A Long Long Journey
When I first started writing, I had no idea what I was doing. I remember distinctly being in year 8, 12 years old, and dealing with a lot of grief. I had started the year losing an uncle and a close family friend. I remember when my mom told me that my uncle had passed away the very next thing she said was, ‘don’t cry.’ Her words were like a spell that sealed my tear ducts, but my whole body was itching for relief. My head was spinning and I was trying really hard to remember when last I saw him or what the last thing I said to him was, but I couldn’t. My memory was failing me, and so I began punishing myself for it.
I would go extended periods of time without eating and avoid sleeping just so that I could feel miserable because I deserved it. How could I not remember the final moments I spent with someone I claimed to love so much? And at home, after the funeral, it was as though nothing happened. We never spoke about him or really processed the loss communally. He was simply gone.
So I began writing because I couldn’t make sense of everything that I was feeling. I couldn’t understand how I was meant to continue living my life as normal. I felt like I was on my own in my emotions, and the only place I could turn to was my journal. Around the same time, my parents bought me my first laptop and so my handwritten journal entries became Word documents that became blog posts.
I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I had to write. I had to find a way to make sense of everything, and if I couldn’t make sense of it I had to create a world for myself that made sense. At a time in my life where I felt like I couldn’t do anything well, I knew I could write and it felt like a superpower.
Lately, I’ve been restless. If this is really a superpower, why don’t I feel super powerful? Why does it seem like I have been pursuing this for over a decade and have not bore much fruit? I don’t want to give up, but I almost don’t know where I am going.
I didn’t even know what I was going to write today so I started going through my emails to see if I could find an old poem or prose I could post today instead. (This would have been dishonest to do because the challenge is to write everyday, but I’m being honest with you all). And in looking for something old, I came across an email between my friend Elo and I in 2013. I had written to her the day before riddled with anxiety about leaving Nigeria to go to boarding school in England. I didn’t know how my parents would cope with an empty nest, especially my home and I feeling very weary.
She replied back, “My darling, there is nothing you will go through that God will not give you the strength to get through.
Something great is about to happen to you. I know this because he has provided thus far. There's no issue of not being able to send you to school because of fees, there's been no accident/mishap that renders you unable to be educated. Nothing.
You're a beautiful, bright, ambitious young girl with a world in front/inside of her. I know that you're so heavy with all the expectations and everything, but BE STILL.”
The restlessness I feel now reminds me of back then. My heart is so expectant it’s almost bursting at the seams. But I need to be still. She went on to say that, “Stillness can only be birthed by total trust in God's word, and consequently, His person.” I need to trust that this gift is a superpower that can heal and shine light onto others. I need to be faithful enough to know that it may be a decade later, but at the right time I will reap much fruit, and most importantly that I may not know where I am going but believe in a path and plan greater than myself.
I hope that in 10 years time, I will look back on my own words and be glad that I held the vision. I hope to laugh at my impatience. I hope I would have stayed committed to my progress even on the worst days because it was those days that brought me my pen and lead me here now.
This journey is long and it is always beautiful to look back. So when the day seems tough and I can’t seem to find a way through, I will look at my rearview mirror, at my own words and be glad that I didn’t give up then.