9:15pm

I think one of the most painful things about grief isn’t necessarily the loss of the person — but rather, the loss of the reality of a future with them in it.

It’s the heavy, reluctant struggle against the (sadly) inevitable need to figure out what your new normal would have to look like without them. At first, you’d desperately try to deny, escape, push back against, or even reject it — until you end up at a point where you finally come to the painful realization that you simply can’t.

That’s why it hurts as much as it does. Both when it initially happens, and randomly in the 2am stillness of a Wednesday night years after, when the pain quietly creeps in to curl up beside you.

Slowly but surely, I’ve come to learn that contrary to what most people believe, or what they settle with mentally, grief isn’t just mourning an absence. It’s also mourning a life you were supposed to live, but aren’t allowed to have anymore.

That’s why it’s as continuous, soul-clinging, and never-ending as it is.

Because you can never fully escape its sting.

My dad passed a few years ago, and over time, one truth that has slowly settled in me is that there will always be moments where I’m reminded of that loss. Sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly. Some of those moments are going to be subtle as well. Other times, they’d be a bit louder.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe that’s how life wants to make sure I never forget him.

I see someone with a similar body build as him, and I remember him. I hear the gruff voice of a man in a random video that I stumble upon as I scroll through social media, and I’m immediately transported to moments in the past where I’d hear his similarly gruff voice as he speaks with someone over the phone while we lay in the parlor together and enjoy the fresh air coming in from the balcony.

Last week, I saw an elderly man dressed in a similar way he’d dress and I smiled as he reminded me of him within seconds. He was much older than my dad was, and nowhere near his build, but in that moment, none of that mattered to me. That brief flicker of resemblance was more than enough for me. Funny enough, he was with his daughter as well. I think they were heading somewhere together cause I heard her say “Daddyyy,” in a particular tone, as if to hurry him up. I stared at them a little longer than I should have, just drinking it all in and letting the moment linger a bit. I typically enjoy doing this when the opportunity presents itself — not because I’m creepy, of course, but because I’ve come to understand and accept the fact that witnessing it in others is probably the closest I’ll ever come to experiencing a relationship like that in my lifetime.

And it’s okay.

While these moments I witness might not be mine, they’re at least a window into what could have been. Now, are there times when it hurts a little more than usual? Yes. Definitely. But wetin man go do?

I think, in some way, that’s where love and absence quietly sit side by side, with neither dominating the other. Gratitude and longing, too, because I don’t believe grief should be allowed to crowd out thankfulness. I believe they can both live with you, but only if you let them.

So, let them.

Maybe that’s what I’ve gradually been learning to do over the years, actually. To find some kind of peace and meaning through proximity; in the nearness of a love and relationship that I once had, just not for as long as I’d have liked. Not in a bitter way, but in a way that reminds me that even if I don’t get to live it, I can still feel something. And maybe that counts for something too.

Or at the very least, maybe I could always just…find some solace somewhere in there. No matter how little.

So I’ll continue to pay attention.

I’ll continue to live vicariously through these people and these things I see. I’ll keep taking these mental screenshots and screen recordings of moments when I can, and wherever I’m lucky — scratch that, blessed enough to find them. The beautiful, the sacred, the overwhelming, and even the mundane. All of it.

Sometimes, it’s all you can do, anyway.

Sometimes.

Because despite everything, I still wish I had a chance with you.

I wish I got to tell you just how much I grew to love writing. More than that, I wish I got to show you. To share this one thing that I knew you held dearly all your life, with you. I wish I got to run ideas by you and get your input on them. I think you’d have liked that. I think I would have, too, even though we’d probably have moments where we don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on certain things. I wish I got to run my pieces by you as well, taking advantage of the fact that you were a journalist and could always help me make them better. Without getting paid, of course, cause how I wan even afford you? Lol.

We’d have made a good team, I think. Unpaid editor and all.

I’ve been told a few times that I carry bits and pieces of your voice with me now, in the way I write, though. I don’t know if that’s true, but I hope it is. Maybe that’s the part of you I still get to grow up with. The one I get to carry with me through the rest of my life.

And maybe that’s something worth holding onto.

I mean, I think it is, anyway. Even though there are days like today where I still wish I had more of you to hold onto. Not just in my fading memory, not just in stories, but here. Here with me. To share in the life I’m building. The very one that’s still unfolding without you.

I’ve said this in almost a hundred different ways, but I genuinely really wish I got to share more of my life with you; and not just even my words, but my world itself. My routines, choices, thoughts, values, spaces, habits, people…you know, the real time stuff. I wish I got to show you the man I’m choosing to spend my life with. That he got to meet you beyond the stories. That you got to meet him. I wish I got to have a reality where I could look back on however I’d have introduced him — and his big head — to you and laugh, because I’m so sure I’d have panicked a little (read: 100 times) before doing that. It hurts knowing you’d have gotten along with each other and had a lot in common to talk about, but I’d never get to see that.

I just hope that whenever you look down on me, you’ll at least always be able to smile, knowing I’m in good hands.

Sigh. I’d have said you not witnessing that is probably what hurts the most, but I’m not even sure. Too many things just hurt — sometimes simultaneously — and I can’t always tell them apart.

Above all else, I guess I just wish I got to know you properly now as an adult. Everything else would’ve easily come with that, or followed shortly after. Knowing you the way I did as a kid was cool, but it was also quite limited, as any relationship between an adult and a child would be; knowing someone or something, but only within the bounds of being a child. Superficially. But not out of a lack of trying, no. Simply because of capacity — or in this case, the lack of it.

Now my mind is finally mature enough to truly understand the bigger things in life. To understand what substance means in any relationship. What gives it depth. To understand the many nuances and intricacies of life and its experiences. To go from childlike perception, to a far more grounded, grown-up comprehension.

But it’s a little too late.

At least, now, I can finally stop feeling like I didn’t really know you. I did. Just as far as my childlike mind could reach. And maybe that counts for more than I used to think it did, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.

I sometimes think about the many conversations we’d have had now. The levels of understanding we’d have unlocked — both when it comes to each other, and life in general. How much deeper our relationship would’ve gotten. How much more complete it’d have grown to become. The laughs we’d have shared. The moments and memories we’d have created. Even the misunderstandings we’d have had.

All of it.

It doesn’t make me feel the greatest, if I’m being honest. I don’t think it’s ever even made me smile much. Not wistfully, not with longing, not even when I imagine how those scenarios could have been. It just hurts. Sometimes, it just doesn’t feel fair that the only place they all get to live is in my head and not in reality.

But it is what it is, I guess.

I could go on and on, but the point still remains the same. You’re gonna miss a lot of big things in my life. Small things, too. You already even missed a few. And you’re missing some right now. And you’d still miss countless others to come. On some days, dealing with that feels somewhat easier — no, bearable, and on some days, it simply does not.

I guess it’s pretty obvious which one this is, lol.

There are a whole lot of wishes and ‘maybes’ in this piece, and even more to come in my lifetime. But no matter how much I circle around these things, like I said earlier, the point remains the same. I still grieve you, man.

I always will.

Maybe that’s a good thing, and maybe it’s not. But at least it’s evidence that you’ve always mattered to me, and that you always will.

I guess I’d just always quietly wish I had a chance with you.

But maybe that’s okay too.

12:50am

11:45pm

Yeah, you read that right in case you’re wondering.

I want to build a relationship with death.

All my life, my ideas, beliefs, and perception of death have always been solidly founded on what I’ve been told by others, whether directly or indirectly. It’s a collection of other people’s experiences, thoughts, feelings, understanding, and a patchwork of their everythings about it — little to none of my own.

Not directly, at least. I want to change that.

I want to know death for myself.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure of how I’m going to do this yet, but it’s something I intend to commit to doing.

So far, all I can say I know about death is that it’s this terrible thing no one should ever wish for. It’s a thief, a taker, a wrecker of things — a horrible omen, even.

If it ‘gets’ you while you’re young, woe unto you. And if it ‘gets’ you when you’re much older, it’s reduced and on a lesser scale, but still, woe unto you. It’s something to be feared, worried about, fasted and prayed against, or worse, ignored.

That is, until it seeks you or someone you love out, anyways.

But…what if it’s actually not?

What if it’s not necessarily something to be feared? What if it can be something to be embraced? What if it’s not as horrible as we’ve been made to believe?

I mean, it’s not like the earth is such a great place either so really, how much more horrible could death and/or the afterlife really be?

Hm?

I guess all I’m really trying to say is that I’ve come to a point where I want to shift from a borrowed, inherited understanding of death to a personal exploration. A deep exploration of MY beliefs, fears, and understanding of mortality — and how it intersects with my life, the lives of those I care about, and life in general.

The very nature of life itself.

Because you see, when death visits a home and/or a heart, it shows. As uninvited, unwelcome and unwanted as it is, it’s a guest that doesn’t hesitate to make itself ‘feel at home’. It barges in at the most inopportune times, not caring about what its coming would cause, and completely disrespecting the heart of its hosts.

