I feel as though if I don’t get this out of this head that is currently spinning, it is going to explode!

First, I would like to ask you, how are you? Since my last letter, what has changed?

I have a reason for asking you that question. I realized that it is easy for changes to get lost in moments. Just like you woke up one day and you would realize that, indeed, your brother has hit puberty and his voice is changing or has changed. Of course, it didn’t happen overnight, but because we are familiar, the changes get lost in us.

We rarely notice ourselves changing because we are too close to ourselves. That explains why someone you haven’t seen in a long while would exclaim, ‘You have changed!’ when they see you, yet the person you live with would swear that you haven’t changed a bit. It has always been funny to me. Like, how can you see it and the person who sees me regularly can’t? Are you serious right now?

How then do we keep track of the little growth and changes that are constantly happening to us daily? I would like to say that it is almost impossible and would take a great deal of intentionality to notice how different you are from yesterday. Maybe this is another ambiguity that has been designed to torment humans because we are what we are. Humans!

As we are counting our days on earth, time is making a mockery of us, because indeed, time is not moving to the rhythm of your counting. Time, in its own essence, is something that you can’t behold. You can’t manage it; you can’t manage time. You can only manage yourself.

But I struggle, oh, I struggle. To hold on to the memories of me yesterday, even though there is growth and I need to make space for the root of that growth to be strong enough to let in more branches.

Do you also struggle to let go of who you were when you are not certain that this is growth? That you are no longer the same person who would walk the street and stop by your friend you played street football with. The one you loved so much.

Do you struggle to welcome that change that looks sudden yet wasn’t sudden at all, but rather a gradual process that we often get too carried away to notice?

My letter to you is that as much as you are living in the moment, remember that you are changing, you are growing, and whatever you become tomorrow is not alien to what you are today.

I hope that made sense? Beyond that, this letter is inspired by a line in my current read, Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi.

Until my next letter.

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To give and to live, everything depends on how far you’re willing to go.

I usually have stories for days, although I can’t recall many from my childhood. However, I have stories from my years in boarding school. Of course, I can’t remember it all, but some are still clear after so many years.

Like the memory of my mum leaving her nine-year-old child at school and walking away in tears so I could get an education.

Like my first time sharing a bathroom with dozens of other girls, and my sponge dropped on the bathroom floor. I picked it up without rinsing it and dabbed it on my body. But before I could finish committing that atrocity, a senior gave me a resounding slap on my back. Yeah, of course I had no clothes on; I was bathing! Sixteen years later, I still remember that senior. I am sure she would never remember that now.

Like I said, I used to have stories for days.

But these days, it seems I have run out of fascinating stories. Aside from stories that happened to me, my imagination was wild and I could spin up stories for days, but for some reason, I just couldn’t anymore.

This is where you come in with tips.

Actually, I haven’t tried any. I haven’t even tried to write any stories; I just knew I couldn’t. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel unmotivated right now, like I don’t have time to entertain my stories. Are you getting me?

Like, this is the point where things are actually better, but why does it seem like it’s getting harder?

How much more do we have to give?

Sorry, I went off. I didn’t mean to.

This letter I’m writing to you is actually inspired by Olatunji’s recent piece on Medium. He wrote something along the lines of: to live your best life, it might require you to give away some functional part of your life.

Meanwhile, this is similar to what I have been going through. You know that situation where you already gave everything you have to a particular project, and it’s working, but not as you had imagined? Yet, you feel there’s nothing more you can give.

If you ask me how far I’m willing to go without sacrificing this functional part of my life, I honestly don’t know. But today, at the moment of writing this letter, I know one thing:

I have given everything I had to give.

So let me ask you:

Are you still doing the things that keep you going?

To be alive is one thing, but to live is the greatest gift of all. Many of us are alive, but only a few are truly living.

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Is there a point we reach where we truly believe that this life we are living is going exactly as it should?

Last night, I got a call from home; one of my aunties had passed. Coincidentally, someone from one of the groups I manage, who told me the week before that they couldn’t attend classes because their father was sick, also updated me that their father had passed.

Hours went by, and I just paced the living room. My chest felt so heavy, and there were so many thoughts running through my head. The dominant one being: what’s the point of being human?

Why do we bother existing at all when there is this persistent uncertainty that can make you disappear, regardless of where you are or what you are doing at any moment?

That uncertainty doesn’t take into account whether you have a major event planned or if you’re expecting something that could change your life. No. Once it comes, you’re done.

To be honest, I don’t think much about the afterlife. What if it is as ridiculous as what life here already feels like? Why are we going through all these hardships? What for?

I need to dream, I need to do something, I need to earn. All for what?

The other day, I asked: why is Earth “Earth,” and why is there a need for human beings to exist?

Right now, I don’t think it matters to me anymore whether or not I live beyond now. Look around you, none of us are as special as we think we are.

Happy New Month.

I think we belong to the same group chat.

Earlier today, I saw a post on X where someone (not Nigerian) loudly condemned all Nigerians and called us stupid!

