First of all, before I start, “Juicy says ashewo.” Are you guys not going to ask me what I want? 😭

Anyways, I want to rent Damilare Kuku’s Code Word for a minute so I can use it to give you guys a lovely review. 😂

My lovely Damilare, please take your flowers. You deserve them all. 🌸

When I bought this book, I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew Damilare is a fantastic writer. No doubts about that because I’ve read two of her books before, and I knew this was about to take me on a journey.

Let me start with the title: Women Rent Men and Secrets Here.

When I first saw the title, I was kind of like, “Damilare, what is this again?” 😭 Because what do you mean “women rent men and secrets here”? Like, what could that possibly mean?

Being the nosey person that I am, I decided to get the book just so I could find out what it was about. And honestly? I was not disappointed.

Her use of language in this book is really considerate, if I must say. She made it sound like the regular language we use when speaking. It felt like she knew exactly what she wanted to say and exactly how she wanted to say it.

Everything flowed so smoothly.

I can confidently say I got goosebumps twice while reading this book. Her language feels so smooth and easy to comprehend. There are no unnecessary big words or attempts to sound overly complicated. She just tells the story, and somehow, you can feel it.

Now, the characters…

Her characters are the kind you can never fully predict.

Like, there are so many plot twists coming from these people. 😭

What do you mean rude Victoria is not a saint and she knows our juicy?

What do you mean all the people living in the estate are women?

What do you mean the women are in a cult and planned an entire murder, only to pin it on someone else?

What do you mean?! 😭😭

There is really a lot to unpack in this book.

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One thing I didn’t particularly like, though, was the fact that the book ended on such a huge suspense. Because, Damilare, I genuinely feel like there is still so much more to this story.

How was the code created?

When did they start renting secrets?

Why did they want to kill Njoku?

How are all the women related?

Who is Ara actually paying rent to?

And, most importantly, how did they get involved with Juicy?

I want to know every single little secret.

Damilare, please spill, or I will spill. 😭😂

It is such a lovely story.

And I don’t know if it’s just me ooo, but the red cover of the book screams that all the characters are red flags. 😂 It screams blood, danger and something is definitely not right here.

So, if you need a story that will suck you in and make you feel like you’re right there witnessing the uncovering of a murder, go buy this book or add it to your TBR.

Damilare Kuku, you did your thing. 👏🏾🌸

May Yaba Men Not Happen to You

Let me rephrase that.

May that one man in Yaba who keeps touching, following and harassing women not happen to you.

Now, let me tell you why I said that.

I decided to go to Yaba to get my dinner outfit because, honestly, time no dey again. I had a gown to buy, so I got to Yaba and went straight to the area where I usually get my clothes.

I was minding my business and walking towards the shop when one useless, scattered-teeth bastard started following me around, trying to convince me to come and buy tops and jeans from him.

Sir?

I ignored him because obviously, I was not looking for tops and jeans.

The next thing this man did was touch me.

Omo.

My head first sparkkkkkk.

Because what exactly?

I immediately told him, “Abeg, don’t touch me.”

He said, “Ooo, no vex. I no go touch you again.”

I was like, “Good.”

And I moved on with my life.

Or at least, I tried to.

The next thing I knew, this guy had started following me again.

In my head, I was just thinking, did my village people send you to me? Because what is happening gan?

I told him to leave me alone and that I was not interested in buying anything.

Then this idiot started saying, “Shebi me I know say I fine.”

Before I could even process that one, he added that but omo you get yansh wey big ooo.

Omo.

My head burst.

Because whattttt?

Did I know you before? And even if I did, why exactly would you think that was an appropriate thing to say to me?

I was so pissed that I turned to him and shouted, “Are you okay? Is everything fine with you?”

I eventually got to the place I was going to, only to discover that the shop was closed. So I turned back to go to another store where I usually buy my things.

And guess what?

This animal started following me again.

At this point, he was just being extremely creepy. I had already told him not to touch me. I had already told him to leave me alone. I had already told him I wasn’t buying anything.

What exactly did this man want from me?

So I started shouting.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t already irritating enough, one man beside me decided to contribute his unsolicited wisdom.

He said I didn’t have to shout because, according to him, “Shebi he no touch you again.”

I just looked at that foolish fellow like, did I invite you into this situation?

Next time, please keep that kind of advice for your daughter.

