching T-shirts. Not just any T-shirts either, Bafana Bafana T-shirts. The World Cup was still ongoing and I'd made a kinda-sorta promise that I'd come back with something for her .

Now, you can hate me for this, but I genuinely have a big heart.

Unfortunately, having a big heart has also led to my demise on several occasions but that's a story for another day.

I got what I needed, and the next day I was on a flight back home. I thought that was it. I thought I'd go home with my matching T-shirt, Memories and everything between us would carry on like it was before.

Except...

This is where things really started changing between me and her. Really changing.

I started hearing from her less and I slowly started getting that feeling that I wasn't wanted anymore. You know that feeling when nothing has technically happened, but something just doesn't feel the same? Yeah. That.

It went on for a few days until I finally decided to ask her about it. Somehow we got to the point where I came up with the idea that maybe we should just be friends. And she actually agreed.

Honestly? I thought it would've been a bit of a struggle. I expected some kind of emotional negotiation, but somehow, we were able to get through it.

A few days went by without us talking.

Then, one day I open Instagram about to send a reel….

Blocked.

Okay. A bit strange.

So I check her friend's account….

Blocked.

Mhmmm. Fine.

I check her main account.

Blocked there too.

Fede.

Now I'm thinking, okay, what's actually going on ? So I message her on her number.

Blocked there tooooo.

At this point, I'm not even sure whether to be hurt or impressed. Because blocking me across multiple platforms requires commitment. This wasn't a mistake. This was a full operation.

So naturally, I had to do a little investigation.

You know that one stalker account we all have? Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.

I logged in and started looking for answers. Answers that deep down I probably didn't even want to find but once you start looking, you can't exactly stop halfway.

So I'm scrolling. Checking. Looking. Connecting dots that probably should've stayed disconnected.

And then... I find out.

Like... A boyfriend.

I just sat there for a second because what do you even say to that?

You go from, "Maybe we should just be friends," to "Okay, cool," to being blocked everywhere, and then you find out there's somebody else in the picture.

Suddenly, everything starts looking a little different.

Did I crashout? Maybe a bit

I then decided, you know what? I’m just going to move on with my life and not look back anymore.

And honestly, I did.

I stopped checking. Stopped wondering. Stopped trying to figure out what happened. At some point you just have to accept that some people are only meant to be a chapter, no matter how badly you wanted them to be the whole book.

So I left it alone.

Until today.

Because apparently the universe wasn’t finished with the story yet.

I get a random text from one of the friends who originally introduced me to her and had blocked me t.

And the message simply said :

Honestly, I had to laugh because what else could I do?

Looking back now, I think the funniest part isn’t even how everything ended. It’s how seriously I thought I could control the outcome.

I thought if I cared enough, communicated enough, showed up enough or gave enough maybe things would somehow work themselves out.

They didn’t and that’s okay.

Some connections are beautiful while you’re in them and confusing once they’re over. Some people come into your life to change something in you, leave you with memories you didn’t ask for and then disappear in the most ridiculous way possible.

But that’s life.

You don’t always get closure.

Sometimes you get blocked.

Sometimes you find out there was a boyfriend.

And sometimes, months later somebody randomly texts you to remind you that you’re still apparently a bum bitch.

And maybe that’s closure enough.

Thank you that’s the end shame never again

Sometimes I look at the ways people love each other and its hurts . Not because I want to be them, but because I am not.

You see sometimes you find a person who is loved in a way that’s just so natural to them and you realize that you spent your whole life wondering what that’s like.

• Someone checks on them just because.

• Someone notices when they’re quiet and wants to hear about their day.

• They remember little things and makes them feel like they don’t have to question anything and everything

And you see it unfold and you think to yourself, so this is what love is like?

I think the way you’re loved affects the way you think love should be expressed because you cant divorce your love language from your lived experience can you?

If you grew up with people who didn’t communicate well, you might be really bad at communicating.

If people walked out of your life when things got hard, you might not stick around.

If people earned affection, you might think its normal to earn love.

You might also think nobody would pick you unless you show them over and over why they should stay and that can follow you into your relationships in a subtle way.

I am not as emotionally unavailable as I’m made out to be , perhaps I never learned that making myself small was a good way to make sure nobody could hurt me because I’ve spent my life believing that I don’t have a voice.

Maybe I am not as emotionally intelligent as I would be liked to be because I grew up thinking people don’t really care how you’re feeling.

I was never asking for much really, except maybe someone to just notice something was wrong without me having to go to them and explain it all.

More likely I wanted to be chased, not because I wanted attention but I really want someone to realize I existed in their life before I had to remind them.

The worst part about realizing how you really feel about somebody is when you realize how badly you wanted to be wanted. How you secretly hoped that if you made yourself a little more of a hassle and tried to talk to people a little more or stayed in your relationships longer when things weren’t right, you might have been chosen.

But at the same time we fall in love with people in the ways they’ve been loved.

Some people are lucky enough to know what genuine affection is and some of us, are learning what it means to be genuinely affectionate.

So when somebody is nice to us, we wonder how much they really want us.

When they get close to us, we wonder just how close they’re willing to be.

When they say they love us , an part of us wants them to know so we can stop doubting the moment they’ll decide to leave.

The saddest part about loving someone is that you spend half your energy trying to convince yourself you’re not going to lose them. Some get so used to loving people who leave that when they finally stay they can’t help but be a little surprised.

And in the mean time, we try to not get too close so we don’t have to face that heartache again.

That’s the way some think, don’t you?

We can sit in a room with other people and not realize that most of us are fighting with someone about something that happened years ago. The quiet resentment building up..

Some of us are questioning how much someone loves us because someone else taught us love fades.

Some of us are pushing someone away because someone once walked out of our lives.

And we wonder why we spend more energy on fighting than loving, when really you’re just tired of being disappointed.

Maybe some people are genuinely loved more than others or they’re loved in ways that make them feel secure.

And I don’t really know if that’s fair or not. At the same time I also think its a lie to pretend that we’re all loved equally. Because I’ve looked at someone else’s relationship and thought, god, they’ve got the patience I always wanted.

They’ve got the consistency I always asked for. This is the version of someone I spent my life trying to get, and they’ve just handed it to someone and now I feel so angry at myself for even thinking about it because I really don’t want to feel bitter towards someone else’s happiness.

I wish I could feel for them what they obviously feel for each other.