And I’ve, at multiple points of my life, watched death quite literally break people I love over and over again.

But, stay with me. What if we befriend death and make it a close companion, rather than an enemy? Doesn’t that sort of take away its power over us? Doesn’t that make it go from being something so seemingly indomitable to something more…meek?

What if we learn to look forward to death — not in an eerie way, but rather, in a way that inspires us so much, we begin to spend every day doing more meaningful things? Where we spend each day cherishing more moments and memories spent with friends, family, loved ones, and even strangers alike? Where we spend every day hugging our people a little tighter and longer than normal, to the point where that becomes our normal? Where we spend every day making sure we don’t let it go by without telling them just how much we love, cherish, and care for them?

What if?

What if we stopped waiting for death to barge in and instead…opened the door?

What if we welcomed it — not because we want it to arrive — but because recognizing its presence changes how we live?

What if?

What if we’re able to get to a point where death is, dare I say, one of the best things that could ever happen to us?

12:45am

11:41pm

For the longest time, I’ve hidden myself.

I’ve, in ways both loud and quiet, somehow made myself believe that my opinions, preferences and thoughts aren’t that important, or simply don’t matter as much. I’ve undervalued and underestimated my own mind over and over again. I’ve shut her down, kept her silent, chained her up, and left her buried in the shadows.

Slowly, like any living thing naturally would, she simply conformed to it. She became used to it. She grew all too familiar with the darkness and just obediently stayed in the cage I’d built for her and forced her into.

Growing up, I honestly never really realized just how much I resisted letting anyone into my mind. Any way they tried to take a walk through my mind, I’d stop it. I’d find a way around it. Whether I’m simply staying silent, passively engaging in conversations, giving superficial answers, laughing things off to escape actually opening up, dismissing & downplaying my feelings, subtly deflecting questions and steering the focus away from me and onto others, I was doing it all. I guarded my mind like a fortress.

And I never really noticed.

It’s crazy.

I used to overcompensate so much too, trying to bridge the very gap I was creating with this. Like, a lot. I’d overextend myself in whatever ways I could; try to exist louder, use up more energy than was probably required for certain situations, and just generally be as ‘extra’ as I could be when really, I was just trying to stay put and ‘stay safe’ behind all that. I was just trying to hide in plain sight. I poured so much energy outward, but looking back, it was really just a way of reinforcing the walls around me.

I just never realized it then.

At some point, I became so good at it, that I practically erased myself to a large extent. Eventually, I subconsciously created a default persona that kept my true self safely tucked away, free from any and all opportunities to be judged, scrutinized, rejected, and everything in-between.

I still don’t know why, but I just didn’t want anyone in my mind. Not because I didn’t have anything to say or because I’m not smart, intelligent, wise, or anything like that, no. Far from it, even. I just didn’t want it. I didn’t want to stand out. Not like that, at least. I didn’t want to be seen vulnerable either. I didn’t like it. I didn’t even like the mere thought of it. I didn’t want anyone seeing the parts of me that felt fragile. I never wanted to create any opportunity to be perceived as weak.

I still don’t.

To be honest, there’s a part of me that thinks that one of the many reasons I didn’t want to let anyone into my head was because I lowkey also didn’t want anyone to know how deep my mind can be. Maybe I just didn’t want to get chalked up to being ‘too deep,’ or ‘too serious,’ who knows. I already had quite a lot of instances when I was younger where I was told I “take things too personally,” and as a kid, I definitely didn’t like that. It made me feel boring. I wanted to be fun cause I mean, what 9-year-old kid wants to be perceived as boring?

I was already tiny, underdeveloped, and heavily dependent on glasses. That was definitely more than enough for me to struggle to figure out how to navigate already, abeg. Another ‘flaw’ would’ve probably knocked me out or at least, something close.

Over time, I became perfectly fine with being the funny, easygoing, lighthearted, ‘full of vibes’ friend. It became second nature. It was much easier. It still is. Surface-level conversations, surface-level friendships, surface-level interactions — they were enough for me. They were comfortable. They were familiar. They were safe.

Anything beyond that though? Uncharted territory. Too unfamiliar, so I stayed back and stuck with what I knew: superficiality.

Sometimes, it was confusing too — cause when I’m in certain situations, I’d think, “Why do you want to hear what I have to say about this?” “Why do you want to know what I think?” For some reason, it was just off-putting. A bit suspicious. Too intrusive. Too foreign. Too uncomfortable. Too weird.

And so I just resorted to burying my own depth.

Of course, as time went on, it became very difficult — almost impossible, even — to distinguish between who I truly was at my core, and who I thought and/or believed I had to be to survive; and it reflected in a lot of choices I made. The lines were just too blurred.

“You have friends who think they’re your friends but you know they are not your friends because you know they know nothing about your life.” - An excerpt I heard recently in a short clip from a sermon ministered by Pastor Femi Lazarus.

Can you tell how deeply it pierced my heart?

Lol.

In their defense though, relationships take two people. It’s not solely anyone’s fault. A large number of them have never really seen the parts of me that truly matter to me, yes, but that’s also partly because I don’t let them.

Truth be told, I’m not sure I’ll ever really know how to let most of them in.

But maybe that’s okay.

I’ve suppressed myself, played myself down, hidden myself, shrunk myself & made myself as small as I possibly could; and run away from my own light so many times, and in so many ways that it’s probably safe to say it’s all I know.

Not anymore though.

I’m slowly coming to learn that my opinions do matter. That my thoughts are worth sharing. Like mad sef. I’m coming to learn that my light is beyond valuable. That there’s a calling on my life, whether I like it or not, and that there’s something in me — quite a lot, actually — that needs to be shared with the world.

Slowly, but surely.

Looking back, I can see that my own light honestly used to scare me for so many reasons; some that I’m still not even sure of. My own potential scared me. Like, I was practically scared of succeeding. I think that’s partly why I just felt it safer to hide it all. It was easier.

I think I was scared of how bright it was. Of how intense it was. Normally, this should be a good thing, but it wasn’t for me. I felt pressured and overwhelmed by it. I also felt like it was a force that could expose me, stripping away any and every sense of comfortable invisibility that I’d cultivated over the years. Ultimately, I just felt like I couldn’t handle it. Like I’d mess it up or something. Like the responsibility on my soul was far too heavy and too great for me to handle. Too burdensome. Too demanding. Too daunting.

I won’t lie, I still feel this way sometimes. I’m not gonna act like I don’t. I’ve grown, yes, but I still have urges to keep my mouth shut and keep my thoughts to myself sometimes. I still wanna bury my depth sometimes. I still question it sometimes. I still struggle with believing that what’s within me is actually worth sharing with the world.

I still struggle with the feeling that despite how great I now know I am, I’m still not enough. It’s like a small, lingering echo that comes and goes. Like a scar that’s healed, yet occasionally aches.

It’s crazy.

Imposter syndrome, it’s called. Or maybe something close.

By the way, this entire line of thought for this piece came from a conversation I was having with a friend about three weeks ago. I’ve attached a snippet of that conversation below this. Who would’ve thought that it’d lead me down this introspective path lol. I just found myself ruminating on that conversation over and over again at random intervals since then, and I just knew I needed to write. I knew my heart had something to tell me, and that she needed to be heard.

Before now, it was basically like multiple boxes were made for me to step into—almost like I subconsciously gave others rough, flexible blueprints of different boxes, let them make it to their taste, and then I obediently stepped into each one, staying there for as long as needed; regardless of how tight it was. Like play-dough. It was like I practically offered them a selection of versions of me to choose from, and they just picked whichever one suited them at the time, or whichever one they simply liked best.

Just like a waiter, I basically said, “Hey, welcome! Here’s the menu, and here are your options! Here’s what I can contort into! You just make your pick of which version of me you want and you got it! ;)”

I got so damn tired of those boxes.

It was way too exhausting. I got tired of keeping up.

I guess awareness does that to you lol.

No wonder the bible says, “my people perish [are destroyed] for lack of knowledge.”

True dat.

I’m now slowly learning to accept and embrace all of who I am — unboxed, day by day. I’m learning to fully accept and embrace the fact that I truly have a beautiful mind. One that quite often leaves me in awe, while also leaving me feeling very humbled. She’s unique, distinct, different, unbelievably profound, precious, invaluable and the only one of her kind.

And so, I refuse to keep running.

I refuse to keep fighting her. I refuse to keep hiding. I refuse to keep minimizing myself. I refuse to continue my old patterns. I refuse to keep dimming my own light, or letting others do so. I refuse to die with potential. I refuse to take my gifts with me when I go six-feet under. I refuse to return to God, all that He has deposited in me in the same way; completely untransformed and untouched. I refuse to let it all fade away.

I refuse to leave this earth without planting in it, all the seeds the Father has sent me to plant and nurture here.

I simply refuse.