At this point, it would take some level of awareness not to wake up every day with a pang of disappointment at everything going on around you.

It’s more or less like each day comes with its woes and tribulations, ready to destroy you, but you have to intentionally choose not to let it. You have to choose to keep going, to stay hopeful, and to find small reasons to hold yourself together.

It’s the gubernatorial election in this state soon, and where I live is kind of close to one of the party houses. Every time I see them converge en masse, wearing matching attire and overly excited, I just wonder what and why they are this happy.

Are we all delusional? But I am not surprised. After all, we are all in the same group chat. We are bunch of powerless civilians who have been conditioned to not question people in power and just adapt to anything. And if you can't adapt, you find an alternative.

But even with all that, we still have to ask: who is the savior? Who is going to save this country, mehn? When we have been recycling the same set of leaders since Nigeria’s inception.

The same generation that got the most out of Nigeria ruined it. They got the best education, they got the best economy, heck, the best weather but look at what they have left for us.

A crooked, weak, and very fragile country. Dammit.

And do you know the funniest thing? We don’t even know how to fight back. Because who do you want to fight against? The system? Even Dangote, who is refining his crude oil in Nigeria, has hiked his prices.

Do we fight against the system? Oh, I should get my PVC; who should I vote for, dear?

And before you suggest that I join and run for political office, I can’t and you already know why.

I can’t believe how gullible we are in this nation. These people will literally be playing loud music in celebration of whatever it is they are celebrating in anticipation of the election. Mind you, there was no light for about a week. Oya now.

Anyway, I just want to let you know that eventhough we are no longer sure if there's light at the end of the tunnel, keep going my friend.

Don't let this country's situation steal your joy. Create joy for yourself. See ya!

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How is it going over there? It might interest you to know that I am currently writing this letter to you in darkness, save for my screen’s light. My neighbor’s generator is so loud it’s ringing inside my head. I had to open one side of the window just to fight this heat. Is this how we are going to continue? Lapitẹ ti da gbogbo ẹ ru o (lamenting in Yoruba).

Do you sometimes wonder what has become of our society? Like we are gradually losing the ties of communal living.

It’s hard to trust anyone. You are wary of strangers, you’re wary of neighbors. You don’t know who is planning to harm you. Everyone is out here walking on eggshells.

Our current reality as Nigerians is now more than just the absolute absence of electricity or the constant discomfort of things not working as they should.

It’s the fear, the fear of walking in the streets, boarding a bus, traveling home, or just simply going to work.

Even if the worst came to worst, there was still the sanctuary of home, community, and the assurance that comes with the fact that at least you're safe in your home.

Not anymore. People are getting picked up in their homes, people are being ambushed just outside of their gates. Ahhhhhhhhhh, it’s not making sense!

My fan just died. Guys, this fan literally just died!

I remember back home, my parents and our neighbors would sit outside till late in the midnight, gisting and just bonding before everyone retired into their respective homes.

Although I never joined them because I’d rather be indoors, I was aware of this culture. It’s not like that anymore. Everyone is gripped by fear of the unknown. We're walking with an uncertainty as if we have totally surrendered to whatever is going to happen.

I always say, "you can't be too careful." You actually can’t be.

It’s March 2026 and I keep asking myself; when did we get here?

Was it the economy? Is it the pressure to survive?

Sometimes I'm jealous of the Nigeria millennials and Gen X grew up in. What do you mean it's my turn to buy a car and fuel is 1300?? A movie ticket is 9k plus?

I digress, please.

I wanted to write to you about having a community or a village. People you can run to, not only at your lowest but every step of the way. I've realized that doing life alone is harder than doing it with a community.

It’s hard to build a village here because you’ll realize that everyone is just trying to survive. Leaving, moving, relocating. But in all of that, I implore you to find the space to find genuine friendship. Hold it dear and try not to take it for granted.

So I’m writing to you not just to complain, but to remind you to hold onto the idea that community, in whatever small form we can manage, is still worth trying for.

And you need to put in the work and be intentional about your community.

Nobody prepared me for how hard it is to make friends as an adult!

Yours,
Someone trying to make sense of it all.

How much of your life are you already living for a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet?

Some time ago, I wrote about legacy and how it confuses the daylight out of me. BUT I recently had an epiphany after visiting Sanusi Adebisi Idikan's house in Ibadan.

This man built a mansion with 99 rooms in Ibadan. When I saw the portrait of Adebisi, he seemed larger than life, literally, and in my head I thought, ah, he must have approached life the same way.

I thought maybe this is what legacy is about, owning shit that would keep people thinking and curious about how you lived your life. Adebisi died in 1938 and his wealth of real estate still speaks for him till date.

But I digress, that’s not what I wanted to write you about. Back to my question: how much of your life are you already living for a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet?

I am not asking you this because I have an answer, I know you didn't ask but forgive me.

I ask this question on the premise of the fact that the majority of the time, we are always preparing to live in anticipation of a future, our future self, a stranger that you've envisioned. It doesn't matter if meeting this stranger we desperately prepare for is a 50/50 chance; we still do it anyway.