Meanwhile, Mr Yaba, who had been following me since like he had nobody else to sell his market to, suddenly became angry.

He started calling me names.

He said I was an animal.

He said he knew girls like me.

He said it wasn’t like I was even fine.

He started asking what exactly was in my body.

Oga???

Because I asked you to leave me alone?

My head sparked immediately.

I turned back to give him the words of his life.

In one, two, three …

“You are the one that is an animal. It takes an animal to know an animal. You freaking pig. A pig that’s what you are. Instead of you to be serious with the market that you are selling, you are here harassing me. Don’t let me even start with you today. You disgusting piece of shit. I’m not well in the head ooo. You foolish, idiotic, mannerless, poor, broke sapa man!”

And to end it all, I shouted:

“BROKIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

😭😭😭

Shame sef cover me because at that point, people’s attention was now on me and some passers-by were just laughing.

But omo, I had to stop eventually because my breath was beginning to seize.

Some elderly men eventually came to apologise on his behalf, and I left.

But on a serious note, the whole situation was disgusting. I had repeatedly told this man to leave me alone. He touched me without my permission, followed me around and made comments about my body.

And somehow, when I reacted loudly, I was the one being told not to shout.

Anyway.

Me - 1.

Yaba Men - 0.

The next man who tries this rubbish will get Cameroon pepper sprayed to his eyes

Rubbish.

Now, I know some of you will be like, “Waffy, why did you choose violence this evening?”

My question is… if na you, you no go choose am? Ehn?

This whole rubbish started because I decided to start going to the library this week. I didn’t want to be shouting, “It’s not my result!” when my lecturers eventually release my grades next semester.

The funny thing is, I’m not even a library person. I’ve always hated libraries because they’re too quiet. But there’s this place in my school called Windows of America… or America Window… whichever one it is. I can’t even be bothered to know the correct name. You sha get the gist.

My friends kept talking about how chill it is. Not as silent as the main school library, so I said, “Why not?”

Day one went well.

Day two? Even better.

Then I realized that if I got there late, all the good seats would be gone. So I made a promise to myself: from now on, I’d always be among the first ten people to enter.

The next day, I was number six.

I even kept a seat for my friend.

Then one boy came and sat beside my friend.

Everything I’ve said up till this point doesn’t even matter because this boy is the reason for my crash out.

We had all settled down to read when this guy casually started video-calling his babe… inside the library.

Relationship people get mind sha.

This man was saying things like:

“Babe, can you come to my house?”

“Babe, I miss you.”

“I miss your body on mine.”

Inside.

The.

Library.😒😭

At first, I didn’t even tell my friends because I thought maybe I had misheard him.

Eventually, the girl wanted to tell him something “private,” so he ended the call and stepped outside.

I thought that was the end of it.

I was wrong.

Fast forward to today.

My oga carried the same babe to the library.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a problem with couples coming to the library together.

Come.

Read.

Hold hands if you must.

But abeg, don’t disturb me.

I fit swear for you respectfully.

Imagine trying to understand the History of the English Language, and all I’m hearing is giggles from left, right and center.

Una dey whisper with bedroom voice.

Doing mushy mushy.

Meanwhile, I’m here trying to do remontada for my CGPA.

My God will judge all of you.

And they weren’t just laughing small.

For almost five minutes.

Please, help me ask them wetin funny so the rest of us can laugh too.

I got so irritated that I dropped my book and picked up my phone to rant to my friends.

Only for my friend to tell me she also overheard the video call from that other day.

Like…

BROOOOO.

Relationship people and audacity.

It’s fine.

But bros, this is your last warning.

If you and your babe see me in that library again, avoid me.

Because best believe I will be coming with stone to stone una.

Yours sincerely,

President of the Single and Not Searching Association.

Thank you.

God bless.

I finally remembered that I could send emails to my Substack subscribers. 😂

Okay, I didn’t actually forget. Life just got so busy that every little thing started to feel overwhelming.

I’ve still been posting Notes, but sitting down to write a whole article? My brain just couldn’t do it.

Anyway, I’m here to rant, let out my emotions, and complain about how incredibly shitty July was for me.

I’m just so glad July is over. (By the way, I’m finishing this on a different day because I was too overwhelmed to continue writing when I first started.)

So… here’s why July was such a terrible month.