My fear of that is definitely much, much greater than my fear of sharing myself and my mind with the world. When time reach and I’m face-to-face with baba God, wetin I wan tell am? Say fear catch me? That I was scared? Fear? That’s the reason I didn’t carry out my assignments?

Lol.

I simply can’t afford it, please. Ma koba mi. I can’t afford to do that to myself, to my Father, and to all the souls tied to mine in one way or the other.

More specifically, the souls tied to the divine version of me that my Father has always created me to step into.

Plus, I also heard yesterday in bible study that it’s actually selfish to keep your gifts to yourself.

It’s not just about me. It’s a disservice to countless others as well. I can’t do that.

It’s taken quite a long time, but I’ve finally realized that all along, all she has always wanted to do is come forth. To shine like she’s been created to. To be seen. To be heard. To just…be.

All she has always wanted is a chance.

Best believe I’m gonna do all I can to make sure she has that now.

For however long it takes, I’ll make sure she’s guided back to light and finally allowed to soar; far far away from the dark cage she’s been forced to build a home in all these years.

I buried myself and now I’m learning to unearth her.

Whatever it takes, I’m going to bring every last part of myself into the world.

Una go feel am by force, one way or the other. Bet.

I’m stepping into such a beautiful phase of my life right now, honestly, and it’s so beautiful. It’s free. It’s liberating. It’s new. I can almost literally feel myself shedding my own cocoon and stepping out of my shell. Is it scary? Heck yeah. But I don’t care. I can’t care.

I’m allowed to be scared and great all at once.

I’m coming to learn the countless amazing things I can actually do — skills I have that I’ve never explored, the numerous gifts I’ve been blessed with that I never even knew existed within me, let alone knew how to build and hone — everything. It’s so exciting.

I’m finally letting myself discover my wings and not just that, but also spread them as wide as they’d go.

It’s wonderful.

Funny how the Medium tab that opens up when you click the ‘write a new post’ option shows the default prompt, “tell your story.”

Well, this is mine.

Bare. Honest. Real. Raw. Unfiltered. Messy.

What’s yours?

Glossary

Like mad sef - Insanely or A lot

Ma koba mi - Don’t implicate me

When time reach - When it’s time

Wetin I wan tell baba God? - What do I intend to say to God?

Say fear catch me? - That I was scared?

Una go feel am by force - You will feel it, whether you like it or not (in this case, “my impact in this world will be felt, one way or the other”)

Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to give me some feedback in the comments, share your own experiences, and let me know your favorite parts of this piece and/or what resonates with you the most!

Till next time! :)

8:39pm

Honestly? I’m not even sure of where to start. I’m not even entirely sure of how or what I feel.

I just know I feel so many things.

Too many things.

Things I’ve quietly buried for so long; maybe even too long.

I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m frustrated. I’m annoyed. I’m hurt. I’m irritated. I’m detached. I feel cheated. I’m confused. I’m tired.

How do you mourn someone you didn’t ever really know but should have? Someone you feel you never even got the chance to really get to know but somehow, others seem to think you did?

It’s frustrating. The looks of sympathy when people talk about my father, the well-meaning but misplaced condolences, and the expectations that come with them — they create a wall between how I truly feel and how I’m, I think, supposed to feel. I sometimes wonder, do they see me as this grieving daughter? Do I play that role a little too well? Do they only see the mask that I wear like an armor to hide the true depth of my pain, confusion, longing, and emptiness — and nothing beyond it?

Cause I swear, sometimes it’s as if they’ve written a narrative about my relationship with him, one filled with warmth and memories, when in reality, I’m left holding onto tiny fragments of an unfulfilled, unrealized connection and a severely distorted reality.

I see and hear people reminisce about their fathers’ influences, lessons learned, and the bonds built over years. And I sit there, just chilling, nodding along, while I, of course, ignore the whirlwind that sometimes goes on inside me during these conversations.

I mean, I feel guilty for not embodying the grief that I think I should, but the truth is, I just never truly got to know him. I only know painfully few personal, first-hand experiences I got to have with him, shadows and echoes of what could have been, and some shared stories from others here and there — some good, and some less-than-pleasant. I even feel guilty for not feeling the way they probably assume I should. Like, am I dishonoring his memory by not sharing stories? By not even having stories to share? By not breaking down in tears?

I honestly don’t know.

If I ever get asked, “what was he like?” it’d most likely be a vague, superficial answer cause it’s all I have. That’s all I got to have in the short time I had with him.

I won’t lie, sometimes, it can feel shameful. Like a betrayal of his memory, too. Because I mean, it’s like “if his own family — more specifically, his own baby girl — can’t preserve his memory well, who would?”

And who would, really?

There are moments when I slip and let my guard down, revealing the confusion and anger swirling inside me. It seems to keep happening when I’m with one person in particular, but then it’s all too scary, painful, and uncomfortable for me to confront because it just ends up raising more questions than answers — and so I retreat.

As usual.

I hold the weight of my unresolved feelings in silence, navigating my grief alone while the world (sometimes ) seems to continue to expect me to grieve openly and honor a relationship that never fully or truly existed much. I’m then left questioning my right to mourn, feeling lost in a sea of unacknowledged, unnameable emotions, where the disconnect between my reality and others’ perceptions leaves me feeling isolated and trapped; to a point where I just simply resort to keeping it all in a box as it seems to be the safest thing to do.

I mean, how do you grieve a loss that STILL confuses you? A loss you’ve sprinted past right from the beginning? A loss you’re still running from? A loss you keep deliberately withholding your attention from? One you keep ignoring, patching and walking away from?

Someone you’re only just now realizing just how little you really knew of him? Like, what was even his favorite color? Or his favorite song, if he had any?

How do you move past something you never really dealt with in the first place? How do you even begin to clean up the dust that’s settled on that box you’ve intentionally kept shut for so many years?

How do you decide what’s more worth it between leaving that box quietly closed and buried, and finally sorting through its contents?

If I’m being very honest, revisiting these feelings and letting myself fully feel them lowkey feels like I’m being ungrateful to God. I think that’s one of the many reasons I’m very hesitant to. To me, it’s like I’m saying, His protection, provision, and overall presence in my life these past few years haven’t been sufficient or good enough, and that’s why I’m here revisiting these feelings.

It makes me feel guilty and confused.

Guilty, cause I feel like I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I mean, I truly am grateful to God for so many reasons; especially for just how unwaveringly faithful He’s been to me through the years. Confused, because I’m also simultaneously thinking, shouldn’t I honor him, his life, and his short-lived role as my dad on such a significant day as today/tomorrow by actually choosing to finally process these feelings — or at the very least, let them in; even if it’s been 5 years?

Doesn’t he deserve that, at least?

Like, am I betraying my faith by struggling with and giving an audience to these feelings, or am I honoring them — and him, by extension — by confronting them head-on?

Which?

Mommy just called me a few seconds ago to pray with me in honor of what today — my tomorrow, considering the 5 hour time difference — is. The pain in her voice is something I honestly don’t ever want to hear. Ever. It was a voice call, but I could almost immediately tell that she’d been crying, the moment she spoke. I can’t even imagine how hard this day might be for her.

Normally, in life, memories are usually all we have left at the end of an experience or someone’s life — but what happens when even the memories leave? Memories that were already so painfully sparse to begin with?

What happens when you lose those memories too?

What then?

I swear, I’ve tried so hard to hang on to these memories. To not let them slip away; especially because I mean, they’re already so painfully few, so of course I wanna hold on to them. But I just cannot seem to be able to. Somehow, they just keep fading away. They just keep leaving me. Like, they just keep packing up, leaving, and failing me; even when I’m almost literally on my knees begging them not to.

It honestly feels like trying so hard to grasp at straws when your hands are drenched in oil.

Now, it’s like losing him all over again, but this time, in a way that’s even more devastating because of how final it feels. I didn’t even know ‘final’ could feel any more final. It’s like I’m losing him and the little remaining fragments I have left of him from within — a place where he should have been safe from the world, people, less-than-pleasant stories of him, and the ravages of time.

Or so I thought.

Guess not, lol.

I’ve heard the phrase, “time heals,” so many times, but I honestly don’t think it does. She’s really just a sly thief. She just takes things from you. Over and over again. More than you even have to give in the first place. She gives you some things, sure, but she definitely takes a whole lot more than she gives.

Dare I say, sometimes, she even deepens wounds.

She erodes and takes even the things we thought were ours to keep, like memories.

I genuinely think that the reason people think ‘time heals’ is because they just forget. It looks like healing on the outside, but in reality, you’re just forgetting. And then you keep forgetting. And then you forget so much that at some point, you don’t even know what you’ve forgotten.

And then you forget even that: that you’ve forgotten.

In the end, not only are memories lost, but even the very recognition of that loss — the awareness of the forgetting itself — is slowly but irreversibly lost as well.