I dare say, though no one asked me, that the majority of us do not fully live in the present. Instead, we live in preparation for our future self. Say, “I don't like this job but my future self would thank me,” “I don't want to have kids but who will take care of me when I'm older,” “I need to make these sacrifices because of my future,” etc.

We need to wake up and see that this thing has been going on for too long, and it's time we get it together, especially me!

I honestly don't know how to not do anything in preparation for the future. Still, I wonder, what if the person I keep sacrificing for never needed my suffering in the first place?

But I’m afraid that if I stop preparing, I’ll lose my sense of purpose. Dreaming of a future where everything is better than it currently is gives me purpose, and without the pulling force of an uncertain future pulling me forward, I'm afraid there will be nothing left to justify who I am.

This might not make sense. In fact, I'm making it up, but as I am writing this letter to you, I'm just wondering, maybe, maybe I don’t exist to serve a future that is somewhere out of my reach.

Maybe I exist to live and make choices based on whatever is happening now. Maybe that'll matter tomorrow, maybe not.

If you ask me, I'll say don't live all of your life now for a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet. That version might never come.

I know, talk is cheap, but I'm just saying! Cheers

PS

When I was editing this, I had to delete about 50 “actually”. I honestly dont know why I use that word everytime. Why ALWAYS MEEEEEEE!!!

I'm writing this under the influence of noise. There's light but our neighbor just like the sound of generator. God knows best🙏

This is the most I have struggled to recap my year. Normally, it comes naturally, and I'm able to scan through what I had done from January to December, but ‘25 feels different. So many things happened that I don't know how to fit them into any space.

It feels so short, at the same time packed with experience, many of it new.

I'm tempted to call this the year I took the most breaks, but the reality is, it's the year I did the most work. I am grateful for the gift of the people that made life really easy this year; without them, maybe it would have seemed more overwhelming.

I like to see ‘25 as my waiting period. It might seem like my train is moving so slowly that it would have to take breaks. No matter how long that is, I'll surely get to my destination.

This year is the year I got the most heartbreaks yet, in terms of business. I had bought some materials and made clothes with them, but for some odd reasons, they turned out to be fake materials. It sounds so trivial, yet I considered that as one of my lowest of ’25.

I didn't really learn anything new from ’25; I just became more self-aware. I had conversations with people, I listened to their fears and worries; maybe that, in a way, blurred the lines of me capturing and dwelling in my own fears and worries. Because there was absolutely no time!

And rejections? Ah, plenty of them. But you can tune out the noise. I have come to the conclusion that life doesn’t owe me anything. The only thing I have is the present, what's happening to me RIGHT NOW; any other thing that's yet to happen is an illusion that I might not get to see.

I just wanna live, mehn.

’25, I didn't really write. On some days, I had scribbled some long-ass things in my journal. When I got a notification that someone subscribed to this newsletter a few days ago, I was like, “that's mad o,” because for a while, the notifications I get are those of people unsubscribing. They are probably over whatever this is. Don't worry, I feel you, I'm over it too 😂

And somehow, this makes it my 100th post on Substack since I started. I didn’t plan for it or count towards it, but here we are. One hundred times of showing up, even when I didn’t feel like I had anything profound to say. That feels like something worth holding onto.

’25, I read, I watched films. Speaking of firsts, I read my first uninteresting book. Yes, I'm from the school of thought that believes there's no bad story, but you see this one? I'm so sorry. Did I enjoy reading it? NO. Did I finish reading it? Absolutely! One thing I'll do in ’26 is to really keep tabs on what I read.

I read a lot of fiction in ’25. I'm hoping to read more from other genres, after I finish this fiction I'm currently reading, of course.

Ah. Films, I did that. And I also engaged in banters, thanks to Muttyyy, Sammy and my roommate, who are never tired of hearing my rants.

Although I'd love to see the day we would have different opinions, this happens a lot with my roommate, hardly with Muttyyy. We kind of have an alignment when it comes to films, and Sammy just doesn't rate plenty films like that. I'm also looking to create a group for people like me who want to talk books and films; it's going to be with very few people. I digress.

’25 friendship? It's very simple, yet not that simple. I didn't make any new friends; in fact, I drifted apart from the ones I had before. I have always been that friend that does the talking, the one that wants to keep holding on no matter what. I chilled on that in ’25. Of course, I missed my friends and gees, but sometimes that is not enough.

I look forward to everything that will come in ’26. I look forward to reading and watching everyone get whatever they wished for. I look forward to the L's and W's.

If you ever read this, this is me sending you all my love and telling you that everything good will come. Welcome to one of your best years yet. Ciao

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Lately, I’ve been thinking about the unconscious human obsession with legacy.

What am I going to leave behind? What will people know me for?

This, in fact, is the approved way to think about life, like we all have to be aiming for something that outlives us.

Religions teach us that life doesn’t end at death, that there’s a hereafter, heaven, or hell. Once you leave this earth, you meet with either fate.