But I just hate myself for even thinking about it, because I want that certainty in my own love life.

I want to stop questioning peoples feelings and knowing someone’s just sort of there for me, no matter what.

I want to stop feeling like every person in my life is just waiting for a reason to leave, and know that some people stay simply because they want to.

Maybe I’m supposed to grow up and realize that not everyone is going to love me the way I want to be loved and that’s the scary part.

Because if your test for love is misery then maybe consistency really does feel boring and genuine care really does feel like an obligation.

You want someone who is genuinely there but then you spend your whole life waiting for the moment they’ll walk away because you’ve never been shown what it means to stay.

And in some of those cases they stay and you spend the rest of your life waiting to be pushed away.

I know people who are like that, and it breaks my heart. I think its human nature to want to love people who stayed, to fall in love with the idea that some people really do just want to be there no matter what.

But I also think that it’s a really scary thing to admit, to even yourself, that you want to be loved this way.

Because what is it really but an admission that you really don’t think people should stay, unless they have to.

I think its important that I make that distinction. Its important that I admit that I want people to stay because I think they should, not because it’s the only time they’ve ever done so. because I really do want to stop punishing good people for the mistakes of others. I don’t want to spend my life in love with the idea that nobody really loves me, so I should expect nothing more from anyone.

I want to stop confusing familiarity with affection and stop being disappointed in people who show up, over and over again, because they are good people.

Maybe some of us were introduced to love in softer ways than others and some were shown that they were loved simply by existing instead of having to fight for a bit of affection.

And if that’s true, I’m sorry.

I was not introduced to love that way and I think I am paying for it for the rest of my life.

• Perhaps one day, I wont look at how people love other people, and wonder what is wrong with me.

• Perhaps I’ll stop thinking, why do they get that and i don’t? and instead think I want that too.

I’m not desperately begging for scraps of affection as if it’s the only thing keeping me alive and I’m not settling for half a relationship because its better than nothing. I want to be loved in a way that lets me stop questioning it, stop wondering if I deserve it and stop fighting for it. I want to feel genuinely cared for without having to earn it. Without having to constantly remind people that I exist or that they’re hurting me or even that they matter to me. I want to be able to care for someone without feeling like an idiot for doing so .

And maybe I’m not asking for much or I just spent too long thinking I was.

We climbed into the back of the uber.

At first, everything was normal we were talking, laughing, doing that thing we always did where a simple conversation somehow turned into ten different conversations.

Eventually, I wrapped my arms around her.

She rested her head on my shoulder.

I kissed her on the cheek.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

At some point, she mentioned that her boobs were hurting.

I looked at her and, being the incredibly sympathetic person that I am, simply said,

“What a shame.”

She looked at me for a second.

Then, with that little smile that told me she knew exactly what she was doing, she asked,

“You wanna feel?”

I don’t think she realized how quickly my brain stopped functioning.

I looked at her , she looked at me.

I’m not going to tell you exactly what happened but you can guess for yourself but suddenly that uber ride felt a lot longer than it actually was.

Let’s just say that was probably the moment the evening stopped being innocent.

Then she said something that completely changed the mood.

“What if this is the last time we ever see each other?”

And just like that we went from two people enjoying a ride home to the main characters of a low-budget romance.

You know those conversations that start off completely normal and then suddenly become way too emotional?

Yeah. This was one of those, we started talking about what would happen if we never saw each other again.

• Where we'd end up.

• How we'd remember each other.

• Whether we'd stay in contact.

All the things you normally don't think about when you're sitting next to someone you fully expect to see again.

And the weird part was neither of us actually knew what was going to happen.

She started getting a little emotional and here I was trying to keep myself together because I didn't want to make it worse.

So naturally, I did what any emotionally intelligent person would do.

I hugged her tighter.

And then somehow...one thing led to another.

We started making out in the back of the uber.

Now, before you judge me, there was an important detail.

We weren't alone...there was a whole man sitting in the front. A man who had accepted a job to drive two passengers from Point A to Point B and that he did not sign up to become the third wheel in this our love story.

So we'd kiss then when we suddenly remember the driver existed.

We'd stop.

Look out the window and pretend we were deeply interested in whatever was happening outside.

Sometimes we'd even sit there completely still, like two innocent passengers who had never touched each other in their lives.

Then thirty seconds later...

Back at it.

It was basically:

Kiss.

“Wait, the driver.”

Stop.

“Okay, we're good.”

Kiss.

“WAIT, THE DRIVER.”

At some point I genuinely started wondering if he could see us in the mirror because there was no way on earth he didn't.

But honestly? He deserved an award for professionalism and holding it down .

• He didn't say anything.

• Didn't turn around.

• Didn't make it awkward.

Just drove us there and he was such a true soldier.

Eventually, we reached her stop and suddenly the mood changed again because now it was actually time to say goodbye.

I gave her one last kiss.

She smiled.

Got out.

Closed the door.

And just like that...She was gone.

The car started moving again so it was just me and the driver.

Silence.

The kind of silence where you're suddenly very aware of everything you've just done.

I was sitting there thinking:

Instead, I just sat there.

Then he looked at me through the rear-view mirror.

I prepared myself. I thought was in for a lecture or something that would make the rest of the ride incredibly awkward.

Instead...

He gave me the biggest approving nod I've ever received in my life.

Then he said:

“Eh boss... ke wena daar.”

I froze to the point that I even forgot I understand vernac

I don't know what made me happier the fact that he said that or the fact that this man wasn't about to give me a ted talk on appropriate uber behaviour.

From that moment on, we were basically cool and all the awkwardness disappeared immediately.

We started chatting for the rest of the ride like we'd known each other for years.

By the time I got home, I had no choice.

Five stars and a tip.

But here's the funniest part… after all that time we spent in the ride convincing ourselves that this might be the last time we'd ever see each other...

We made plans to see each other again the next day but there’s a catch. I will only be a short period of time and to be honest with you? It was worth one more goodbye

But what happened next is really what really hurt..

I went…. and I won't lie now the morning almost defeated me. I woke up with about seventeen different reasons not to go.

"What if it's awkward?"

"What if she doesn't look like her pictures?"

"What if I embarrass myself?"

"What if I trip before I even say hello?"

So naturally...

At 6 in the morning, I went into the next room and woke up my cousin. I asked her,

"Do you think I should even go?"

She paused for a second I could tell she was already mad at me for waking her up and she said,

"You're already awake. You even set alarms for this so you might as well go."