1. My dad got really sick.

And when I say really sick, I mean really sick.

There was a point where it genuinely felt like he was going to die.

My dad couldn’t walk. He couldn’t use the toilet without assistance. He could barely eat.

Omo… it was a lot.

The hardest part was that I was in school, so everything I knew came from phone calls with my siblings. Imagine carrying that fear every day while still trying to show up for classes, meetings, assignments, and life in general.

A lot of my friends don’t even know about this because I’m not someone who talks about what I’m going through.

There were days I cried for hours.

Sometimes I’d hear my dad’s voice during a phone call and immediately start crying again.

I can’t even put into words everything that was going through my mind in July.

I caught myself thinking of a million ways I’d survive if my dad wasn’t here anymore.

That thought alone broke me.

One thing this experience did, though, was bring us closer. I call him every single day now, something I honestly didn’t use to do.

For everyone reading this, he’s getting better now, although he’s still in the hospital.

I’d really appreciate it if you kept him in your prayers.

2. I have never felt so academically behind.

You know that feeling when you’re already cooked, but your body hasn’t fully processed it yet?

That’s exactly how July felt.

I had to force myself to read even when I wasn’t mentally present.

I constantly felt like I was failing.

I kept asking myself, “What am I even doing with my life?”

On top of that, I became overwhelmed by all the opportunities I’d applied for.

Eventually, I had to step back from almost everything because my mental health simply couldn’t take it anymore.

3. My panic attacks came back.

July was filled with panic attacks.

Almost every day, it was chest tightness, dizziness, fear…

Walking up the stairs became difficult because I constantly felt like I was about to collapse.

Or die.

And the worst part?

I didn’t really have anyone to talk to about it.

Life really dealt with me.

4. I lost a friendship that meant a lot to me.

This one still hurts.

You know when someone’s energy towards you suddenly changes, but you don’t know why?

They stop talking to you the way they used to.

They stop showing up the way they always have.

And you’re left wondering what happened.

What made it harder was that this was someone I genuinely loved and cared about.

I kept thinking, “If I did something wrong, surely she’d tell me.”

Communication had never been an issue between us, so I don’t believe I wronged her.

Honestly, I didn’t even have the mental space to wrong anybody.

But sometimes people grow apart without explanations.

And maybe that’s just life.

I wish her nothing but the best.

It just hurts seeing someone who was once such a huge part of your life move on while you’re still trying to understand what changed.

So…

That’s my July.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading.

I don’t have an exciting July photo dump to share.

July dumped me first.

And for once…

I’m actually glad it did.

Here’s to hoping August is gentler.

For me.

For you.

For all of us. 🤍

People whose friends prioritise them, people who don’t have to share their friends with everyone else, don’t know what life has done for them.

Ever since I was born, I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend that felt like mine. I’m always the third wheel. Sometimes a friendship starts so well that I feel special, like I’ve finally found my person. Then someone suddenly appears out of nowhere and I become the person they tell the plans to after they’ve already been made.

And I’m not saying my friends shouldn’t have other friends. I do too. But I always try my best to make sure none of my friends ever feel left out because of me.

What hurts the most is seeing someone as your best friend while they only see you as a friend.

If you’re your best friend’s best friend, cherish it. Some of us have never experienced that.

Then there are those friendships where you pour everything into someone. You tell them every little detail about your life, every update, every plan, every dream. You keep them informed about everything. But they never do the same for you.

Instead, you hear important things about their life from other people. And everyone is surprised you didn’t know because they thought you two were close.

Embarrassing, isn’t it?

Those friends who only want to receive information from you but never give anything back are exhausting.

And don’t get me started on friend groups.

You’re all in the same circle, but somehow everyone knows what’s going on except you. They have inside jokes you don’t understand. Conversations you weren’t part of or stories you hear about later. Moments you realized they shared together without even thinking to include you.

I can’t even lie.

I’m crying while writing this because that’s how much it hurts.

Maybe it hurts this much because I love deeply. I pour so much into my friendships. Half the things I would do for my friends, they wouldn’t do for me. And the crazy thing is that I genuinely enjoy showing up for the people I care about.

But some people only take.

They take your time.

They take your energy.

They take your kindness.

And the only reason they keep you around is because of what they benefit from you.

I just want my own person.

My own friend.

Someone who chooses me the same way I choose them.