While it lasts though, before life takes it away, the awareness of that loss — the realization and awareness that you’re starting to forget; even if you can’t do anything about it but just watch them all go — right as it happens, is beyond heartbreaking, overwhelming, and incredibly lonely.

Especially when you know you’re the only one whose memory is failing her as much as it is.

It’s not just about losing someone, something, or the memories of them though; it’s about losing even the traces they leave behind. The traces that say, “I existed. I was here. I passed through here. I lived.” It’s like they just slowly dissolve into nothingness.

Memories are supposed to be the keepsakes, the things we rely on to preserve what’s gone. They’re supposed to be what survives loss. The absolute last sanctuary after loss and all that it comes with. But when those fade too, you’re left with nothing.

Nothing.

It’s like facing the double-edged truth of time — first it takes the person, then it takes the memory. Then, it leaves you asking and thinking: what remains of a person, a moment, or a connection when the last tangible link to them is gone? What happens when those memories begin to fade? What do you do then? When you lose that final layer?

What’s left to hold on to then?

And who even gave those memories the permission to leave? Who dared to?

You guessed it. Time.

And that hurts in ways that despite my eloquence, I can never quite describe. Not by using mere words, at least.

It just can’t ever do justice to it.

It’s all too deep, too nuanced, and too personal.

Ultimately though, it’s all a reminder that memory, like life, is transient and that we’re all inescapably always at the mercy of time, watching helplessly as it carries things away from us. A reminder that time truly takes everything — even the memories we think are ours to keep forever. It’s honestly a kind of cosmic cruelty sha; one that proves that no matter how tightly you cling to the past, time will loosen your grip one way or another.

But it’s okay.

I guess it’s just proof that even memories are actually also, like a lot of other things, fleeting visitors — rather than faithful companions.

And it’s all good.

It’s just yet another reminder for me to cherish what I have while it lasts.

And maybe also to take even more pictures and videos of stuff when I can, regardless of what my phone storage is saying, haha.

As usual, I’m grateful for it all just as it is — even when that gratitude can feel a bit complicated sometimes.

I’d be lying if I said I don’t get tired of being ‘grateful still’ from time to time sha. I mean…I am human. I still wish my gratitude came from a place of comfort — one rooted in real, tangible past experiences I had the chance to live through — not from the ones I’ll always wish I had, or at the very least, ones I could simply imagine.

But it’s all good though, like I said.

This is my cross, and I’ll carry it like that. Nothing spoil.

Gratitude through it all is always my ultimate resort, and it’s still where I’m going to choose to build my tent in, all the days of my life.

Despite it all.

It just simply sucks sometimes.

Now playing: ‘B’Ola (Honour)’ by Sunmisola Agbebi; ‘Owo Oluwa’ by DJ Bentoa ft Neeja; ‘Look Up Child,’ & ‘Rescue’ by Lauren Daigle on repeat.

11pm

04.09.24
11:18pm

When you love someone…

When you love someone, you want to give them the world in a heartbeat. Far beyond anything material, you want to give them priceless experiences. You want to see their dreams come true, regardless of the weight it carries. You want to hold their heart in your hands, protect, nurture, and keep it warm. You want to shield them from the world and keep them safe. No matter the sacrifices, you’d do anything to see them happy, feel loved, valued, seen, and appreciated. You want to offer them the world before they even think to ask.

You derive joy from simply seeing them happy. Somehow, over time, you come to find that more than anything else could, it’s their happiness that brings you your greatest joy. Their giggles, deep, loud belly-laughs, and smiles become your favorite sound and sight in the entire world.

You’re slowly, almost magnetically, drawn to the way their eyes light up when they talk about something they love, with their voices also simultaneously getting just a tad bit more high-pitched than usual. It’s like watching the spark of their soul come alive, their excitement radiating in deep waves that you can’t help but be pulled into. The way the sound of their voice slowly but cunningly reduces to a childish whisper when they’re being mischievous, hinting at some playful secret or inside joke they’re just waiting for you to catch onto; the way you begin to learn to distinguish their levels of energy and excitement merely from the sound of their voice — without even needing to set your eyes on them, as if their voice alone has become an extension of their very essence — everything.

Their voice becomes a whole new language on its own to you; one that you aim to learn to speak fluently, and with every nuance, every inflection, every subtle shift, you find yourself understanding them more deeply than words alone could ever express. You begin to take special note of their interests, quirks, mannerisms, and all the little things in-between, leading you to learn to predict them so beautifully. It’s as though each moment spent with them adds yet another layer to your understanding, and another thread to the beautifully rare connection you share, weaving together a mosaic bond that’s both delicate and unbreakable, intimate and profound.

It’s an uncommon blend of strength and tender fragility; one so parallel and paradoxical — yet so real.

Their pain becomes your pain, their hurt becomes your hurt, their heartache becomes your heartache, and their tears become your tears. You begin to absorb their pain long before you ever even realize what’s happening. It creeps in quietly, until one day you realize their burdens have become as heavy as your own — or, interestingly, you come to find that somewhere along the line, you absentmindedly dropped yours and let them fade into the background just to make space to carry theirs. You note how, like second nature, you start to slowly and instinctively take on whatever weight they carry, shouldering their burdens as if it were your own — all just to make their load a bit lighter and their life, a little softer.

Amongst other things, this thing called love, it’s like a dance. A slow dance, to be precise. One that you learn and evolve with, falling in step and in sync with one another. It’s a constant, patient practice that ultimately builds fluidity and harmony with each step. It’s a gentle flow in which you lose yourself and just…free yourself to move through, simply because of how beautiful it is.

No one starts a relationship perfectly in sync with their partner — or with anyone they love in general. Instead, you grow together, adjusting your movements, your pace, and your understanding of one another as time passes. Eventually, it all becomes so natural, so instinctual, that you stop consciously thinking about the steps. You let go of the need for control — and maybe even understanding, too — and instead, move through love with freedom, an open, willing heart, and wholehearted trust.

You simply release yourself and let the rhythm take you whole.

It’s a beautiful thing to love another being. It’s an even more beautiful thing to be in love with someone you can wholeheartedly call your person.

It’s a wonder, and one that words can never fully capture.

Love is a gift beyond any value, untouched by time, distance, or circumstance. It’s a gift that’s so deeply selfless and giving; one that can never have a price tag. It defies any form of measurement or quantification, and is, instead, immeasurable in worth, and absolutely irreplaceable in its essence.

I say again, no price tag could ever dare be placed on something so sacred, so rare, so unique, and so endlessly giving.

It’s wonderful.

12:58am

Monday: The Day After

I’m not sure if it’s anger, disbelief, pain, or just plain old denial.

Maybe it’s a cocktail mix of all of them.

Somewhere in-between arguing with that conductor for my ₦100 change and trying to make sure I didn’t get to the office late this morning, something in me kind of snapped. It’s almost like I couldn’t believe how normal everything had been this morning, and today as a whole.

I woke up today and that our neighbor’s chicken that we always made jokes about still crowed today, just like it’s always done. The mallam in front of the house still woke up to do his ablution at his regular time in the quiet of dawn. On my way out, I saw that the school bus that comes to get the children in my estate still punctually came by to pick them up like it normally does. Its driver even greeted and waved at me.

The usual Monday morning routine; nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.

Not for them, at least.

I remember going to bed last night hoping yesterday won’t be real by this morning. I’ve spent the last few years prepping my heart for a day like this and yet, here I am, failing at it miserably. You left yesterday and I find it interesting that today, the world has gone on like normal without you.

It honestly breaks my heart, leaving me in a pocket of pain that’s inexplicable.

The world may not know you left yesterday, but I do. I’ll always know, and I’ll always remember.

Heck, I might even get the date tattooed on me at some point in the future.

Tuesday: The Earth’s Still Spinning

I woke up this morning again and Lagos was still as busy and as bustling as ever, maybe even more than yesterday. The conductors still shouted at the top of their voice calling out for passengers, the puff-puff woman still hawked her goods just like she’s always done, Mummy Suliyah still opened and closed her shop at the same time she does every Tuesday, the mallam and the school bus still adhered to their routines, everything. Everything remained unchanged.

Wednesday: The World’s Betrayal

At this point, each day that passes without a disruption in routine almost feels like a jab at me. Like the universe is mocking me or something. This raw, 3-day-old wound somehow manages to feel fresh again everyday because of these never-ending reminders that the world is moving forward.

But how can it, when I’m still trapped in that one day?

Won’t they even stop to, at the very least, acknowledge this gaping hole left behind in my heart?

How could the world — the same world you gave your everything to, until your last breath — be so untouched by your absence? Doesn’t it recognize the priceless gem it has just lost? Doesn’t it feel the void that’s come to form where you used to be? I keep asking myself, “How can the world be so untouched by a loss that has shattered my own? How could they? How dare they? How dare life?”

Are they daring me to forget you? Taunting my pain? Taunting my tears?