Fair enough.

I had already done the hard part by waking up before lunchtime so basically there was no turning back now.

I didn't want to overdress either or make it look like I was attending the Met Gala.

I Just needed a simple fit.

• White T-shirt

• Clean shoes.

• And a little confidence...

Okay, no confidence… Just vibes.

Before heading to our meeting spot, I gave myself a few side missions.

Get some flowers for the pretty girl , walk around and pretend I wasn't nervous. Anything and everything to stop my brain from imagining fifty different outcomes.

Then I ordered an uber… funny enough the uber driver became my accidental therapist.

Well... not really.

I just told him I was going on date and asked him if he had any tips but instead he laughed and said,

"I’m the last person you shoud be asking that question "

He then began to tell me his story and we had one of those weird conversations where neither of us really knew what we were talking about...but somehow it made me feel calmer.

Anyway...Back to the actual story.

I got there first , big mistake because waiting is the worst part because your brain suddenly starts making up excuses for when she decides to not show up ,so I walked around while pretending I wasn't checking my phone every thirty seconds.

Then she called.

"O Ko Kae?/ Where are you?"

I immediately started walking back.

As I turned the corner...There she was.

• Forget the pictures.

• Forget the FaceTimes.

She somehow looked even better in real life.

She was beautiful.

Like... disrespectfully beautiful.

I gave her a hug but it was one of those awkward first hug where neither of you really knows if it's one arm or two.

Then we went to grab something to eat.

You know those first thirty minutes when two people are still pretending to be normal? Yeah…that.

But after a while, the conversation started flowing.

Then it was time to ask important questions.

Like...

"Whose you’re top 5 favourite artist"

If this list includes

Chris Brown, Mariah the Scientist , Latto , Partynextdoor and a few others I can’t name right now

Then it was an Immediate red flag for me.

After we got food, I took her bowling and before anyone asks… yes she lost because I’m competitive like.if we're keeping score, I'm keeping receipts too.

After bowling, we decided to take a walk.

Then something happened.

The world got... quiet for a minute and It felt like everyone around us disappeared for a second.

It was just me and her in one of those moments you don't realize you'll remember forever.

So...I kissed her.

And wow Best lamza I've ever gotten.

Matter of fact... Quick question.

Incomplete thoughts

Do you know what a lamza is wena?

I don’t think you understand…

Read more

4 months ago · 3744 likes · 110 comments · Incomplete thoughts

Do you even know what a lamza is wena ?

If you know...Congratulations.

If you don't...I'm not explaining.

And even after that we went and got some ice cream.

Eventually the day was coming to an end. It was getting late, and there was no way I was comfortable with her taking an uber home alone.

Maybe it's the way my mom raised me.

Maybe it's just who I am.

Either way I suggested we share the ride and add two stops.

Her’s and then Mine

Simple or that's just what I thought because once that uber ride started... Everything changed again.

To be continued...

Soooo... I was in a talking stage.

You know... that stage where you're basically dating, but if anyone asks, you both suddenly develop amnesia.

"Nah, we're just talking."

Talking?

My brother in Christ, we've been on dates, we text from sunrise to "goodnight", and my screen time has increased by 74%.

That's not talking…That's unpaid commitment.

But Anyway...

Nothing was official but nothing felt uncertain either.

She became part of my routine, I'd tell her about my day before I told anyone else. If something funny happened, she was the first person I wanted to send it to.

Life just felt... lighter.

Now here's my toxic experiment.

One day I decided not to text first.

Not to manipulate.

Not to test her.

I just wanted to see if I'd be missed.

...

Silence.

One day.

Two days.

A week.

At first I thought maybe she's busy.

Then I thought maybe her phone fell into the Atlantic Ocean.

Then I remembered... people make time for what matters.

That's when it hit me.

Maybe I wasn't being chased because I was doing all the running.

And wow...

That's a painful realization.

There's a different kind of loneliness that comes from realizing the conversation only exists because you refuse to let it die.

It makes you question everything.

Was I asking for too much?

Was I too available?

Or was I simply asking the wrong person for consistency?

People love saying, "If they wanted to, they would."

I used to hate that sentence.

Because sometimes people are genuinely busy.

But after a while...busy starts looking a lot like uninterested.

So I stopped chasing.

Stopped explaining.

Stopped convincing myself that effort would eventually be returned.

Instead...I wrote.

Some of you probably found me because of an article called

"Before I Give Up on You. I wanna know…"

Funny enough...

That article wasn't written because I wanted attention , It was written because my notes app was cheaper than therapy.

Every sentence was something I wanted to send but knew I shouldn't.

Eventually I told myself it was time to move on.

Keyword...

Told.

Because your brain can move on long before your heart sends in the resignation letter.

Then I met someone else.

She was from Pretoria.

Now this girl...

Yoh.

She wasted absolutely no time...after one week she was already telling me she loved me.

One week.

I've had Ice Cream in my fridge longer than that.

And don't get me wrong...

• She was sweet.

• She was kind.

• She was Beautiful.

She genuinely liked me.

But have you ever tried replacing one song with another while the first one is still playing in your head?

Exactly.

Then, just when I thought life couldn't get any more dramatic...

Guess who came back?

Yep.

The first girl.

She apologized ,owned up to everything and because my heart clearly doesn't learn lessons the first time...

and similar to the first article I wrote about it again and this one was ..

‘Should I be Stupid Twice’

And I let her back in.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

Now imagine my situation.

One girl in Cape Town. One girl in Pretoria.

One confused guy acting like the main character in a low-budget Netflix romance.

And as if life planned this plot twist itself...

I was already going to Pretoria the following week to visit family and friends.

We made plans to meet.

I went and little did I know what I was in for ...

From the moment boys are young, they're taught the same lesson.

"Man up."

"Stop crying."

"Be strong."

"Indoda Ayikhali."

As if tears somehow make you less of a man.

I've always thought that was one of the dumbest concepts we've ever normalized.

There have been so many moments where I wanted to cry.

Not because I was weak.

Not because I couldn't handle life.

But because I was overwhelmed.

Because I was hurting.

Because I was carrying more than I could hold.

And yet... nothing came out.

It's like somewhere along the way, I trained myself not to.

Not because I didn't want to cry, but because I'd spent years convincing myself that I wasn't allowed to.

People always say men don't express their emotions.

Maybe it's because every time we tried, someone laughed.