Is that really too much to ask?

I’m tired of friendship heartbreak. I’m tired of feeling like the extra wheel. I’m tired of being the person that doesn’t understand the inside joke.

So until I find my people, I’ll be more careful about who I let into my space.

Because I genuinely cannot survive another friendship heartbreak.

The plan was simple: sleep before 12 so my mum could be the first person to wish me happy birthday.

And she was.

Her call woke me up around six.

I smiled, said thank you, felt all warm inside… and slept back.

Then my stepmum called.

Then my shaylaaa, Nimi.

Then my other roommates.

By the time I finally carried my phone properly, my DMs were flooded with birthday wishes.

My sister was even doing countdown like it was New Year’s Eve 😭

And for a second, I just sat there feeling so loved.

So seen.

So special.

I reposted stories.

Read messages slowly.

Watched people post me with captions that made me emotional.

My classmates wished me.

My department mates wished me.

I posted myself everywhere possible - Substack, Instagram, TikTok, LinkedIn.

If there was another app, trust me, I would have posted there too 😭

Then suddenly… my phone died.

And oh, I was MAD.

Like genuinely upset because how dare my phone stress me on my birthday?

So I did what I know how to do best sometimes-I rotted in bed dramatically.

Until I found a power bank.

Charged my phone.

And decided this birthday was not going to end with me lying in bed all day.

So me and my shaylaaa stepped out for an amala date because someone recommended it to me the previous day.

Three wraps of amala.

Goat meat each.

And Sprite obviously because that drink is basically part of my personality now.

We took pictures.

Shot videos.

Laughed.

Walked around.

And on our way back, random people kept complimenting my haircut.

I was just outside blushing and saying thank you like a celebrity(that I am. Right ?😂) 😭

But honestly, I’m really grateful to her for going out with me because if not, I genuinely would have spent the entire day rotting in bed.

And before all of that sef, my friend Ayo got me fries and turkey for breakfast.

My shaylaaa also gifted me data so I could post excessively all day without suffering.

Real enablers of my dramatic behaviour 😭

Later that night, I went out again with my friend to get food and parfait.

And that was how I ended the day.

It might not sound like the wildest birthday to some people, but to me, it was beautiful.

Because usually, every birthday, I just stay in bed and disappear from the world.

But this year felt different.

I wanted to try.

Even if it was small.

And I’m glad I did.

Thank you to everyone that wished me happy birthday.

To everyone that posted me, texted me, called me, prayed for me, sent gifts, reposted my pictures, or simply made me smile that day - thank you.

You all made me feel deeply loved.

And yes, before you ask…

my birthday celebration is still continuing 😭

I am still collecting gifts.

Very much open to receiving more.

Thank you 🤍

After 18 years of my life I realized that life does not always go the way you planned it in your head.

Sometimes it breaks your heart first.

I survived being diagnosed with asthma.

I survived losing people I genuinely thought would stay in my life forever.

I survived friendships ending and the painful realization that not everybody that calls themselves your friend is actually for you.

I survived anxiety.

I survived depression.

And there were days I genuinely did not know how to explain what I was feeling. Days when everything felt too heavy and I was just trying to make it to the next morning.

I lost twice to a degree I wanted so badly.

And honestly? That pain humbled me. Because when you want something deeply and it still does not happen, it shakes you a little.

But somewhere in all that heartbreak, disappointment and confusion… I started finding myself again.

Slowly.

I started realizing that maybe life was not ending. Maybe it was redirecting me.

Maybe there is still a version of me waiting ahead that will make sense of all this.

And as I step into 19, I do not just want another year added to my age.

I want a beginning.

I want 19 to be the year my dream life slowly starts becoming real.

The year I become a recognized model.

The year I wear a crown at a beauty pageant.

The year I finally begin my acting career.

The year people know me for my love for fashion and creativity.

I want 19 to be the year I start making those money moves I always talk about 😭

The year opportunities finally meet preparation.

The year I stop shrinking myself and start showing the world exactly who I am becoming.

And maybe things will not happen overnight.

Maybe I will still have bad days.

But this time, I am entering a new age with hope instead of fear.

Because after everything 18 threw at me…

I am still here.

And I think that means something.

- Waffy,

one last letter before 19.