Even the chicken’s crow that was once a mere annoyance now feels like an intentional daily alarm of mockery. The once distant hum of traffic that I could always easily drown out with music now has me grinding my teeth and clenching my fists nearly every second. The scent of the mallam’s incense that you loved so much now irritates me so much that I can’t help but angrily scrunch my nose up when it greets me in the mornings — and yet, I can still see you. I can still see you sitting on your old, 15-year-old chair in the corner near the window of your room as you look towards the gate, smiling contentedly as the scent slowly wafts through the house through there.

I hate it.

The world just feels too damn loud, too alive, especially in the face of your own silence.

Thursday: Day 4

Today feels less overwhelming. The routines are still there but somehow, the day feels a lot less heavy as compared to the other days.

It’s just, for some reason, not as bad today.

To some extent, at least.

Also, I cried earlier today. The tears were different, but I’m not sure why.

Maybe I’m beginning to accept that this really is my reality? Or maybe my anger finally gave way, allowing me to fully meet my pain, sit with, and know her instead so I can become friends with her? Or maybe I’m finally realizing the world isn’t going to stop for us no matter how hard I scream at it to? Or maybe I’m just tired of fighting it?

Or is it maybe because I spent the entire day looking through the pictures and videos I made of you last year December, the last time I saw you, over and over again? Maybe because those videos made me laugh — I mean, really laugh — amidst my hurt, and it reminded me of just how amazing you were and how grateful I am to have gotten to capture and fully experience who you were one last time? Or maybe because I spoke about you a lot today and shared so many stories about you and the countless memories we created together?

Or maybe it’s because crying is almost all I’ve got now — the only language my heart, soul and body can muster the ability to speak now?

Was today less overwhelming because I cried or did I cry today because all the feelings were less overwhelming and my heart could finally safely empty and unburden itself, beginning its lifelong journey of grief properly?

Or maybe because someone somewhere is consistently on their knees praying for me?

Friday: What Is Life?

I battled with life today. Not literally, but figuratively. Existential crisis, if you will. I mean, how won’t I? I have too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

Is that it? Is this really all there is? Is this all there is to life? What’s the point then? What’s the point of all the toiling and all the struggle? How about the countless sacrifices? Is this how it’s going to be when I leave as well? Is this how unbothered the earth would be? Are we really that insignificant? Is life really that meaningless in the end? Is it really just a wham-bam-thank you ma’am?

Is lying alone six-feet under and being a static 24/7 feast for maggots till I’m nothing but bones really the end game? That’s it?

Hmm.

Why do I feel like you’d rather I find solace in the possibility that maybe it’s not just merely about the final destination only, or maybe even at all? Maybe it’s about the minutiae; the small, fleeting moments — the love we give, the connections we make, the hearts we touch, the smiles we share, the strangers we help, the homes we heal, the conversations we have, the ideas we present, and overall, the impact we leave behind; even if it’s just on one person? I mean, that is what your lifetime was all about after all.

Maybe…just maybe the meaning isn’t in the grand scheme, but instead, in the little acts that ripple out in ways we’ll never fully understand — or in some cases, even come to know.

Maybe.

Saturday: A Small Sense Of Normalcy

My little niece and baby sister — with their ever sticky hands, of course — didn’t even give me a chance to melt into my thoughts today. All they wanted to do was watch their favorite cartoons, laugh, and play as carefree as they always do. They’re clearly too young and too happy to feel the weight of your absence the way I’m suffering it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I’m just saying.

I’ve wondered if that’d be a better option for me right now: being too young to know you as deeply as I do now, and benefitting from what would’ve been the superficiality of my connection to your passing — or, having to bear this weight for the rest of my life but being grateful to have been given the privilege to not only experience you in my lifetime, but to also get to create and carry in my heart, all the amazing memories we shared.

I honestly can’t tell which is a better trade-off; the innocence of youth, untouched by such grief, or the heavy, privileged burden of having shared so many precious memories with you — but having it be all that’s left of you now.

I gotta say though, for the first time in what feels like such a long time, I actually kind of liked and appreciated this sense of normalcy today. It was a breath of fresh air.

I needed it.

Sunday: Coming To Terms

Church went on today like usual. People came in their sunday best, had a great time in the Lord’s house, went home and had the normal Sunday afternoon rice followed by the famous Sunday afternoon nap just as usual.

We did the same too, for the most part. The only difference was having to prepare the official announcement of your passing at the beginning of today’s service. There was even a moment of silence held in your honor.

It was quite nice.

During that gentle pause, I caught myself whispering softly in my heart, “finally, they’re paying attention now.”

The world carried on soon after that, but it’s a moment I’ll carry with me forever.

It won’t change the reality of your absence, but for once, I didn’t feel so alone in it. My shoulders finally found some relief as we all got to share the weight of your passing together in those few minutes. It was small, and it was very fleeting, but maybe that’s enough of a quiet win for today.

A Month Later: The Dust Begins To Settle

It’s been a month. The routines that never ceased when you left are still ongoing, but I’m not angry anymore. It’s okay now.

I’m okay.

Four Months Later: Old Memories And Familiar Things

I thought about you today. It was a happy memory.

I was walking by a repairman’s store and saw a TV like the one you had when I was much younger — the one I accidentally spoiled. It made me chuckle because I remembered how, on that day, you were really upset with me because you “couldn’t see your favorite actors anymore,” but true to your nature, half an hour later, you’d forgotten all about it and excitedly came to surprise me with a little random gift you’d gotten me earlier in the day.

Typical you.

Six Months Later: Navigation

Remember that plant that I told you started growing in the backyard back in October last year? It’s grown now. I named it after you.

I’ve also made some serious progress as regards finding my way through the waters of grief. I can even surf a bit now, catching the occasional wave with a newfound sense of balance.

It’s still a journey, with some days feeling like calm seas and others like raging oceans, but I’m learning to ride and maybe even sometimes enjoy the waves rather than just endure them or struggle to stay afloat.

With each new one that comes visiting, I find a little more of myself and a little more of you in the process.

And I love it.

9 Months Later: New Lives, Fresh Breaths

A baby somewhere that was conceived around the same time you left would’ve been born today. A new member of the next generation who won’t know anything about you was ushered into the world today. The world changed again today because a new life came into it today. Truth be told, the world has changed everyday since you left, I’ve just not been able to pay too much attention to it.

A Year Later: 365 Days And You’re Still Gone

It’s your one-year remembrance today. I still think back to that fateful Sunday back in August sometimes. The very day that shifted everything. I still remember how I had gone to bed that night, hoping that waking up the next day would somehow erase the reality of your passing.

I’ll admit, I still do so sometimes.

It still hasn’t worked, but thankfully, there are some nights where I go to bed forgetting to hope for that. I have to say, I sleep a little easier on those nights because the crushing weight of your absence doesn’t hurt my heart as much then.

A Year And Six Months Later: Fragments Of You

I see you everyday now. On some days, it’s really easy to, and on others, I have to search you out.

On some days, it’s even accidental.

I see a woman frying akara and I immediately remember our red oil akara. I go to the market and am greeted by a sea of people who still light up when they see me, just because of you and all you did for them while you were here. I see a stranger struggling and I rush to help because that’s the kind of thing you’d do without question. It’s the kind of thing you taught me to do. I smell shea butter and the scent of your beautiful soft skin floods my memories. I walk past a group of young boys kicking their old, worn out ball around and randomly offer to buy them a new one because I remember your constant teachings about generosity, sacrifice, giving back, and how you embodied that your whole life.

I see you everyday now, interwoven into my everyday experiences. Most times, it’s subtle.

And for the days where I don’t, I just look a little deeper.

Three Years Later: Lingering Thoughts

I know you noticed my little check-ins have grown to become a lot shorter over the years. I don’t know if it’s because life seemed to start looking up in other ways again, or if it’s because, at some point, I figured I’d cope better — and maybe even also navigate life better — by protecting my memories of you; and so I chose to safely tuck them away into a carefully preserved and safeguarded box in my heart.

That way, I get to preserve our memories, and shield myself from the now relatively dull but still persistent ache of your absence as best I can. Kind of like eating my cake and having it — except, this time, the ingredients of this cake are heart-wrenching.

Still, even with all my coping mechanisms and strategies, no matter how airtight I think they are, I still think of you.

A lot more than you can ever imagine.

Maybe even a little too much, sometimes.

Five Years Later: New Beginnings

The world changed a little bit again today. I got married to the love of my life earlier today. You weren’t there to see it happen up close, but I choose to believe you were there to see it regardless.

You spent your whole life praying for it, and I just wanted to let you know it finally came.

Seven Years Later: Your Prayers

Nike, my wife, gave birth to our first kid today.

I think it’s safe to say the world changed yet again today, but this time, I actually like how it changed. It’s nothing like how it was when the world changed that particular Sunday 7 years ago. This time, it’s happy. It’s joyous. It’s exciting.

It’s one of your lifelong prayers for me coming to life.