In my opinion, that means you're starting something new in another life, and that alone puts a finality to your existence here.

If you asked me two years ago, I would’ve said legacy matters. But now? I honestly think it’s meaningless.

Maybe that sounds selfish, but when you really think about it, the whole idea of legacy isn’t even for you. You’ll be gone.

Sure, maybe people will mention your name once or twice every few months. But that doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. You’re not here to hear it.

Someone I know always says, “I have nothing to leave you when I die. Everything I can do for you, I’ll do while I’m alive.” That sentence stays with me. It makes sense. Why get obsessed with planning for an impact you won’t experience when you could just give what you can now while you’re alive?

My theory is this: humans cling to the idea of legacy because death is inevitable, and we can’t live forever. It’s a coping mechanism. We try to live on in memories, in buildings, in names, in stories.

If we’re being honest , there’s no statue, no tribute, no act of charity in your name that holds meaning for your existence after you're gone. Everything ends at death.

But can we ever stop thinking about what we’ll be remembered for? Probably not. Because in a world where we can’t live forever, legacy is the closest thing we have to immortality.

Maybe we need that question. Maybe it helps us cope with the fact that one day, everything ends…

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I apologize for bombarding you with my letters, but honestly, I think I’ve found an escape in slipping into writing to you.

Lately, I’ve been wondering what I’ve actually been up to all these years. You know, I’ve been writing for a while, yet I haven’t gotten published on any major digital platforms.

Why? Because I didn’t make submissions. I mean, the one time I did submit something, it got published. But there’s always this whisper of Who do you think you are?

To be real, what I aspire to most in life is to be unapologetic about anything I set my heart to. It’s so freaking hard and I can’t seem to get it together.

I can’t even think of a time I’ve taken a real risk, or just boldly gone for it. I plan, make more plans, draw up new ones… and then leave them. Funny, right?

Now the year’s almost ending. What have I done?!

Still, it’s not like I’ve been idle. That’s part of the problem, I’m doing so many things right now, and I can’t seem to drop any of them. Maybe it’s the uncertainty that marks life in 9ja. You can’t snooze. You never know what’s coming.

Sometimes, I feel like I once found clarity, like I knew who I was and what I wanted. But somewhere along the line, I got lost again. And now I’m trying to find my way back into something. It’s confusing sha, but I’m still moving.

Anyway, I’m always excited for people who’ve picked a path, felt it out, stuck with it, and are now excelling. I’m genuinely happy for you. I hope we can be friends (winks).

I’m not ashamed to say it again: I’m still figuring it out. And if that’s you too, there’s nothing wrong with you.

Someone once said every human has an expiry date. I guess we just have to do all we can before our time is up.

It might feel like a journey but life literally has an end. Innit?

So, enjoy it while it lasts. Cheers.

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I don’t think grief ever really ends. It just changes form.

The last book I read was The Language of Dying by Sarah Pinborough.

I finished this book earlier this month, and I've carried the thought with me because I couldn't get over some parts of it.

I have always known that dying has a language, like the sentiments that surround the tales people tell when someone dies. Things like, “as if he knew he'd die, he told me xoxo…”

When I lost my friend in uni, her last messages stuck with me. Maybe now I know they were her dying language.

I want to tell you about two different things that stuck with me whilst reading this book:

1. Grieving a lost loved one is eternal.

2. People want children for different selfish reasons.

1. Grieving a Lost Loved One Is Eternal

The narrator was unnamed throughout the book, so I'm just going to call her Pen. Through Pen's lens, she walked us through her dying father's life. He was battling cancer. All his kids had left home for greener pastures as they grew older.

The first two chapters were so difficult for me to read. I was up in the middle of the night, not fighting back tears, as I relived these symptoms through a fictional story. These were my father's reality. Seeing them in a fictional book opened some kind of wound, and I could feel the claw of regret clenching into my skin.

Reading them felt like I had chosen to be ignorant of these signs in my father's sickness for ten years, when it was so glaring and information was available. I struggled to read past the losing of weight, the stench, the weakness. Gosh. The signs.

Pen lived her life, loved, lost, and then went back home. After caring for her father for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for death to claim him, she later snuffed life out of him herself and embraced her insanity.

The build-up of emotions that led her into taking her father's life was a lot. And I wonder how my mother was able to pull through it.

Holding on to a false hope that her husband was going to come back to her. Cleaning him, cleaning after him, cutting his nails, trying to make him look better even though he had lost the better part of himself and was reduced to a bony frame that saddens my heart whenever the pictures come to mind.

They come often. And sometimes I just wonder how Mother was able to come back to life after going through all those years.

The grief is not going to end, knowing that this loss is eternal. It's not something one recovers from.

Sometimes, I'm hit with a heavy wave of sadness and an urgency to speak with my father. In that moment, every memory comes rushing back, and I struggle to see what is right in front of me. Sighs.

2. People Want Children for Different Selfish Reasons

The narrator was unnamed throughout the entire novel, like I said. So she'll be called Pen.