When I started “a letter a day till I turn 19”, I just thought it was going to be a fun little challenge. Just me writing everyday till my birthday and forcing myself to stay consistent for once in my life.

But somehow this series has started feeling less like content and more like me sitting down everyday to unpack my own brain.

And honestly?

That is very scary.

Cause why do I suddenly have to face my thoughts everyday?

Why am I noticing things about myself that I usually ignore?

Some days writing comes so easily.

Other days I literally stare at my screen like “girl abeg leave this thing and go to sleep.”

But somehow I still come back the next day to write again.

And I think that’s what this series is teaching me.

Consistency is not always aesthetic.

Sometimes consistency is just showing up confused, tired, overwhelmed and still deciding to continue anyway.

I’ve written while happy.

I’ve written while anxious.

I’ve written while sad.

I’ve written while excited.

I’ve even skipped days because my brain just said “not today.”

And yet somehow you guys are still here reading my thoughts everyday.

Which is still insane to me by the way.

Cause how did my random late night thoughts suddenly become something people wait for?

I don’t even think you guys understand how much this series is changing me already.

It’s making me more honest.

More expressive.

More aware of myself.

And maybe that’s why I’m getting attached to it.

Because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m not hiding inside my own head anymore.

I’m letting people see the messy parts too.

The confused parts.

The overwhelmed parts.

Not just the version of me that has everything together.

And maybe that’s what growing actually looks like.

Not having life figured out.

Not becoming a brand new person overnight.

Maybe it’s just slowly learning how to become comfortable with the person you’re still becoming.

Before I even start appreciating you all properly, let me confess something: I skipped day 8 and day 9 of my “A Letter a Day Till I Turn 19” series. Not because I forgot. Not because I didn’t want to write. But because I was overwhelmed in the best way possible.

A few days ago, I was sitting at just 38 subscribers. Then I made one post about going bald… and somehow, everything changed. Yesterday we hit 100 subscribers, and now we are already getting close to 200.

That still feels unreal to type.

I was so excited, shocked, nervous, and honestly scared too. A part of me kept thinking, “What if I write and they don’t enjoy it?”

But today, I said no to the spirit of fear and doubt because one thing I have realized is this:

I love writing too much to stop because I am afraid.

So this letter is simply an appreciation letter.

To every single person who subscribed, liked, shared, reposted, commented, or even just took out time to read my thoughts - thank you so much. You genuinely have no idea how much this means to me.

Who would have thought that going bald would somehow bring me this amount of love, subscribers, and views? Life is funny like that.

The Substack community really gave me an early birthday gift, and I am beyond grateful for it.

And this letter is also for the 19-year-old version of me:

Please do not stop writing.

Please keep showing up.

Please keep telling stories even when you are scared nobody will listen.

Because now you know there are people listening. There are people waiting to read your words.

And to all of you reading this, thank you for believing in my bald head, my stories, my random thoughts, and every little piece of me I choose to share here.

I genuinely do not even know how to fully express how happy I feel right now. Maybe I really should buy myself a cake to celebrate this win.

I would have bought all of you land and houses right now, but unfortunately my account balance is still developing 😂

Give me one year though. We will revisit this conversation.

I really, really, really love you all.

Thank you for being my first birthday gift this year.

Thank you for making me feel seen.

And thank you for reminding me that sometimes the scariest decisions end up bringing the most beautiful surprises.

Yayyy 🥹🤍

Cheers to us.

The news reaching me that you all are aware that I am the newest baldie in town.

And with this new haircut, I can’t help but imagine how expensive I would look when I finally become rich.

Let me give you guys the backstory of how I suddenly appeared bald.

I woke up on Wednesday and randomly decided that I wanted to know what it feels like to be bald. I picked up my shaving stick, sprayed my hair with water and yes… I shaved everything off.

My roommates could not believe their eyes.

E be like say dem dey watch magic.

But anyway, back to my main point.

I want to describe the kind of dream life that perfectly suits my bald personality.

Imagine this:

An estate in the middle of a forest. A pool. A private beach. I’m sitting by the beachside with a glass of wine while someone massages my scalp until I fall asleep. Somewhere nearby, my chauffeur is just following me around and monitoring my every step like I’m royalty.

And since some people say I look like Wakanda Forever, imagine having a group of people reciting my praises every morning when I wake up and again before I sleep.