Seventeen Years Later: Milestones

I think the world changed a little bit again today because our first child, Fifi, turned 10 today. Yup, the big 10. She’s also starting her first day of secondary school in a couple of days, can you believe that? Sometimes I can’t and I pinch myself (or my wife) just to make sure.

Before I forget, she has grown to be the big sister to 3 other little ones now. Isn’t that great?

Thirty Years Later: And Now I’ve Grown

The world changed again today. I don’t know how this time, but I just know it did. I guess I’ve learned to become more attuned to the things that ordinarily, would fly over our heads daily. I know better now.

I mean, how won’t I?

By the way, my kids are all grown up now. I’ll probably even be becoming a grandparent any day now. How time flies.

50 years later: Please Come Hold The Door For Me

I guess it won’t be long before I see you now. The world is about to change again, and not many people will know about it. To be fair though, the world changed in so many ways just yesterday and even I didn’t know about it.

The world may not know it when I leave, but honestly? That’s okay. I guess that’s just what life is. Ever-changing and yet, we’re so unaware until the change shows up right at our doorstep in one way or another.

Crazy.

I just hope that when I eventually leave, the world doesn’t change too painfully for the people I consider my world.

I just really hope so.

Final Reflections: C’est La Vie

As you’ve just read, I think you’d agree with me that it‘s truly very fascinating how life relentlessly goes on after losing someone significant, even when it feels like the world should stop — even if for just a second.

If you pay enough attention, every day, you’d see there’s a new manifestation of the sharp contrast between the mundane continuity of everyday life and the deep, personal shifts that follow when someone close to you leaves. Just take the natural hustle and bustle of Lagos living, for example; or even simpler, check to see what time Mummy Suliyah opens her shop tomorrow.

Your world can essentially be suddenly upended in one way or another, and yet, the broader world appears unaffected. Like the world’s rhythm just does not miss a beat.

I believe it’s all just the universal experience of grief: one’s internal world is drastically altered, while the external world remains pretty indifferent, unfazed, and unmoved.

I admit, I’m still quite young, but through certain personal experiences in my life so far, I’ve had the rare opportunity to learn and face a rude, harsh, and painful but necessary truth early in life: life goes on, even when you’re not ready for it. No matter what happens, whether to you or in your life, it all eventually just becomes yet another ripple in the ongoing tide of life — even your own departure.

Basically, The. Show. Must. Go. On.

It’s quite insane.

It’s a realization that still hurts even now — and probably would always hurt to some degree, but one that I’m eternally grateful to have started learning as early as I was given the privilege to.

I can go on and on about how multifaceted this thing called life and grief is, but here’s to hoping that when the time comes for the bus to the other side to pick me up, it’s more of a gentle, comforting shift than a jarring and chaotic change for myself, and more importantly, for those I love.

Ideally, I wish for my own eventual departure to be a tender, delicate and soothing transition — one that eases us all into the next chapter — rather than a crushing, soul-shattering storm that leaves a heart-wrenching void where I once was.

So help me God,

Amen.

9:13pm

One of the most beautiful things about falling in love with someone is learning to be in love with them.

Over the years, movies have become notorious for rarely ever capturing the middle ground of love, and it keeps hurting humanity.

The movies typically only show us one of two things: the initial fall where it’s all roses, butterflies, and sunshine; or the other extreme where our lovers in question are so far gone that they’ve slowly morphed into simply tolerating each other, having lost sight of what truly matters amongst many other things.

The two extremes of the spectrum of love.

Or at least, that’s what movies would have you believe.

True love doesn’t, or better still, shouldn’t ever get the chance to be diminished or reduced into a state of resignation or mere ‘tolerance’. These aren’t genuine extremes of love, but rather, misrepresentations and false depictions that distort its true essence.

Building and nurturing love, on the other hand, isn’t talked about nearly enough. It’s sadly often overlooked. Media portrayals dish out a very warped view of love, reducing it to fleeting excitement or resigned coexistence. They miss out on the subtle, enduring beauty of what I’ve come to call the ‘glide’ — a stage where love, when properly & carefully nurtured, slowly matures into something deeper, more profound and dare I say, relatively easier as it evolves.

The glide is that sweet spot where you’ve moved past the initial fall, transitioning from the storm of intense emotions and uncertainties of the beginning into a more stable and serene phase. You’ve gotten over the initial excitement and euphoria of the honeymoon phase, and the fears, jitters, worries, and reservations that hit like a huge, uncontrollable wave at first. It’s where the caterpillar transforms into a butterfly. You begin to release yourself, starting the lifelong process of letting go of your past conditioning, understanding, expectations, and beliefs, making room for the new to thrive.

Here, you no longer struggle with the basics but are now able to manage the dynamics in much smoother, more effective ways. You no longer second-guess as often because you’re finally starting anew, free from old ‘should bes’. You’re no longer hypersensitive, drowning in the inner turmoil of imposter syndrome, or feel like you’re auditioning for a role you’ve never really stepped into before. This shift isn’t due to overconfidence, but because over time, your partner has actively and consistently gifted you an environment filled with nothing but profound peace, acceptance, reassurance, understanding, grace, and most of all, unwavering support for exactly where you are; allowing you to grow and step into an awareness of your potential and the person you can become.

As a result, you find yourself navigating the complexities of love with newfound ease, wisdom, and confidence. Now, your heart has learned to embrace it all. A new way of being. In this nurturing environment, you’re able to comfortably transition into autopilot while you build a home in the cockpit, keeping the wheel right at your fingertips. A beautiful blend of effortlessness and ongoing attentiveness.

In this gliding stage, you do just that. Glide.

And when you glide, you learn to navigate.

That’s the best part.

An important caveat to note though, is this: in the initial stage of the gliding phase, there’d be some turbulence. Possibly quite a lot of it, too. You’d likely hit some obstacles along the way, sure, but ultimately, they teach you how to glide. They teach you which paths are safe to move through, and which ones aren’t. They teach you which obstacles are inherently necessary, and which aren’t. They teach you how to maneuver those obstacles along your path and how best to either avoid them, or deal with them. They teach you how to build a harmonious relationship with the sky you’re learning to soar through, in spite of it being unfamiliar territory.

In my view, how couples handle and navigate this turbulence can greatly influence the trajectory of their relationship or at least, significantly impact its future. I’ve come to learn that it’s not just about enjoying the early thrills; instead, it’s about learning, enduring and growing through these challenges.

Basically, all I’m saying is this: the initial, very intense rush, excitement & euphoria of falling in love is sweet, no doubt. The deeper, ongoing, daily process of truly being in love with someone and actively learning to love them on the other hand, is much much sweeter.

I don’t know about you, but I, for one, will continue to spend my days actively refusing to buy into the world’s ideas and views of love. It’s horribly skewed and much too damaging. It’s not just media portrayals of love that fall short and present inaccurate and inauthentic examples of love; everyday experiences and influences from family, friends, communities, and even strangers also shape and often distort our understanding in ways that can be misleading and limiting. These various sources subtly plant seeds in our hearts and minds that, in one way or another, sprout into hindrances that stand in between us and true, authentic love, and all it can grow to be.

And as expected, these hindrances are only overcome by those who dare.

Rising above these distortions that are constantly shoved down our throats requires embracing the glide — the authentic, ongoing, day-to-day process of being in love. It is, after all, where real fulfillment lies, and where it will forever reside.

Thing is though, real love isn’t about you.

It’s about the specific person you’re loving, and pouring your love into.

Falling in love implies something unintentional, accidental and/or spontaneous. Being in love, on the other hand, requires intentionality.

When you love someone, you learn about them and dive deep into understanding them. This goes beyond simply learning about love in general, it’s about learning how to love them specifically, and all that it entails — including, and maybe even especially, serving them. No matter how long it takes, you do the work and commit to the process. Actively. Much like how a new mom learns to love and care for her baby exactly as the baby needs. She strives to discover, learn and understand her baby’s limits, allergies, preferences, and everything in-between. It’s a form of custom, personalized love, meticulously tailored to fit their specific, unique needs.

An excerpt from a previous, random mind dump of mine:

“You fight your ego for what truly matters to you. You fight through your worries & fears for what truly matters to you. You fight your comfort for what truly matters to you. You fight your ‘normal’ for what truly matters to you. You learn, relearn and unlearn to preserve and nurture what truly matters to you.”

Real, true love breaks and remolds you in the most beautiful way ever; far better than you can ever imagine.

If you let it, it challenges you and almost everything you’ve ever known, tearing all your preconceptions apart and showing you the real deal instead. It completely reshapes your understanding of love, pushing you far beyond what you believe to be your own breaking point, and into a deeper realm — one that’s much further than you could have ever taken yourself.

If you let it, it seeps into and completely floods your soul, making your heart its home and filling it with life-altering purpose, determination and resolution.

Only if you let it.