• Someone called us soft.

• Someone told us to "be a man."

So we stopped.

• We swallowed the tears.

• We buried the pain.

• We learned how to smile while falling apart.

And the scary thing is, people praise us for it.

They call us "strong."

But strength isn't pretending you're okay when you're not. Strength is being honest enough to admit when you're struggling.

We've created generations of men who don't know how to process sadness.

So instead, it comes out as anger.

Silence. Distance. Self-destruction.

Not because they don't feel.

Because they were never taught that feeling was allowed.

The truth is, crying doesn't solve every problem but neither does pretending nothing hurts.

Sometimes your body just needs a release.

Sometimes those tears have been waiting for years.

I envy the people who can cry when they need to. because there have been nights where I begged myself to.

I could feel everything building inside me.

The lump in my throat.

The heaviness in my chest.

The exhaustion.

But the tears just wouldn't come.

It's a strange feeling when your heart is screaming, but your eyes stay dry.

That's what "Men don't cry" does.

It doesn't make men stronger but instead makes them strangers to their own emotions.

That's not strength ,that's emotional imprisonment.

So if you're a man reading this...

Cry if you need to.

Talk if you need to.

Ask for help if you need to.

You don't become less of a man because you have emotions you become more human.

Maybe the strongest men aren't the ones who never cry but they're the ones who finally allow themselves to.

I've spent so much of my life wanting to find someone who genuinely chooses me.

Someone who stays. Someone who reassures. Someone who makes love feel safe instead of confusing.

And somehow... I found her.

The strange part is that my heart still struggles to believe it not because of anything she's done.

But because of everything I've convinced myself could happen.

It's a strange feeling.

You pray for something for so long, and when it finally arrives, you spend more time waiting for it to disappear than appreciating that it's here.

That's what insecurity does.

It steals moments that should've been beautiful.

Instead of enjoying the relationship, you begin investigating it.

You notice every delayed reply.

Every change in tone.

Every moment she's busy.

Every time she laughs at her phone without telling you why.

Your mind starts writing stories your heart never asked for.

You tell yourself they losing interest.

You convince yourself they’re talking to someone else.

You remember every relationship that ended, every person who left, every disappointment you've ever experienced and somehow your brain decides this story has to end the same way.

People always say,

"If you feel like she's gone, she's already gone."

And maybe that's true for some people.

But insecurity has a way of turning fear into fake evidence.

Sometimes you aren't seeing reality.

You're seeing your wounds.

The hardest part about being insecure isn't doubting someone else.

It's never believing you're enough for them to stay.

You constantly wonder,

"Why would someone like her choose me?"

"How long until she realizes she can do better?"

"What if she's only here until someone better comes along?"

Those thoughts don't come from your partner. They come from the version of yourself that still hasn't healed.

I don't know what happened to make me this way.

Maybe it was disappointment.

Maybe it was people who promised forever and left anyway.

Maybe it was learning to expect abandonment before happiness.

Whatever it was...

I hope it ends.

Because I don't want to spend every beautiful moment preparing for heartbreak.

I don't want to love someone while constantly expecting them to leave.

• I want to believe her when she says she loves me.

• I want to trust that not every silence hides betrayal.

• I want to stop searching for problems where there might only be peace.

Maybe love isn't about never feeling insecure.

Maybe it's about choosing to trust even when fear is louder.

Healing isn't waking up one day without doubts.

It's reminding yourself that the person standing in front of you deserves to be trusted until they give you a reason not to be.

And maybe I owe her that.

But more importantly...

Maybe I owe that to myself.

Because if I spend all my time waiting for love to end, I'll never fully experience it while it's here.

And I still believe this—

Real love doesn't survive because two people never overthink , It survives because two people keep choosing each other, even on the days when fear tries to convince them otherwise.

Real love will always last not because it's perfect, but because it's protected by trust, honesty, and two people willing to grow instead of letting fear make the decisions.

I think I'm petty.

Not in the funny, harmless way where you laugh about it with your friends. I'm talking about the kind of petty that quietly changes who you are.

The kind that whispers, "Treat them exactly how they treated you."

And for a while, that sounds fair.

If they ignore me, I'll ignore them harder.

If they make me wait, I'll make them wait longer.

If they stop caring, I'll make sure they know I can stop caring too.

When they go low...

I go lower.

Maybe that's because being petty feels like taking your power back. It feels like justice. Like you're refusing to let someone walk over you again.

But somewhere between protecting yourself and proving a point, you stop acting like yourself.

You start becoming a mirror.

Instead of asking, "Who do I want to be?" you start asking, "What would hurt them the most?"

That's a dangerous way to live.

Because now your character depends on someone else's actions.

They become cold…so you become colder.

They become immature…so you become even more immature.

And before you know it, you're no longer responding from your values. You're reacting from your wounds.

I've always believed in treating people how they treat me.

Simple.

At least that's what I told myself.

But lately I've been wondering...

What if that's the reason I never find peace , Because every time someone disappoints me, I give them permission to change who I am.

I convince myself they deserve it.

Maybe they do.

Maybe they don't.

But carrying around the need to "win" every emotional battle is exhausting.

Sometimes being the bigger person feels like losing.

• It feels like they got away with it.

• It feels unfair.

But maybe peace has never been about winning.

Maybe it's about refusing to let someone else's behavior write your story.

Being kind doesn't mean letting people disrespect you.

Forgiveness doesn't mean giving them another chance.

Walking away isn't weakness.

Sometimes the strongest revenge isn't making someone feel what they made you feel.

Sometimes it's refusing to become the person they expected you to become.

I've realized that being petty keeps you emotionally connected to people you claim you're over.

Every delayed reply.

Every viewed story.

Every calculated silence.

It's all proof that they're still occupying space in your mind.

And the truth is...

The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference.

Real healing isn't making them regret losing you.

It's reaching a point where you no longer care if they do.

I'm still learning that.

• Some days I still want to match energy.

• Some days I still want the last word.

• Some days I still want them to feel exactly what they put me through.

But I'm beginning to understand something.

Not every battle deserves my energy.

Not every slight deserves a response.

And not every version of me deserves to survive just because someone else hurt me.

Because if they go low...

I don't have to follow them , I can simply keep moving on.

Would the younger version of you be proud of the person you've become?

Not the version everyone else sees.

The one that smiles in photos.

The one that says, "I'm fine."

