The Beginning.

A couple of months ago, I had a series of conversations with a friend (Hey O!) about among other things, love. One thing led to another, and she basically reaffirmed an annoying truth I already knew, but refused to admit: Some things you do not fully process/understand/really know how you feel until you write about them. So she challenged me to write about something I didn’t even want to discuss. My first love.

I hadn’t written in years. And to resume the habit, I was going to write about what I thought was the most personal thing to me at the time. I ended up splitting the story into 3 parts, and I guarded it religiously. I let very few people read it. But then I realized that suddenly, it didn’t matter to me anymore. Writing about it truly brought me closure even though I honestly believe I’d been over the situation for years. Still, while it was now easier to discuss, it still wasn’t my favorite thing to discuss.

Then came the end of my Spring Semester. I was in a really bad space mentally, and it had affected my school work. So as the week of my final exams approached, I realized I needed all the extra credit I could get. Now my American Literature teacher (who I had taken in two previous classes & have an amazing relationship with) gave the option of submitting original, never-been-previously-published written work or photography for the English department’s publication. In the last class, my “photography” was ruled out, so that wasn’t an option. Plus, I didn’t have time to write anything new, so I butchered what at the time was the most private thing I ever wrote. Changed names, locations, etc, and turned it in for extra credit. I had guarded it for so long, and yet I submitted it to possibly be published. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me lol.

Anyways, since I have at least 3 different write-ups in my drafts I’m just not ready to post yet I haven’t written in a while, I thought I’d post the first part of the story. It got me back to writing, It’s the only one with a happy ending, and it is probably the only one I will ever be able to post.

Names & dates & locations are still changed, but it’s not as butchered as the version I submitted for extra credit (that still kills me) is. And for the most part, it’s pretty much the same story. Enjoy.

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In The Eyes of a 3 Year Old

Yesterday, in the midst of sacrificing my laptop for 5 hours just so my cousin’s 3 year old son could watch “Pokoyo” (just what the hell is a Pokoyo anyway???), I realized a few things he’s shown/taught me over the past 3 years…

I’ve learned that I absolutely HAVE TO say no to him sometimes. And he may not like it. And I don’t care. Because I know better.
I’ve learned that I would do ANYTHING to put a smile on his face.
I’ve learned that sometimes, when I ask him for something (which is usually his favorite toy at that moment), I either want to show him something he didn’t know it could do, teach him to use it the right way, or sometimes I just want to see that he’s as willing to share with me as I am, him.
When he makes a mess and I have to clean it up, I do it with love. Stinky diapers, food & drink spills, even the occasional puke.
I’ve learned that I would put down anything to be by his side if he needed me.
When he says “lub you”, a part of me understands that he means it as much as it is possible for any 3 year old to mean it. But I also understand that it cannot compare to the love I have for him. A love he cannot comprehend just yet.
That feeling I get when he wakes me up in the morning because he wants me to carry him on to the bed just so he can lie there & spend time with me is priceless.
Sometimes he runs to me crying when he has a problem (such as the tv not responding to the remote or he’s having trouble opening his favorite candy wrapper) and I just wish he’d calm down with the hysterics & see he could fix it himself. Because he’s smart. And I’ve taught him how a million times before.
Other times, he doesn’t come to me for help, and when I offer to help he swats my hand away. Half confident/Half foolish in feeling he could fix it himself if he frowns long & hard enough at it.

it’s funny… this 3 year old has taught me more about my relationship with God than he will ever know.

(PS: it took everything for me to not title this post “3”. I’m not trying to make numbered titles a thing. lol)


as usual, I can’t sleep. if you know me, you know that’s not news. But that’s not the reason for this post. And no, this isn’t one of those “oh hey, welcome to my blog” posts either.

first off, let me say, I absolutely HATE writing. I hate everything about it. Not cos I’m not good at it, but because I cannot write fiction. I can only write about things that are real to me. This causes 2 major problems. 1, I’m notoriously private, and the thought of writing & letting strangers get this unrestricted access into my mind… it makes me uneasy. 2, Only being able to write about non-fiction means that I usually have to write about the bad. My fears. My insecurities. My doubts. Or as is often the case, bad memories. That means I have to remember… To re-live it mentally… To recount. And who doesn’t hate that?

so why do I have this blog? it was one of those spur of the moment things. I’ve thought about creating a blog so many times & I discarded the idea in 5 seconds each time. But for some reason today, I decided to do it. Let’s call it growth (or the willingness to grow). I don’t know. But I have a lot to write about, and I figured password protected MS Word documents just weren’t gonna cut it anymore. the irony is, I find it hard to discuss personal stuff if I haven’t written about it yet.

Right now, I am drained. This year has been a roller coaster. This was 2013: The Year of Enlightenment, and as usual, I’m looking at the end of the year kicking myself for not doing more. For not becoming more. I saw some old habits resurrect. Habits I thought I had kicked years ago. Insomnia… Certain addictions… Depression…

Yes, I can finally admit it now. For a few months this year, I was depressed. I battled with that disease for 3 years and I swore I would never go back there again. Yet somehow, it happened.

For a while, I also lost faith. I would get to church & sit in my car in the parking lot until service was over. There was no desire to go in. To worship. To pray. To serve.

there was no desire to do anything. My life seemed empty for a while. I found myself back in that “what’s the point of all this” rut.

I have learned that the monetary value of potential is zero. I have learned that in spite of all God has planned for me, I could go on existing & live a below average life. I have accepted that I was lazy. I was spoiled. And that season is over. There is work to be done.

I had to grow up way too quickly this year, and I wasn’t prepared for it. I wanna do certain parts of it over, but that’s wishful thinking at its finest. This is the last quarter tho. And I’ll be damned if I don’t finish 2013 off the right way. Here’s to the next 4 months. You better be amazing.

Oluwa is involved…