A personally tried and tested way to approach gliding is having a mindset like this (also an excerpt from a previous mind dump of mine):

“I don’t know how to do it but in this dance of love, I’d learn. I’d unlearn, relearn, and learn all over again as often as needed.

Most of all, I’ll grow.

I must.

And the best part?

I have my Heavenly Father — the very depiction and ultimate source of love — right here with me every step of the way.”

2am

Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to give me some feedback in the comments, share your own experiences, and let me know your favorite parts of this piece and/or what resonates with you the most!

Till next time! :)

12:15am

Hope.

The boldness to believe that a particular outcome will become reality. The audacity to merely think — let alone trust — that your heart’s desires, imaginations, and wildest beliefs will somehow find a place to sprout somewhere on this earth.

Hope is many things.

It’s that speck of light at the end of those seemingly never-ending tunnels. It’s a resting place, a source of comfort, a refuge, and a place to lay one’s head when life becomes a little too overwhelming and maybe even suffocating. It’s what we hold onto when we desperately need an air of relief in moments where our hearts deeply long for it.

It’s daring to dream, but taken a step further.

In a way, hope is kinda like a cheerleader of some sort; one who’s screaming at the top of her lungs just for you. When you find her, she‘s like gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe — the right amount of stubborn, unyielding and persistent — relentlessly cheering you on through the darkness and reminding you of the many reasons you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how heavy your legs feel as you navigate through the valleys in your journey. She fishes you out, reaches out to lift you up, and avails herself to be found by you. All she requires is that you dare not only to seek her out, but also hold on firmly, never letting her go.

In our pursuit of hope, she often asks us to confront the unknown head-on, challenge the known, and dare to dip our toes into the endless oceans of possibility. She seeks to rid us of the unnecessary worries we so easily hold onto and creates a space for us to embrace all that lies at the other end of our worries and fears.

Hope, you see, starts with a dream; a desire that sparks in one’s heart. It’s the silent wish for better days, the longing for something more favorable, no matter how beaten down you are or have been.

In my quiet moments, I’ve, on many occasions, found hope neatly tucked away in the corners of my heart, waiting patiently for its time to shine. As I comb through thick layers of my own worries and fears, constantly reminding myself of the truth that we’re all living a life where uncertainty is the order of the day, there she sits.

Like a flame that can both warm and burn, hope is a quiet yet powerful, multifaceted force — an unusual blend of vulnerability, strength, courage, risk, and audacity. It’s a reminder that despite everything, even when the world — your world — seems to be completely covered under a shadow, there is always a glimmer somewhere that somehow manages to beckon us forward. Sometimes it’s hidden away beneath a web of fears, uncertainties, and doubt. Other times, it sits quietly at a distance, holding onto a wish that you’d find it before it’s too late and never let go.

Hope is a delicate dance between reality and dreams. It’s a push far beyond our limits, a promise of better days made to those who dare. It bubbles up to the surface one way or another — sometimes through a hand lent by your personal spiritual journey, a friend, family, or even a stranger. When hope and faith intertwine, they beautifully form a tender guiding light that helps us navigate through life’s uncertainties, reminding us that no matter how dark the night, it always ends up giving way to the sunrise.

Hope and faith; what a dangerous combo.

I’m coming to learn that as magical as hope seems to be, it’s not just a passive feeling. Instead, it’s a propellant. It’s an active force that drives action while building or better still, reinforcing a strong foundation of resilience and perseverance. It pushes us to take steps even when the path is unclear; like a force that gives you no choice but to reckon with it.

The gift of hope lies in the ability to hope in itself, not much else.

It’s a gift whose value, when truly known, acknowledged and appreciated, should be held so tightly, treasured so deeply, and protected so fiercely that there would be claw marks from any attempt to take it away from you.

‘Dare to dream’ has become a bit of a cliché already, and don’t get me wrong, that’ll always, no doubt, hold its own power, but honestly? Dare to hope, too.

It just might change everything.

4:58am

To me, He’s not just a concept or distant deity, but an ever-present source of comfort, light and strength; One whose presence permeates deeply into every aspect of my life and One who I’d spend the rest of my days singing about with all my heart, until my last breath.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about His kindness. How He, despite my stubbornness, chooses to love me over and over again — whether I’m deserving or not. I’ll talk about how His kindness has nothing to do with me, but everything to do with who He is. I’ll talk about how He so mercifully lets the sun shine down on all His children every single day, regardless of who we are or what we’ve done.

If you ask me about God, I’ll speak about how He’s a Father. I’ll talk about how He’s been the greatest example of true fatherhood to me and not just that, but parenthood in general. I’ll talk about how He’s been a father to me here on earth in more ways than I can count. I’ll reflect on how He has always been there, even when I wasn’t. I’ll talk about how He mightily and very actively took up the role of being a dad to me when I lost my earthly father at such a young age. I’ll talk about how solely because of how amazing He’s been to me, I’ve never really felt that loss nearly as much as I know I probably should or could have. I’ll talk about how easy He makes talking to Him be. I’ll talk about how warm, loving and tender being in His presence always feels. I’ll talk about how He adopted me into His family, completely disregarding where I was coming from. I’ll talk about how He has embraced me right from day one, despite my filth. I’ll talk about how He makes me feel right at home with Him no matter where I am. I’ll talk about how He’s my teacher, my confidant, my role model, my biggest supporter, my mentor, and my everything. I’ll talk about how He always treats me like His baby girl, no matter how much I age.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about how He’s my coach. I’ll talk about how He’s my trainer in this thing called life. I’ll talk about how He’s the one person that always pushes me beyond what I think I can handle, just so I’m able to grow into the amazing woman He knows I can be. I’ll talk about how He’s the Arsene Wenger to my Arsenal, with the results to back it up. I’ll talk about how He’s the one person that lets me celebrate exactly where I am, while actively helping me strive to be much better. I’ll talk about just how much He clearly believes in me and how humbled I always feel by that. I’ll talk about how He does all He can to prune and discipline me daily, helping me to bloom and blossom so beautifully with each day that passes. I’ll talk about how He’s there through every single one of my wins and my losses, cheering me on all the same.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about how He’s a friend. More specifically, I’ll talk about how He’s my friend. I’ll talk about how He’s the only one that remained when every other person left. I’ll talk about how He’s the only one that’s never too busy for me. I’ll talk about how He’s always so excited to hear from and talk with me. I’ll talk about how He’s always there to comfort me, advise me, hold me, laugh with me, and hang out with me. I’ll talk about how He’s the absolute best support system & cheerleader I could ever have. I’ll talk about how no one can ever compare to Him and the warmth He provides. I’ll talk about how He’s always with me, no matter what; never ever giving up on me. I’ll talk about how He’s the Law Roach to my Zendaya, always right there by my side, making sure I shine as much as He knows I can; ever ready to fix me up when I need it, and knowing me so well that He knows exactly what works for me and what wouldn’t.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about His goodness. I’ll talk about how He’s always there, waiting and ready to listen to me no matter what I come to speak with Him about. I’ll talk about how non-judgemental He is. I’ll talk about how He welcomed me with open arms when I selfishly sought out from others, what only He could provide. I’ll talk about how much of a safe space He creates for me. I’ll talk about how honest He is with me. I’ll talk about how firm yet tender He is with me. I’ll talk about how untainted He is, and will always be.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about His wisdom. How He teaches me certain things not to stifle my pleasures, but to instead protect, preserve, nurture, and make them more worth it in the long run. I’ll talk about how He withholds certain things from me not because He hates me, but in fact, because of how much He loves me. I’ll talk about how He thinks things through so thoroughly long before He ever does them, just so He’s able to do them perfectly. I’ll talk about how much I revere His deep wisdom and insight. I’ll talk about how honored I feel knowing that the One who created everything knows me and actually cares for, and loves me so deeply. I’ll talk about how many times I’ve gone “ohhhh, so that’s why that happened” with a huge smile on my face and in my heart because of how beautifully things worked out in the end.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about his patience. I’ll talk about how He’s easily the most patient being I’d ever know. I’ll talk about how He’s somehow able to remain as patient as He is with His children, even through all the hurts we cause Him. I’ll talk about how He’s the calmest being I know, One who withholds the wrath we deserve all because of His extreme love for us. I’ll talk about how He continuously gives each of us 86,400 seconds every single day, with each second being yet another chance to make things right with Him. I’ll talk about how His patience is truly patient and not rushed. I’ll talk about how His patience comes with His freely-given, unmerited and abundant loving kindness, endless mercies and infinite grace every single day.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about his forbearance.

“In the context of patient self-control, forbearance refers to the ability to endure difficult situations or provocations without becoming angry or upset. It involves showing restraint and tolerance towards others, often in the face of adversity or provocation. For example, someone who exhibits forbearance might remain calm and composed when dealing with a frustrating situation or person, choosing to respond with patience and understanding rather than reacting impulsively or harshly. This quality is often associated with maturity and emotional intelligence, as it requires the ability to manage one’s emotions and maintain a measured response under pressure.”