The real you.

The one who stays awake at night replaying conversations.

The one who carries disappointments nobody knows about.

The one who has learned to expect people to leave before they actually do.

Sometimes you imagine meeting the younger you.

The child who couldn't wait to grow up the one who thought adulthood meant freedom.

The one who believed that by now you'd have everything figured out.

Do you think they'd recognize you?

Or would they look at you with confused eyes and quietly ask,

"What happened to us?"

Would they notice that you don't laugh as easily anymore?

That you're more careful with your heart?

That you've become so used to surviving that you've forgotten what living actually feels like?

And then another question appears.

Did you make the right decisions?

Or did you simply make the only decisions you were brave enough to make at the time?

You think about every road you didn't take.

• The opportunities you let pass because you were scared.

• The words you never said.

• The people you held onto for too long.

• The people you let go of too soon.

• The dreams you convinced yourself could wait.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you had chosen differently.

Maybe you'd have different friends.

Maybe you'd still trust people.

Maybe you'd wake up feeling lighter.

Maybe you'd be happier.

Or maybe you'd just have different regrets.

Because that's the part nobody tells you.

Every decision creates two lives, the one you live and the one you'll spend the rest of your life wondering about.

What if you had taken the risk?

What if you had spoken up?

What if you had walked away the first time they made you feel unwanted?

What if you had chosen yourself instead of constantly choosing everyone else?

You'll never know and that's what makes it hurt for me.

There are versions of you that only exist in your imagination.

• The version that wasn't afraid.

• The version that chased the opportunity.

• The version that didn't settle for almost.

• The version that loved themselves enough to leave.

Sometimes you're not mourning the past but you're mourning the person you never became.

If life gave you one more chance...

Would you make the same decisions?

Would you still trust the same people?

Would you still ignore the same red flags?

Would you still stay quiet just to keep the peace?

Or would you finally choose the road you've spent years wondering about?

Maybe you'd change everything maybe you'd discover that pain was waiting on every path, just wearing a different face.

Because every choice comes with a cost.

Choosing one future means saying goodbye to countless others you'll never get to experience.

And maybe that's why growing up feels so heavy.

Not because life gets harder...

but because you slowly realize there isn't a perfect timeline where everything worked out.

Only this one.

The one you're living.

So would the younger you be proud?

Maybe they'd be disappointed by how much you've been hurt.

Maybe they'd hate seeing how much you've doubted yourself.

Maybe they'd wonder why you stopped believing everything would be okay.

But after hearing everything you've survived...

After seeing every time you wanted to give up but somehow kept going...

After realizing you're still here despite every reason to quit...

Maybe they'd stop judging you.

Maybe they'd simply sit beside you.

Because they would finally understand something they were too young to know.

Growing up was never about making all the right decisions.

It was about learning how to keep moving after making the wrong ones.

And maybe the question was never whether the younger you would be proud.

Maybe the real question is this:

If they handed you your life back today...

Would you choose to become this version of yourself all over again?

Or would you finally have the courage to walk down the roads you've spent your whole life wondering about?

I've spent a long time confusing love with staying. I thought that if I stayed long enough, loved hard enough, and gave enough pieces of myself away, somebody would eventually look at me and think, "I can't afford to lose this person."

But that's the thing about chasing people. The further you run after them, the further you run away from yourself.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking whether they were good for me.

The only question that mattered was whether I was enough for them. Chasing someone changes the questions you ask yourself. Instead of wondering if you're being appreciated, you start wondering if you're worthy of appreciation. Every unanswered message becomes a reflection of your value. Every cancelled plan becomes something you somehow blame yourself for. Every shift in their energy sends you searching for something you did wrong.

Before you know it, you no longer recognize yourself.

You recognize the anxiety, the waiting, the overthinking, but not the person who once knew they deserved better.

I don't think people realize how exhausting it is to keep pouring into someone who's stopped pouring back. Not because relationships have to be perfectly balanced, but because love should never feel like you're trying to fill a cup with a hole in the bottom. No matter how much you give, it disappears. Somehow, you're the one who ends up apologizing for running empty.

I once heard that the greatest form of love is consideration. The older I get, the more beautiful that sentence becomes. Because consideration isn't loud. It doesn't need an audience or grand gestures. It exists in the smallest moments. It's remembering the little things. It's noticing when something feels off. It's choosing your words carefully because you care about how they'll land. It's asking yourself, "How will this affect them?" before you make a decision. It's carrying someone's heart with you, even when they're not there to remind you.

Maybe that's why it hurts so much when consideration disappears.

• You don't miss the messages as much as you miss feeling remembered.

• You don't miss the conversations as much as you miss feeling important enough to have them.

• And sometimes you don't even miss the person but you miss the version of yourself that believed you mattered to them.

That's the heartbreak nobody talks about. It's not losing someone overnight. It's realizing you've been mourning your place in their life long before they ever left.

These days, I don't want someone to simply tell me they love me. Words have become too easy.

People fall in love with your attention, your consistency, and the comfort you provide.

But very few people fall in love with the responsibility of protecting your heart. I don't want to be adored when it's convenient. I don't want affection that disappears the moment life becomes busy. I don't want to feel appreciated only after I've walked away , please give me my flowers while I'm still here.

I don't want to be in love if that love doesn't know how to value me.

Because being valued looks different. It's being chosen without asking. It's being considered without reminding. It's being respected even when you're not in the room. It's someone making decisions with your feelings in mind because hurting you simply isn't an option to them. That's what I've been looking for all along. Not love. Value.

Someone can love you and still make you feel invisible.

They can love you and still make you question where you stand.

They can love you and still never make you feel safe.

But for someone who truly values you will never make you wonder whether you matter. You'll never have to chase their attention, compete for their effort, or beg for the bare minimum. The people who value you don't make you earn your place in their lives every single day—they protect it.

Maybe this is what letting go really looks like. Not because I stopped caring, but because I'm tired of convincing people to see what has been in front of them all along. I'm tired of chasing people who would've watched me run forever without taking a single step towards me. If I have to exhaust myself just to remain in your life, then maybe I was never meant to stay there in the first place.

I've learned that peace doesn't come from finally being chosen by the people who overlooked you. Peace comes from choosing yourself before they get another chance not to.

So no, I don't want to be in love anymore.

I want to be valued.

I want to be considered.

I want to be remembered.