In that house, I don’t even lift a pin because there are people assigned to handle even the tiniest tasks for me.

And yes, I already know the perfect cars for this bald era of mine. Vintage cars. Lots of them. I want at least a dozen parked around my estate like decorative furniture.

I also want to dress like Queen Charlotte - dramatic outfits for the morning, afternoon and evening. Every outfit screaming wealth, elegance and African culture.

I want to live such a soft life that I never have to buy anything with my own money because brands are already gifting me everything I want.

And when people ask what I do for a living, I’ll simply say:

“I’m a soft princess professionally.”

The newly appointed Minister of Soft Life and Old Money Enjoyment.

You people can see the vision, right?

Or am I being delusional?

Because my 19-year-old self has already accepted her assignment in life:

to make this dream or delusion come true.

You know that feeling where you don’t even know why you’re sad?

That’s what I’m feeling right now.

I’ve refused to speak to my roommates or have any physical interaction with anyone. And it’s not because I don’t want to - it’s just that my mind isn’t having it.

I want to be left alone and not alone at the same time. I can’t be the only one this happens to.

Omo, if you look down on people who are dealing with anxiety and depression, you’re wrong. Because it takes a lot just to get through a day without crawling back into our lonely shell.

My heart even feels heavy for no reason. I’m so tired. Can I just have a full week without feeling like this? And it’s not even like there’s something specific to be sad about - it just feels like anxiety and depression have taken so much from me.

Sometimes, I wonder what it feels like to just be free from the shackles of anxiety and depression.

And then people say, “go see a therapist.” I’ve been in therapy before, back in secondary school, and it worked because I had a reason for how I felt. But now, it’s hard to even want to go when I can’t clearly explain what’s wrong.

I really want this phase to end, biko, because I am so tired.

Honestly, I don’t even want to keep writing about it anymore, because the more I do, the heavier it feels.

For everyone else feeling like this, I hope we find comfort and happiness.

And for people who are privileged not to feel this way, please be kind to us.

Today has been a lot, and for some reason, what I had planned to write about today, I don’t feel like writing about anymore.

So today, it’s just me, you, and how my day went.

Let me take you guys through how my day went.

I woke up as early as 4:30 to prepare for my day because I was one of the representatives going to represent the press club at The Nation newspaper. I finished getting ready around 6:30, and then I remembered I hadn’t seen my ID card for a very long time. I had to search every nook and cranny of my luggage, and I started panicking, thinking I had lost it… only to find out that it was just on my reading table, staring at me.

I felt so stupid.

I linked up with the other representatives from the press club, and we ordered a ride, and off to the event we went.

Before I even go on, I just want to say that some cars are not meant to be used as Ubers because what?? The Uber that picked us up looked like it needed the driver to just give up on it. My head was constantly hitting the car seat.

Alhamdulillah, I got to the event safe and sound. We were ushered into the quadrangle of The Nation newspaper. We were the first guests to arrive, and we were appreciated for that. Since the event hadn’t begun, the program officer used the opportunity to give a tour to the representatives who hadn’t been there before (but I had been, and I still tagged along sha - FOMO will not let me sit down).

We got back downstairs and were ushered to our seats. And did I tell you guys how crazy the sun was? My head was literally frying, but I still had to sit there because, you know, the sun is good for selfies.

The event started with a keynote address from the Deputy Director of The Nation, and Motunrayo Alaka followed with her keynote speech.

I won’t bore you guys too much, but it was a nice event. After everything, we took pictures and just networked with people around. And I had to run after Timi (the press club head of logistics) just so he could take pictures, and he ended up taking only one.

And yes, my president was looking all radiant and extra beautiful today. She is such a gorgeous boss woman. The color of her outfit just suited her skin.

And can someone please tell item 7 to trash that tiny wooden spoon and go back to a normal spoon, for Christ’s sake.

Anyways, after all this, I tried sleeping and it wasn’t successful… only for me to remember that I hadn’t written today.

So I just had to write something because I don’t want to skip today, and I’m glad I did.

So that’s just a summary of how my day went and how I’m spending my last 13 days being 18.

Love you guys and kisses.

Sleep tight. 💋

You’re the one who lives in your head too much.

You overthink everything.

You let people’s nonsense get to you, and somehow, you still forgive them easily.

You’re the girl who lets anxiety take control.