I’ll talk about His patience and mercy towards humanity, despite our many imperfections and sins. I’ll talk about His willingness to delay judgment and offer forgiveness, giving us more than enough time to repent and change our ways. I’ll talk about how His arms are permanently open unto us and ever ready to pull us into His warm embrace, just like the father of the prodigal son.

If you ask me about God, I’ll talk about His gift-giving skills. I’ll talk about how thoughtful and strategic His gifts are. I’ll talk about how intentional they are. I’ll talk about the depth of His gifts. I’ll talk about how He never gifts us anything that’s merely superficial but instead, actually has countless layers to it if you’re patient enough to see.

I’ll talk about how He gifted us His only son, just so we didn’t have to bear our own suffering. I’ll talk about how He gifted us the ability to know Him for ourselves, by ourselves. I’ll talk about what a great gift we enjoy today because we don’t have to speak with or hear from him through a third party. I’ll talk about what a great gift it is to be able to commune with Him anywhere and everywhere, without having to travel all the way to any one physical location first. I’ll talk about what a great gift it is to be able to converse with Him without even needing to use words.

I’ll talk about what a great gift He gave us in the form of other humans. I’ll talk about how insanely thoughtful the gift of other humans and community is, knowing we really can’t do life on our own. I’ll talk about the beauty of knowing it’s possible to collapse into the arms of another imperfect human in those times when we just can’t stand up on our own anymore, finding much-needed comfort in their embrace.

I’ll talk about how thoughtful the gift of sleep and rest is. I’ll talk about how sweet it is of the Father to give us a way of tapping out of life temporarily when we need to, or when we simply just can’t go on anymore. I’ll talk about how kind it is of Him to give us a way to recharge every single day, regardless of how great or horrible our day has been. I’ll talk about how thoughtful He was to create our bodies in a way that we actually need sleep, knowing how insatiable, relentlessly active, restless, and constantly driven we humans can be. I’ll talk about how amazing it is that He designed our bodies to gradually and beautifully melt into a place of peace when we fall asleep — even when we try to fight it.

I’ll talk about what a great gift He blessed us with in the form of the Holy Spirit. I’ll talk about the depth of the Holy Spirit, and the many roles He’s been empowered to play in our lives. I’ll talk about how great it is to have a being so well-rounded, dwelling within each and every one of us, and beyond able to help with literally anything and everything. I’ll talk about how amazing it is that we each have this gift and we don’t even have to share. I’ll talk about how great it is that we each have our own all to ourselves despite how many of us humans exist on this earth. I’ll talk about how His beautiful, never ending gift of mercy and grace is renewed unto us every morning as we breathe the gift of air into our lungs.

Most of all, if you ask me about God, I’ll talk about His love. I’ll talk about how sacrificial His love is, has always been, and will, with no doubt, always be. I’ll talk about how pure, reckless, unrestrained and whole it is, and how it evolves with us, continually supporting us through every season of our lives; no matter what we face. I’ll talk about how unconditional it is. I’ll talk about how undeserving it is, and yet how we can never do anything to earn it. I’ll talk about how His love just..is. How it just exists. How it’s just always there, no matter what. How absolutely nothing can separate us from it. I’ll talk about how His love completely encompasses everything that concerns us daily; long before we were ever even conceived. It’s like an unending river that flows through every moment of our lives, never ceasing, always sustaining and even when we falter or feel unworthy, His love never wavers. It’s a love that just exists — eternal and all-encompassing — always there, no matter the circumstances.

I hope you ask me about God someday just so I’ll get to talk about how beautiful He is.

I had a somewhat early start to my day this morning and luckily, my family members were still asleep for the first couple minutes of my being awake so naturally, I chose to enjoy the silence and just kind of let my mind wander however it wanted to and it somehow landed on thoughts of marriage, so here we are.

What I was thinking about in particular was how insane it actually is to want to marry someone. To want to not only build a life with this person but to also merge your current life with theirs is so insane.

To me, marriage is saying, “I may not know what you’d be like in 10 years or even 5 years, but I’m willing to stay and find out.” It’s saying, “I don’t know what kind of problems you’d face in your lifetime, but I’m willing to be there by your side and face them with you.” It’s saying, “it’s no longer you who has to deal with this but I’m now surrendering myself to making it an us problem, no matter what.”

It’s saying, “I may not know every single thing that lies in my future but one thing’s for sure: I want you to be in it.” It’s saying, “sure, we may not agree on every single thing but the only thing that truly matters to me is that we agree on these fundamental things and I want nothing more than for us to build from there.” It’s saying, “I don’t know every single thing about you, but the little I do know, I love and I accept wholeheartedly; flaws and all.” It’s saying, “I’m all in, no matter how scary and/or risky.” It’s saying, “I’m ready to commit to finding out more about you even if it takes the rest of my life to do that.”

It’s saying, “I want to be there when you win, but I also want to be there to hold your hand when you lose.” It’s saying, “I don’t just want to come home to you every night but you are home itself”. It’s saying, “I trust you with my life so much so that I’d merge it with yours.” It’s saying, “in this ever-changing world filled with countless uncertainties, I’m beyond certain that I want you to be a constant in my story.” It’s saying, “I choose you and I don’t mind waking up to make the fresh decision to do that every single day for the rest of my life.”

It’s saying, “I want to see you wrinkle, and I want to wrinkle right next to you.”

Marriage as an institution speaks so much volume and I don’t think my mortal heart & mind would ever be able to fully grasp it, no matter how much I try.

And that’s okay.

I hope that you, reading this, find a cozy home in the person you choose to spend and share the rest of your life with. I hope that he/she is your solace, your safe space, your resting place, your warmth on a cold day, and most importantly, your friend. I hope that till then, you’re able to build that cozy home within yourself so when the time is right, you’d be able to embrace & properly nurture all that love truly is, from a place of security & willingness — not fear, doubt, loneliness, or desperation.

I hope for you, that you’ll grow to be just like the kind of person that drinks water because they want — or no, choose to and not because they’re dying of thirst. I hope to God that you never find yourself being the kind of person that’s beyond willing to drink anything just cause they don’t know how to live with thirst. I hope that when the time is right, you’ll just..know. Without a single doubt in your heart, you’d know.

I hope that when the time is right, you’d also be ready, for the ability to recognize the true value of a gift as delicate as love is only fully revealed to a prepared heart.

I hope that in the person you choose to share your life with, there’s friendship. I hope there’s ceaseless laughter and banter between you both. I hope there are countless moments of belly-deep, rolling-on-the-floor-out-of-breath laughter between you both. I hope you both share an endless amount of the silliest inside jokes. I hope there are moments of silence filled with nothing but comfort and a profound feeling of homeliness. I hope that there’s complete acceptance and deep understanding in your union. I hope there’s a constant willingness in both your hearts & souls to build and nurture your union, regardless of how challenging it might get sometimes.

I hope that even in fights and/or arguments, there’s undoubtable kindness — the type that reassures you both. The type that reminds you that you’re teammates fighting against a problem, not each other. I hope you both find safety in each other. I hope that as much as your lives become merged, you’re both still able to maintain your individuality in such a beautiful way. I hope you both find genuine happiness & contentment in and with each other.

To you who has been hurt in some way under the guise of love whether directly or indirectly, I hope that you find within yourself, a love that heals. I hope that you learn to find utmost peace & the purest, most genuine joy and comfort in your solitude & oneness. I hope that you learn to find within yourself, all the love you’ve ever looked for in others. I hope that when the time is right, your heart softens up ever so tenderly for your person, welcoming him/her home.

I hope that when that time comes, the love comes looking for you instead. I hope that despite how much hard work actually goes into love, it still somehow feels easy for you both. I hope that it feels worth it. I hope that this love, when it finds you, pieces together the broken pieces you never even knew were broken within you. I hope that this love shows you what love & marriage really is and more specifically, what our Father in heaven really intended it to be.

“You must never apologize for building your heart an impenetrable fortress to protect it from shattering into a thousand pieces. It is understandable that you are only ever protecting yourself from getting hurt but sometimes, some people are just as terrified as you are, and these are the very people you need to give a chance to — many times if you have to, for they may be the very beings, the very souls made of the same elements as your own soul. You will recognize them because their heart will feel like a home you’ve known from a long, long time ago and you’ll finally feel what they mean when they say, “two souls are meant to be.””

- All The Love You Carry by Charis Ed 🤍

If you can’t already tell, I love love so damn much. It’s something I truly pray everyone gets to experience multiple times in their lifetime because life really makes no sense without it.

I pray that above all, your life is filled with an abundance of love in 2024 and beyond. The kind of love that’s beyond undoubtable. The kind of love that’s so overwhelming, it completely engulfs you.

Unexplainable peace, tender-hearted love, belly-deep laughs, pure joy and the most genuine happiness is all I pray for you.

You’re beyond deserving of it just because you’re human.

I hope you never forget that.