I want someone whose first instinct isn't to ask, "What can I get from them?" but rather, "How can I make sure they never question where they stand with me?"

Because the people who truly value you never make you chase them.

They walk beside you.

They slow down when you fall behind.

They reach for your hand without being asked.

They choose you, not because they're afraid of losing you, but because they simply cannot imagine treating you as if you were easy to lose.

And maybe that's what love is really supposed to feel like all along.

There is a loneliness that has nothing to do with being by yourself.

It's the kind that follows you into crowded rooms. Into group chats. Into late-night calls. Into lunch with friends. Into family dinners where everyone is laughing except the part of you that's been quiet for weeks.

You're surrounded by people.

Your phone isn't dry.

People know your name, yet somehow, you still feel completely alone.

Not because nobody is there but because nobody seems to see you.

You try talking about it.

You tell your friends you're not doing too well. They listen. They tell you everything will be okay. They remind you they're there if you need them.

But after a while, you stop bringing it up.

Not because you're suddenly okay.

Because you start wondering if you're becoming too much.

You reread your own messages before sending them.

"Didn't I already tell them this?"

"They're probably tired of hearing me complain."

"I don't want them to feel like they have to babysit me."

So instead of reaching out again, you swallow it.

You say, "I'm good."

You change the subject.

You become the funny friend again because laughter is easier to carry than sadness.

The hardest part isn't that people don't care.

It's that you care too much about becoming a burden.

You know your friends have their own problems.

• Their own families.

• Their own battles they don't always talk about.

The last thing you want is to become another thing they have to worry about.

So you convince yourself that silence is kindness.

You tell yourself you're protecting them but no the truth is, you're slowly abandoning yourself.

Loneliness is that it doesn't always come from being unloved sometimes it comes from feeling misunderstood. From feeling like nobody could possibly understand what's happening inside your head.

You could explain it a hundred different ways, and somehow it still wouldn't come out right.

Because how do you explain feeling empty when your life looks perfectly normal?

How do you explain crying over nothing?

How do you explain that you're exhausted even though you've barely done anything?

You can't.

So eventually, you stop trying and that's really where loneliness becomes dangerous.

Not when nobody checks on you.

But when you stop believing anyone should.

You start convincing yourself that everyone would be better off if you just handled everything alone.

You become your own therapist.

Your own distraction.

Your own emergency contact.

You carry every thought until your mind becomes heavier than your body.

Then people ask why you've become so quiet.

The honest answer?

Because talking started feeling pointless not because people weren't listening , you stopped believing your pain deserved another conversation.

Maybe that's what hurts the most.

Knowing you have people around you, yet still feeling like there's nowhere safe to put what's inside your chest.

It's a strange kind of isolation.

One where you're never physically alone..but emotionally, you've never felt further away from everyone.

If this sounds familiar, I hope you remember one thing.

The people who truly love you would rather hear you say, "I'm struggling again," a hundred times than attend your funeral wishing you had said it once more.

You are not a burden because your heart is heavy.

You're human.

Please remember that you are loved.

And sometimes the loneliest people aren't the ones with nobody around them.

They're the ones who spend every day surrounded by people while quietly convincing themselves they have to carry everything alone.

Idk what the hell is going on..

I hear people love to say that purpose comes from within.

That you shouldn't need anyone else to feel complete.

That your reason for waking up shouldn't depend on another person.

Maybe they're right.

But they never tell you how hard it is to care about tomorrow when nobody seems to care about you today.

Love has never just been about romance. It is about being seen, being chosen, being remembered.

• It is someone asking if you got home safely.

• Someone noticing when your smile doesn't reach your eyes.

• Someone making you feel like your existence changes the room in the best way.

When that disappears, something else quietly disappears with it.

Purpose.

You stop planning because there is nothing to look forward to. You stop dreaming because there is no one you imagine celebrating with. You stop trying because it feels like every achievement echoes in an empty room.

You begin surviving instead of living.

People think a lack of purpose looks dramatic. They imagine someone lying in bed all day, refusing to move. Sometimes it looks like that.

More often, it looks like someone going through every single day on autopilot. They wake up. Eat because they're supposed to. Laugh because everyone else is laughing. Sleep because the day finally ended.

Nothing hurts enough to scream anymore.

Nothing excites enough to stay awake for.

The world becomes painfully neutral.

The frightening thing about being unloved isn't loneliness. It's how quickly your mind starts asking, "If nobody would notice I was gone for a while, what exactly am I working towards?"

Not because you want to disappear.

Because you've forgotten what it feels like to matter.

Love gives ordinary moments meaning.

A sunset becomes something you want to send to someone.

A promotion becomes someone to call.

A funny joke becomes something worth sharing.

Even suffering becomes lighter when there's a hand reaching back for yours.

Without that, life becomes a collection of disconnected moments with nowhere to place them.

We as humans weren't designed to exist in isolation. We build our identities through connection. We discover ourselves through people who remind us that we're worth discovering.

When love is absent long enough, you don't just question your relationships.

You question yourself.

You wonder whether you're difficult to love.

Too much. Not enough. Too quiet. Too emotional. Too available. Too distant.

Eventually you stop asking what people see in you and start believing there was never much to see in the first place.

That is how purpose dies. Not with a single heartbreak.

But with a thousand unanswered messages, forgotten birthdays, cancelled plans, one-sided conversations, and silent nights where nobody wondered how your day was.

The cruelest part is that from the outside, you still look functional. You still go to work. You still hand in assignments. You still reply with "I'm good." You still crack jokes.

People mistake movement for meaning.

They don't realize you're simply keeping your body alive while your soul has quietly stopped applying for the job.

Maybe purpose doesn't begin with ambition.

Maybe it begins with believing your existence leaves a mark on someone else's life.

Because when you know you're loved, the future feels like somewhere worth arriving.

When you don't, tomorrow starts looking exactly like yesterday and eventually, you stop asking yourself what your purpose is.

You start wondering whether you ever had one at all.

The other day someone walked up to me and said, "Yooo Twin."

( I am not your twin lil bro)

I just looked at him with the most confused, awkward face.

Not because I was offended.

But because... who are you?

Apparently wearing baggy jeans, sneakers and listening to rap means we're automatically boys now.

I get it.

I probably look like your average "skrr skrr."

I wear oversized clothes. I listen to trap. I know the slang. If you saw me from a distance, you'd probably think, "Yeah, he's one of them."

But somewhere along the way, people forgot that style isn't personality.