The one who holds onto her trauma and lets it sit quietly inside her.

You read too many meanings into things, and sometimes, you choose being alone because it feels safer than dealing with people.

And for a while, that version of you made sense.

But I don’t want to be that girl anymore.

I want to walk into spaces without anxiety holding me down.

I want to make decisions without overthinking every little detail.

I want to have healthy friendships with people not friendships built on fear, silence, or second-guessing.

I want to be the kind of person who can call things out for what they are, without worrying about what people will think of me.

I just want to live… freely, without constantly being in my own way.

But even as I say all this, I can’t ignore how helpful you were.

You protected me.

You saved me from being used.

You kept me from making certain mistakes.

You pulled me out of spaces where I wasn’t valued.

And for that, I’m grateful.

But some habits are only meant for survival, not for growth.

And I think we’ve reached that point now.

So I’m choosing to leave you here not out of hate, but out of growth.

I’ll take the lessons, but I won’t carry the weight into this next chapter.

I want to step into 19 a little lighter.

A little free.

A little more in control of my own life.

It was  good while it lasted or maybe not.

I think about the struggles… the trauma you had to go through.

But I also think about how happy you were .

You were so carefree, so religious, so free-spirited.

Life felt lighter then. It must have been really nice.

A lot has changed since you…

The things you went through shaped us into a completely different person.

We see the world differently now-almost like we grew up too fast.

And in case you’re still wondering…

we made it.

We didn’t die.

We’re still here.

Everyone thought asthma would be the end of us, but we survived.

Some things, though… we’re still carrying.

We haven’t fully healed from our brother’s death.

I still write him letters sometimes just to cope, just to feel close to him again.

Friendship doesn’t look the same anymore either.

What people did back then changed how we see things now.

And God…

we’re not as close as we used to be.

We lost something there. I don’t even know how to explain it yet- we’re just learning to live differently now.

We still deal with anxiety.

That hasn’t left.

And guess what?

We entered a beauty pageant.

We did not win.

Did not even make top 10.

But it was fun cause we got to meet new people and experience a different type of fun.

Life is not  what we imagined yet.

Not even close.

But we’re trying even when it looks hard.

Oh and about all those things we used to believe…

We still don’t think marriage is for us. But that idea of having children on our own?

Yeah… we don’t believe in that anymore either. Some things just changed as we grew.

We still struggle with our past sometimes. But we’ve learned to take life as it comes.

To be a little more free.

We’re also learning that we’re responsible for our own happiness.

And yes… we’re a YouTuber now.

Even though we haven’t posted in a while and someone once called us a “failed YouTuber😭😂”

(It still stings a little, but we move.)

Our old poster for YouTube.

We are even into modeling and a bit of fashion influencing.

Let me shock you properly now

we’re not studying law😩.

I know.

We’re studying English and Literary Studies instead.

The reason why is a story for another day…

but somehow, the dream is still alive just in a different font.

I’m writing this to you so you know something:

You didn’t turn out perfect.

You didn’t turn out extraordinary.

But you turned out… okay.

And okay is still okay.

Cause :

You’re learning.

You’re growing.

You’re finding small pieces of happiness where you can.

Oh and one more thing…

We’re turning 19 soon.🥳🥳🥳

And no, we still didn’t get that pink G-Wagon at 18.

Maybe 19 will surprise us😂.

I tried to be minimal but I failed.

So here it is- my completely unserious, slightly serious, very honest birthday wishlist.

Books

Books. Books. Books.

Influencer Light

And yes, money again.

Actually… money.

And then money again.

That “books” you thought I forgot? I didn’t.

Also, abeg no self-help books. I will swear for you respectfully.

A book bouquet (because aesthetics matter)

Content / Creator Life Things

A 360 tripod stand

A magnetic microphone

A vlogging camera (this one is very important, I’m not joking)

Influencer starter pack basically.

Accessories (because I deserve to shine)

Ring set

Gorgeous earrings

Nose rings

Snapbacks & waist chains

Because why not?

Shoes & Fit Energy

Running shoes

Gym wear

Black pointed heels

Platform slippers

Slides

Crocs (comfort is also luxury and color black please)

Soft Life Extras

A four-corner sunshade (for hot girl walks and survival)

Crochet hook, yarns, and a pink scissors (I am in my hobbies era)

For my family members (no pressure 😌)

iPad (I’ve tried my best, please help me)

or a MacBook (I’m still trying my best, help me again)

New clothes (I’m not picky, I promise)

Knee-length boots

Tracksuit (black and pink combo only please)

And yes… a vlogging camera again because it’s serious.