If you're a vague reader and you've read this book, you'll wonder why I want to talk about Pen's mum when she was, in fact, not relevant to the better part of her kids’ story.

Pen was the middle child. She had four siblings—two older ones and two younger ones. Their mum loved the idea of kids being kids. She enjoyed their babbling and ignorant stage and never wanted them to grow up.

She began to detach from her kids as they started growing up and stopped being kids. She basked in the idea of being a lord over children and instead of raising the ones she already has, she kept on having babies after babies.

It was so jarring when I saw something similar on social media. Someone said the reason they want to have kids is to have a purpose, something to give them a sense of meaning.

From where I’m standing, I think there’s something naturally and fundamentally wrong with that mindset. You shouldn’t derive purpose from other people. That’s too much responsibility to place on someone.

It’s such a possessive mindset that I can’t help but say it’s selfish also.

What happens when the child grows and wants to leave? Okay.

In the end, Pen’s mum left and never looked back.

When I finished the book, I was silent for a while. As much as I’m taking some things in, I’m trying to filter through and let some go.

Moving Forward, I'll make a deliberate effort to read a book that's not sad next.

If you’ve ever read a book that left a mark, small or big. I’d love to hear about it.

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I have questions.

Is there anyone on this earth that has no worries and is really doing life on their terms and how they want it?

Human beings have a vast range of free will, but my theory is this: although humans have free will, there are so many obstacles and roadblocks set in place for you to totally forget how big of a free will you have.

From the start of life, humans are presented with what look like choices; to either follow the path laid down for you by your folks or religion or by principles your people live by. We are surrounded by a façade that looks like freedom, which indeed wasn’t.

This generation is all for “do whatever makes you happy,” “do everything you want regardless,” but the truth is, you can never fully exercise your free will without the confinement of what you are born into.

People who tried to do this and deviated a little from the norms of what they are born into face dire consequences. Now, some fought the shame and faced the consequences squarely, but unfortunately, some couldn’t. For some, it got better in the long run; unfortunately, for some, they didn’t get out of it.

What does it mean to you to truly feel the world?
I think there are so many rules one has to check to be classified as a true human being. It is a mindset that dwells in the DNA of every human, even the most liberal of all.

This similarity of humans stems from the shared 99% similarities of our species, and that is why you should never say never when you see someone doing something you’d classify as “not right for a human being.” The jokes are on you because you’d be surprised how fast you can also fall into doing that same thing you have so much contempt for.

We yearn for freedom when we indeed have free will to leave whenever we want. We are consumed by an extreme inability to let go of whatever it is holding us back. One of them is losing people’s trust in us, being the bad kid, and a disappointment. Little did you know that the only way you can be a disappointment is when you leave this world without truly feeling the world.

The sheltered, the not sheltered, haves and have-nots all struggle with grasping what they really want in life, aside from treading the path laid for them. I am scared of it.

I am scared that I will never truly feel the world because I have let myself be confined to the hands of fate and the path laid down for me. I am scared that I will never know how to take a step outside that and will never fully understand how much free will I have.

What about you?
Have you realized how much free will you have?

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How are you doing? I just finished reading a part of Dream Count by Chimamanda Adichie and was about to start my day when I suddenly got the urge to write to you.
It’s the 5th month. How time flies! I mean, was it not about a minute ago we were celebrating getting into the new year?

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about evolution and growth. From the perspective of how the cycle of life is so thrilling and difficult to comprehend.

From being just a baby, to adulting, and then aging. Omo, it seems like a mystery even though there have been a series of biological concepts explaining this.

There’s a trend I saw on TikTok recently where daughters are dressing their mothers in their 60s/70s like them. They transitioned into someone young physically; people gush over the transformation, but to me, I know it’s beyond the physical appearance.

As you grow in age, so is your subconscious growing. One of the things that terrifies me is losing touch with things I once connected with. These days, I find myself thinking a lot about the people I grew up with. We are all grown adults now and everyone is just basically trying to find their feet and live.

When I go out, my thoughts wander. I notice everything; From the young boys and girls I see in their school uniforms, some slouching their bags on their shoulders, others with them fully strapped on their backs, to the men and women of age on the same street going about their business, and people like me in our twenties, dangling in between leaving the threshold of adolescence and trying to make sense of being fully initiated into adulthood.
I want to write more, but it seems I can’t right now.

Life is beautiful, and I’m grateful to have made it to this point in my own cycle of life. I just want to remind you of life’s impermanence, that nothing we own will be ours forever. If you can, hold on to the present moment.

Chakam whatever you want to hold on to. I hope you find peace and embrace every stage of your life cycle.

See ya.

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It's worrisome.

Something bothers me, but let’s pretend this letter is about something else.

***

I quit my job at the beginning of the year. Before that, I was freelancing (I still freelance).

Was it not this same freelancing that someone ran away with my 190k or thereabouts? ABEGS.

Anyway, I was juggling freelancing with my 7-5 NYSC job when I got a gig as a Social Media Manager for a news platform. I was doing that when Dotcampus, a tech ed company made me an offer. I took it.