I'm not a character you've already figured out because of what I'm wearing.

I'm a person.

And that's the part everyone skips.

Yes, I listen to young thug , gunna , drake and whoever else it may be

But in the other playlists I will randomly throw in Sade, Frank Ocean, Solange, Amy Winehouse, Erykah Badu and jazz records that make me feel like I pay taxes, and soul music that was released before my parents even met.

One minute I'm screaming, "Metrooo!"

The next minute I'm sitting in silence while a saxophone ruins my entire evening.

Music isn't a personality test.

It's a library.

Why would I only borrow one book?

People act like once you like trap music you're supposed to act a certain way.

You're supposed to call everybody "my guy."

You're supposed to dap up every stranger.

You're supposed to walk around like you're permanently in a music video.

I'm sorry to disappoint you.

• I'm awkward.

• I overthink simple conversations.

• I still say "thank you" when someone holds the door open.

I apologise when someone bumps into me.

I'm just a normal human being who happens to enjoy 808s.

And yes...

I'm a nigga….I mean... I am but not in the way you're trying to make it sound.

Not every sentence has to end with "twin."

Not every interaction needs to feel like we're about to record a freestyle.

Sometimes "hello" works just fine.

We've become so obsessed with aesthetics that we've forgotten people have layers.

But I'm more than an outfit.

More than a playlist.

More than whatever algorithm told you people like me are supposed to be.

The funniest part is, if you actually sat down and had a conversation with me, you'd probably realise we have more in common than the clothes we're wearing.

So next time you see someone who looks like a "skrr skrr," maybe don't assume you've already met them.

Because fashion can tell you what someone likes but It can't tell you who they are.

People think "nothing hurts anymore" means you've become cold.

It doesn't.

Sometimes it just means life already introduced you to your worst nightmare...

and you survived it.

The person you couldn't imagine losing?

Gone.

The future you spent nights dreaming about?

Didn't happen.

The version of yourself you were so proud of?

You had to bury them too.

One day you wake up and realize the thing you spent months begging the universe not to take from you...

was taken anyway.

And somehow...

you're still here.

That's when something changes inside you.

Not because you stopped feeling.

Because fear loses its leverage.

You stop worrying about people leaving because you've already watched someone walk away.

You stop fearing rejection because you've already been told you weren't enough.

You stop fearing failure because you've already failed at things that mattered.

You stop fearing heartbreak because your heart has already learned how to beat with cracks in it.

People can't threaten you with what you've already survived.

That's the strange freedom nobody talks about.

When you've already experienced your worst day, every other bad day becomes easier to carry.

You realize pain has limits.

• It screams.

• It suffocates.

It convinces you that you're dying.

Then one morning...

it gets quieter.

Not because your life suddenly became perfect.

But because your soul adapted to a weight it never wanted to carry.

You become dangerous in a different way.

Not to other people.

To fear itself.

Because fear only works when it can convince you there's something unbearable waiting on the other side.

You've already met the unbearable.

You shook its hand.

You buried what it took from you.

And somehow...

you kept living.

That's freedom.

Not happiness.

Freedom.

You stop chasing certainty because you know certainty doesn't exist.

You stop begging people to stay because you know you'll survive if they don't.

You stop shrinking yourself to avoid disappointment because disappointment already knows your name.

The worst already happened and it didn't end you.

It introduced you to a version of yourself that no comfort ever could.

A version that understands this simple truth:

If I survived that...I'll survive whatever comes next.

Maybe that's why nothing hurts the same anymore.

Not because life became easier.

Because you became proof that even your darkest chapter wasn't your final one.

Sometimes the greatest freedom isn't getting everything you wanted , it's realizing there's almost nothing left that can scare you.

Because you've already lived through the thing you thought would destroy you.

And it didn't.

It changed you.

It made you lighter.

It made you braver.

It made you free.

Before anyone gets angry, this isn't an attack on poor people.

Poverty is not a personality flaw. It is not a punishment. Millions of hardworking people wake up every morning, do everything they can, and are still trapped in systems that make survival feel like a full-time job.

But there is still a difficult question that deserves to be asked:

If you know you're struggling to survive, is it fair to bring someone else into that struggle?

A child never asks to be born.

• They don't choose their parents.

• They don't choose the country they're born in.

• They don't choose whether they'll go to bed hungry or sleep peacefully.

Every hardship they face is a consequence of decisions made before they even took their first breath.

That's a heavy truth.

Poverty isn't the problem. Avoidable suffering is.

There's a difference.

Some people become poor after having children because life happened. A job was lost. A business failed. A parent got sick. The economy collapsed. No one can predict every tragedy.

But choosing to have a child while already knowing you cannot provide even the basics raises an uncomfortable moral question.

Children deserve more than survival.

They deserve nutritious food, healthcare, education, safety, opportunities, and the freedom to dream without carrying adult burdens before they're old enough to understand them.

Love matters. But a child cannot eat promises.

"Money doesn't matter."

People often say, "Money doesn't buy happiness."

That's true.

But poverty can buy stress.

It can buy anxiety.

It can buy empty cupboards, unpaid school fees, missed opportunities, untreated illnesses, and children who grow up believing they are a burden simply because they need things.

Money isn't everything but the absence of it affects almost everything.

We don't prepare enough for parenthood.

People spend months researching which phone to buy.

Years planning a wedding.

Weeks deciding on a car.

Yet some people make one of the biggest decisions of their lives—bringing another human being into the world—with less planning than a weekend trip.

A child isn't a milestone.

A child is a lifetime commitment.

Breaking cycles is also an act of love.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do isn't having a child immediately.

Sometimes it's waiting.

Waiting until you're emotionally ready.

Financially stable.

Mentally healthy.

Able to give your future child more than what life gave you.

Delaying parenthood isn't giving up on becoming a parent.

It's investing in the kind of parent you want to be.

Compassion matters too.

This conversation should never become an excuse to shame poor parents.

Many are doing extraordinary jobs under impossible circumstances.

Many sacrifice meals so their children can eat.

Many work multiple jobs just to keep the lights on.

Their love is real.

Their effort is real.

And they deserve dignity, not ridicule.

The question isn't whether poor people deserve children.

The question is whether every child deserves the best chance we can reasonably give them.

My Final Thoughts on this is that :

Every child enters this world as an innocent soul, trusting that someone has prepared a place for them.

They don't ask for wealth.