Final Note

Did I mention money?

No?

Money.

I’m a thief. I know.

So don’t stress about calling me one - just buy your favorite thief what she wants.

Thank you ☺️

God bless you in advance and abundance.

Hi, current season of my life. I hope this letter meets you well.

I hope our past season was kind to us, because this one… feels like a rollercoaster.

I won’t say I’m sad, and I won’t say I’m the happiest either.

I think I’m somewhere in between- still trying to find the right words for it.

But I am hopeful. I believe things will get better, day by day.

Am I tired?

Yes.

I’m tired of having ideas that I can’t bring to life because of limited resources.

Tired of people thinking I’m close to my “big break” when I haven’t even properly started.

Tired of being seen as someone who has it all together, when I’m still fighting battles within myself every single day.

This phase feels like peace mixed with inner chaos.

On the outside, I’ve learned to be calm, to not let people get to me.

But inside, I’m still dealing with so much anxiety, doubt, the constant feeling of “what if I’m not enough?”

Career-wise, I know I’m not halfway there yet… but at least I’ve started.

And for now, I’m learning to celebrate the small wins, even when they don’t look like much.

But there’s this one question that keeps coming back-

what if I don’t make it?

What if I don’t become the person I dream of being?

What if the life I imagine never becomes real?

I don’t have answers to those questions yet.

Maybe I’m not ready to.

One truth I’ve come to accept, though, is this:

I might be my own soulmate.

I don’t think anyone will ever love me the way I love myself and honestly, I’m okay with that.(Friendship wise. Who relationship help 😂)

It means I’ll always have myself.

It means I can be my own support system, my own safe place.

And maybe that’s enough.

What I’m learning in this season is that it’s okay not to have everything figured out.

It’s okay to feel alone sometimes.

It’s okay for life not to make sense.

Some things are just meant to be lived through, not understood immediately.

That’s part of why I’m doing this-

writing every day till I turn 19.

Not because I have life all figured out, but because I don’t want to miss this version of me while I’m still in it.

Those were the words that came out of my mouth when my mom asked why she had never seen me talking to any guy in a romantic way.

You might be wondering why my mom would suddenly wake up one day and ask me that. Well, if you were her, you would probably be worried too. You know how it is when your daughter gets to a certain age. You start seeing her hiding to make calls. You start hearing her say she’s going on dates. But my mom never experienced any of that with me.

It all started with us gisting in the room about her friend’s daughter who was getting married even though she didn’t have a job yet. Then, all of a sudden, my mom asked, “Are guys not coming your way?”

I was shocked and surprised because my mom had never asked me about boys before. In fact, she once told me to stay away from boys when I was in secondary school. So what changed?

I asked her what she meant because my brain wasn’t processing it. Then she said, “I never hear you talk about any guy or make calls with any guy. Is anything wrong?”

That was when it hit me. This was the moment God had decided I would have the conversation about my sexuality with my mom.

But how do you tell your African, Christian, and very religious mother that her daughter is gay?

My mom is actually very gentle, and she supports almost everything I decide to do. But that is not the same as telling her that I am gay.

As I was thinking about what to say, I didn’t even realize when I spat out the three words that could be the end of an African parent’s peace.

“Mummy, I am gay.”

My mom just sat there staring at me for seconds. She didn’t even flinch.

I was scared.

I started questioning myself for telling the truth, but I needed to. She’s my best friend, and she deserves to know the full version of me even if she might not be willing to accept it.

My heart was racing. I kept imagining the different ways she could react.

At one point, I wished the world would just come to an end. I wished everywhere could just go dark. Her possible reactions felt like yin and yang; it could go right, or it could go completely left.

I almost wanted to stop time.

Because I would rather live with the belief that she is a mother who loves her child wholeheartedly than face the possibility that she might hate her daughter simply because she said:

“Mummy, I am gay.”

The silence in the room felt heavier than anything I had ever experienced. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure she could hear it.

Then my mom finally opened her mouth to speak.

And what she said next was the last thing I expected.

That conversation changed something between us.

But that’s a story for Part 2.