For a while, I managed both jobs together. And let me just say—no one actually enjoys working multiple jobs, please. But I was lucky they were both remote, so I managed.

Then life came at me fast. What can I say?

When I quit my SMM job, the first few weeks were rough. Because I had started getting emotionally attached to it, I was questioning myself, and wondering if I had made a huge mistake. But honestly, I think it was for the best.

Don't be like me, it's not everything you get emotionally attached to or carry on your head. Because, you'll sufferrrr!

I’m not sure why I’m writing this in the middle of the night, but if there’s one thing on my mind, it’s the power of the right people.

I hope you meet genuine people who truly want to see you thrive. I've come to realize that meeting real, honest people will spark something in you. Something that keeps you focused no matter what life throws your way.

Be that real honest person to yourself and people around you. Judge me, but life is largely transactional.

If you're an unreliable, dishonest person, you can't expect loyalty from anyone. Sadly, nobody is going to take you as you are so you'd be doing yourself a favour by fixing up. This is not the time to be laid back and waiting around for people to put you on. Show up first.

To be honest, I think I’ve been privileged to have really, really good people by my side.

But it’s easy to think they are not there, especially when they are quietly rooting for you.

They say the people meant for you will never make you second-guess. That’s true. But sometimes, you have to put your head down, and really listen.

One thing I've learnt now is delayed reaction in dealing with people. Give us the benefit of doubt because some times, we mean well.

My experiences have shaped me and trust me, if I were to go back in time, I'd change alot of things.

But here we are, figuring it all out. And as we navigate this life thingy, I wish us well.

Cheers.

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Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. _Khalil Gibran

Nine years later, you'll be going through some of your father's documents. Everything piled up neatly on a shelf by your mother, who now lives alone.

You will read everything; the last time he got promoted at work, his salary, his pension, etc.

And then you'll see a leaflet, the death certificate and flash back to the day you walked behind your mother to obtain this certificate.

You'll remember how the doctor wiped his sweat countless times and then scribbled some illegible words on the certificate template before handing it over to your mother.

Now, you will grab that document from your mother’s grasp, read it :

“Cause of death: gdjdhfdhh.”

Then you'll sigh in defeat. "What the hell did this doctor write?!"

In front of all these documents, you stare at that piece of paper again. Your head is clearer now. You grab your phone, strain your eyes, and type the illegible words into Google. And then—voilà.

Cause of death (now you can see it clearly).

You read the words over and over again and at that point, you'll have your Eureka moment.

That explains it...The unexplained weight loss, the pains in the lower part of the belly.

Ah, the stool. The passing of bloody stool. And then you'll remember one night, one of the many long, painful nights when the bloody stool refused to stop, and your mother ran to the neighbors.

The neighbors, without hesitation, grabbed the car keys and drove him to the hospital.

Your mother would later tell you how the bloody stool stopped when they got to the hospital. And how the nurses insisted that he needed to pass the bloody stool again before they could do anything.

You stare at this certificate again and wonder why all these hospitals never detected what was going on. I mean, one of them even suggested that it's spiritual attack and you should try traditional methods.

For nine years, you've always wondered why your father was so sick. Why there was no explanation for this thing that didn’t spare him. Why they cut him open several times without finding an answer.

In this moment, you will wonder why this last hospital didn't disclose his actual sickness to his family.

And before you put everything back in place, one silly thought will flash through your mind:

Would he have survived if it was stage 1?

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Because this is not a podcast 🙂‍↕️

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1.

This morning, I was in the kitchen, trying to figure out the best way to wash these plates when my mind traveled back to my time in boarding house.

You see, after our exams, we had about two weeks of play. During these two weeks, our teachers utilized the period to mark scripts, record scores, and basically fix our results. While the teachers were working, we, the students, were kept busy with different kinds of games. The social prefect will make sure that games were distributed to each hostel. We had Scrabble, Ludo, Ayo, WHOT, Monopoly, etc.

Aside from these games, we played all sorts of others among ourselves: Tenten, Suwe, "I Call On," etc. There were actually so many games. I never played Tenten, it was too much for me.

Tenten is like the Nigerian rock-paper-scissors but with legs and more energy. My first friend, Zainab, enjoyed this game a lot. While she played, I cheered her on. During my first three years in school, I was pretty much a silent kid, so I rarely participated in those games.

But as I grew older, I fell in love with JACKPOT. This is a card game played in pairs, and it requires you to be very discreet. When playing, we would pass one card at a time, with each person taking turns to pass. When you had four cards of the same shape, you'll give your partner a secret sign. If you were lucky and no one caught you in the act, then that was a Jackpot. If not, you’d lose the round.

This game was usually played for hours, mostly in silence, but I loved it a lot. There was a senior (now sister) who also enjoyed playing it. Her name is also Zainab (haha). On the days she played, it was always fun. She had every decoy and tactic to communicate with her partner and usually won the game.

While we played those games, there were seniors who hunted for juniors who could dance the best. I had a friend who did breakdancing and another who could really, really dance. So, the seniors were always after them, chasing them here and there solely for their own entertainment (smh). For a socially awkward kid like me, that was a suicide mission.