They don't need perfection.

But they do deserve a life where their biggest worries aren't whether they'll eat tomorrow or whether the electricity will stay on.

Bringing a child into the world is one of the greatest acts of hope.

Hope, however, should be accompanied by preparation.

Because love gives life meaning.

But responsibility gives life a foundation.

There is nothing more exhausting than being genuine with someone who's being strategic.

I'm telling you exactly how I feel.

You're calculating how much you should reveal.

I'm trying to build trust.

You're trying to maintain control.

I'm choosing honesty.

You're choosing whatever keeps you with the upper hand.

And maybe that's what dating has become.

Everyone is so afraid of looking like they care more.

People wait three hours before replying because they don't want to seem "too available."

They pretend to be less interested than they really are.

They act nonchalant when they actually want to call.

Some people would rather lose someone real than lose the illusion that they're in control.

I don't understand it.

If you miss me, tell me.

If you're upset with me, tell me.

If you're scared, tell me.

Don't turn every conversation into a chess match while I'm treating it like a conversation.

Because while you're thinking ten moves ahead, I'm simply trying to understand the person sitting in front of me.

The saddest part is that genuine people usually lose first.

Not because they're weak.

Because they assume everyone else is being as honest as they are.

They believe words.

They believe consistency means something.

They don't realize the other person is measuring every text, every compliment, every ounce of affection like it's a business transaction.

"Don't say too much."

"Don't get attached."

"Keep them guessing."

Guessing what?

Whether you actually like me?

Whether this is real?

Whether I'm wasting my time?

Love shouldn't feel like solving a riddle.

It shouldn't feel like you're constantly trying to decode hidden meanings behind delayed replies and mixed signals.

If you like me, let me know.

If you don't, let me go.

Please don't keep me around because my attention feels nice.

Don't breadcrumb me just enough to stop me from leaving.

Don't give me hope when you've already made your decision.

That's not kindness.

That's comfort at someone else's expense.

I know being vulnerable is terrifying.

It means you could get hurt.

Rejected.

Misunderstood.

But I'd rather be rejected by someone's honesty than comforted by their strategy.

Because at least honesty lets me heal.

Strategy keeps me trapped.

It keeps me wondering what I did wrong.

It convinces me that if I say the perfect thing or wait the perfect amount of time, maybe you'll finally choose me.

But love was never supposed to be earned through perfect timing.

It was supposed to be met with the same energy.

So if I'm showing up with my heart in my hands, don't show up with a game plan.

Please don't be strategic while I'm being genuine with you.

One of us is trying to build something.

The other is just trying not to lose.

And those two people will never meet in the same place.

There comes a point where you have to stop asking, "Why did this happen to me?" and start asking, "Why did I stay?"

Not because everything was your fault.

But because sometimes... you knew better.

You saw the red flags.

You felt your stomach sink every time they disappointed you.

You ignored your intuition because you wanted your hope to be right more than your instincts.

You accepted apologies that never turned into change.

You kept opening doors for people who only ever came to take.

And as painful as it is to admit, sometimes we become active participants in our own suffering.

That's not self-hatred.

That's accountability.

There's a difference.

Self-blame says, "I deserved this."

Accountability says, "I deserved better, but I ignored what I already knew."

One destroys you.

The other helps you grow.

The truth is, nobody teaches us how to walk away the first time we're disrespected.

Nobody hands us a manual on love, friendships, heartbreak, or betrayal.

We're all just figuring it out as we go.

This is your first time being alive.

Your first time being this age.

Your first time experiencing this exact version of life.

So of course you're going to make mistakes.

You're going to trust the wrong people.

You're going to stay longer than you should.

You're going to believe promises that were never going to be kept.

And unfortunately...

That's part of living.

Some lessons don't arrive as advice.

They arrive as pain.

The important thing is making sure you don't pay tuition for the same lesson twice.

Forgive yourself for not knowing then.

But don't ignore what you know now.

Growth isn't pretending the hurt never happened.

It's refusing to abandon yourself the next time life gives you the same choice in a different person.

Take accountability.

Own your decisions.

Learn from them.

But don't spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for being human.

Bad things happen.

People disappoint you.

You disappoint yourself.

That's life.

The goal isn't to become someone who never gets hurt.

The goal is to become someone who recognizes the pain sooner, chooses themselves quicker, and leaves before the damage becomes their identity.

Sometimes you've got to admit that you knew better.

Then thank yourself for finally acting like it.

There was a time when I gave everyone the best parts of me.

My time.

My energy.

My patience.

My attention.

I answered every call.

Showed up whenever I could.

Made myself available even when I was running on empty.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something uncomfortable.

I had become a stranger to myself.

I knew how everyone else was doing, but I couldn't answer that same question when someone asked me.

So if I seem distant these days...

if I'm not replying as fast...

if I'm saying no more often...

if I'm choosing silence over conversations that drain me...

Please don't take it personally.

I owe myself a lot right now.

I owe myself the peace I sacrificed trying to keep everyone else comfortable.

I owe myself the confidence I lost by constantly seeking validation from people who couldn't even decide if they wanted me around.

I owe myself the rest I never allowed because I convinced myself productivity was the only way I'd be worthy.

I owe myself forgiveness for every version of me that accepted less than I deserved.

That's a debt I can't ignore anymore.

So don't expect too much from me right now.

I'm not disappearing because I don't care.

I'm disappearing because I've spent too many years putting myself last.

For once, I want to know what it feels like to choose me without feeling guilty about it.

Some people will call it selfish.

Maybe it looks that way when they're used to having unlimited access to you.

But there's a difference between being selfish and finally having boundaries.

I've learned that not everyone deserves the same version of you.

Some people only know the version that keeps giving.

They're uncomfortable meeting the version that has limits.

And that's okay.

Because I'm tired of pouring from a cup that has been empty for years.

I want to become someone I can be proud of again.

Someone who sleeps peacefully.

Someone who doesn't overthink every conversation.

Someone who doesn't abandon themselves just to avoid disappointing other people.

If that means I reply less...

If that means I spend more weekends alone...

If that means I choose my own healing over someone else's expectations...

Then so be it.

One day I'll have more to give.

One day I'll show up with a lighter heart and steadier hands.

But today...

Today I'm investing in the one person who's been waiting the longest for my attention.

Me.

And if that disappoints you, I understand.

But I've disappointed myself for long enough.

It's my turn now.