If you walked into the school compound during those two weeks, the sight you’d behold would be that of students knitting as they walked in their pinafores. Students laying under the trees, telling stories.

PS: the school has lots of trees.

I have to mention that narrating films was so much in style those days. I had a classmate who narrated a whole season of My Eternal and Mara Clara.

We didn’t have access to TV except during these two weeks, and there was a timetable for that. Once it was time, we all marched to the TV room to watch Mount Zion films, always under the supervision of the housemistress.

This play period was a total irony compared to the previous weeks, where we were subjected to rigorous learning. We have afternoon prep, night prep, and still faced the seniors in the hostel.

Let me share this scenario (she’s probably going to read this, sorry in advance for sharing your story).

The seniors in her hostel were stricter than the others, and every night before lights out, they’d ask all the juniors to bring out their books and start asking them questions. The only way to save yourself was to answer correctly.

Unfortunately for my friend, she couldn’t answer the questions. The seniors took out her box and asked her to put it on her head and start walking to Lagos. (Note: My school was in Kwara State)

But during those two weeks of play, the seniors were more lenient.

And to me, it resonates with a verse in the Qur’an that says, “... surely, with hardship comes ease.”

2.

Memories are a big part of what defines us as humans. It’s been almost a decade since I left secondary school, but the memories of my formative years are etched somewhere I’ll never forget.

That’s how it goes, time will not take it away, be it painful memories or joyful ones.

3.

Allow yourself to feel those memories again, the ones you’ve kept hidden somewhere inside you. I’ve come to realize that if you keep them locked away, you’ll never find closure where it’s needed.

I'll like to hear from you. What's your fondest memories from school (any level/grade).

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Earlier this year, I found myself deeply considering therapy. You might ask, why?

I realized I was struggling to heal from a trauma I am yet to acknowledge. The thing about trauma is, you often don’t realize how deep in it you are until it gets worse.

Many times, we don’t even recognize that we’re traumatized. I didn't do any research but I've come to the conclusion that, 99.8% of everytime you misbehave has a touch of trauma in it.

I believe that trauma grows into insecurities and become something we project onto others.

When I think about our parent's generation, I'm always in awe of how much pain and hardship they took without complaint.

I believe they were the most traumatized of all because they carried so much without ever confronting it.

You might beg to differ but I'm on to something when I say many Gen Zs are not so fortunate to be raised by untraumatized parents.

And you know what that means? It means we inherit their struggles, and that burden becomes ours to bear.

Sometimes, when people run from home, it’s not because they don’t love being there. It’s because of the circumstances and the not-so-obvious trauma that defines that space.

I’ve tried, over and over, to be as open as I can. If there’s one thing my generation has embraced, it’s the courage to speak up, to sọ̀rọ̀ sókè.

But what I didn't understand is that being vocal about your feelings is like speaking a strange language to our parents/guardians.

It’s not that they don’t care. They want to know what’s going on in our lives, they want to be there for us but they don’t always know how to show it in a way that this generation understands.

Tough love is all that makes sense to them when all we want is a love that is gentle and listens.

My theory is this: As children, we witnessed the dynamics of our homes, the silent treatment, raised voices, verbal abuse and what not. All of these will settle down somewhere and grows into trauma.

It's in your subconscious and sometimes when you lash out at people or someone you love. It didn't just start, it's a part of you that you've hidden.

Did I go for therapy? After scouring the internet for few days, I decided to give up on it but to be honest with you I know there's a part of me that needs healing and I have accepted that.

Enough about me; what do you think about my theory? I might be wrong.

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There was a time I wrote about a phone I had been using for five years. Guess what? I finally changed it this year.

That’s a win for me, but there’s one thing: I used the notes app on my old phone for all my personal stuff.

It was my safe space—just me and my thoughts. Whenever the phone crashed, I’d lose a lot of what I had written, but somehow, I didn’t mind. I’d start over, and it felt surprisingly easy.

Fast forward to now—I got a new phone this year, mainly for work. My old phone had become unbearably slow, and I needed something faster.

This new phone? I’ve been using the notes app for work stuff, quick ideas, email drafts, and messages. But every time I try to write something personal, I blank out. I end up not writing anything at all.

It feels like I’m disconnected from this phone, everything seems new to me. I can’t trust it, and my mind keeps wandering back to my old phone. There should be a term for this.

Maybe it’s the same with people. I have friends I’ve known for over a decade, and we’re still cool. Eventhough most of the time it looks like I'm the one still holding on to it haha.

I wonder if I’m clinging to the idea of what used to be, rather than what actually is. Something like being selectively attached to the past.

This is just something I’ve started thinking about, and I felt like sharing. After all, this is substack 🌚

If you’ve read this far, tell me: Do you think I have attachment issues? Is that a bad thing?

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No one asked for this, but I’m putting it out there for anyone who opens this mail. I’m still here—not sure where my head is, but hey, compliments of the season!

So… my mum called me yesterday morning. She prayed for me and reminded me not to tell anyone my age this year. Okay.

I turned 20x yesterday, but I feel like I reached that age a long time ago. If we were to measure age by mental strength, emotional strength, responsibilities, and crisis, I think I'm far past that number.

This year, my mental strength was tested more than ever. I had to put things into perspective countless times. I had to summon the courage and offer many apologies, even when I wasn’t sure what for, but I did it genuinely for the sake of peace. So yeah, forgive me if I brag a bit about how mentally strong I am.

I didn’t plan to write, but I read what I wrote last year, and it moved me. This time last year, in 2023, I was in Port Harcourt, responsible for some teenagers' education.

One of my students called me a few days ago, and I almost teared up. As proud as I am of what I did there, I was disappointed that there was no continuity. I could have stayed, but I had to be selfish.

Staying back didn’t align with the steps I want to take for my future. I had to choose between the emotional attachment that comes with teaching and pursuing something else. And all I have to say is, sometimes, you have to choose yourself, even if it feels selfish.

**Life lately**

It’s just me trying to work with what I have in my life right now. I’m currently in the orientation phase of something I applied for. We were asked to look at our environment, identify a problem, and suggest a solution.

In the group, I suggested stress management from the perspective of youths who work multiple jobs or endure toxic environments just for sustainability. The idea was unanimously rejected. Most of my group members disagreed with me, saying, "It’s not the majority of youths who have jobs, and in fact, we are on this group because we are all jobless."

I didn’t try to argue or prove a point, I just refrained from saying anything further.

**This Country**

The current state of the country is truly saddening, and I understand why everyone is frustrated, but I say to you, you’ll still get by. I won’t project what’s happening in my life onto yours, but I know you’ll definitely get by.

I have a friend who makes really nice shoes, but his family doesn’t believe he can survive on that alone, so he has to interview for ridiculous job offers.

What I’m saying is, we are all doing our best. I see you, and even if all you do is “think” about your life daily, I won’t judge you—as long as you don’t let yourself go hungry.

There’s so much pressure. But please, don’t steal. You can be broke, but please don’t kill or commit crimes. It won’t end well. The thing you’re desperately trying to escape by committing a crime will catch up with you, and it will eventually be your downfall. So don’t do it.

**ME**

Every day, I keep trying so hard to prove myself when I know deep down that there’s nothing to prove. But I’m working on it. I’m working on myself, and I like to think I’m lucky to be where I am. I’m also almost fully at peace—it's coming, and I can feel it.

There’s nothing I would wish for you more than peace. I hope you find something that brings you that.

I know inner peace is the ultimate goal, but I promise you, you can find peace externally too.

At this point, I’m not writing to you so you can meditate and find something inside yourself. No.

I’m saying, look around and see where your peace lies. Or you could write something down, like: "Today, I was hungry."

I’ve been trying to put things down in that way, and I’ve written, "I’m stressed," twice. But it’s okay because, really, I’m fine, and life has been good.

Lastly, twenty x was full of things I can’t believe I did. But as you grow older, you learn more about yourself. If you can, try to say less and pray.

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**On another note**

This Nigerian government that is broke allegedly spent 701 million naira on Mrs. Remi Tinubu’s foreign trips in the space of three months. hmmm

Some of you say,
“Joy is greater than sorrow,”
and others say,
“Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you,
they are inseparable. _Khalil Gibran

I just watched something—the last time I binge-watched a series on YouTube was a long time ago. I won't be writing about the series. I'd rather tell you what's going on in my mind.

Lately, it's difficult not to be going through one thing or another. I'm thinking about how we make peace with everything life throws at us.

Maybe I don't know you that well, but I know you're going through something. Like the time you had to make peace with the most unpleasant truth about your reality.

I'm thinking about how hard it is to get by every day. To wake up and realize that one egg is ₦200 and a sachet of water is ₦50.

These are not just numbers, they’re signs that things are really getting out of hand, faster than we can imagine.

I honestly don't know why I'm thinking about all of this when, in fact, I just binge-watched a love series.

Maybe that’s the point—to get high on the dopamine rush for a moment of escape. Only to be back to the harsh realities I'm trying to forget.

Now I'm sober, let's try this again****

I am writing to you because I think you deserve to know that no matter how hard things might be, you'll always have your space.

In this space, there will be many moments—the times when you'll lose, when you'll win, hurt, and celebrate.

In this space, you'll grow. You’ll let people down, you'll meet people, and you'll live.

In this space, no matter what happens, you'll always have a place to come home to. It will embrace you, and allows you to breathe.

As for me, in this space that I am, I'm learning to adapt even to things that I'd usually react to instantly. I'm learning to make peace with my reality and stop being sad about it.

In this space, my words have suffered, and my pen has stopped bleeding because it is difficult to project my thoughts.

In this space, I'm learning to hold on and, at the same time, let go.

This space is very important to me as I have learned that growth and loss can coexist. My current space is a mixture of longing, excitement, and lost passion.

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