Last updated on October 7th, 2025 at 03:50 pm
Trigger Warning:
This story includes scenes depicting child sexual abuse. This warning has been provided to allow you to make an informed decision about whether to continue reading. Please consider your emotional well-being before interacting with this content if you have experienced trauma connected to sexual abuse in the past.
…
It’s been a year since I returned to Nigeria and it has been an adventure. After launching my collection, I started my trips to different countries. Launching my merchandise wasn’t as hassle-free as expected, considering that I launched in both Nigeria and the UK. Many customers were displeased but I was able to manage. This year, my focus is on just the collection and the merchandise. I’ve also been considering employing a few hands just to make things go seamlessly.
I returned from Egypt last week and haven’t unpacked yet; I sort of hibernated when I returned. In between some trips, I came back home to touch base but never for more than two weeks. While I’ve had the adventure of a lifetime, I’m happy to be home.
I switch on my laptop and there are over eighty unread emails. I really need to employ someone immediately. I settle down and start to answer my emails.
—
One hour and a headache later, I’m done with the emails. I’m content being a videographer and photographer. Adding these administrative tasks is overkill. I need to get them off my plate. I review my to-do list and sigh. I have to reconcile my finances but first, I need to get some food in my stomach. I change my outfit and grab my keys.
After getting food, I decided to eat in the car and drive around. After some minutes in the city, I’m at the mall to get a few items. I predict the next few months and I can tell that I’m going to be very much at home and in a routine. This should excite me, and it does, but something feels amiss. I stock up on essentials and grab some food items: eggs, milk, beef, chicken, butter, potatoes and vegetables. Two hours later, I’m at home and arranging the purchase which then turns into a whole cleaning spree.
I clean and arrange my whole apartment until my stomach growls and I confirm that it’s time for dinner. I had a productive day at least. Tomorrow, I can comfortably start work knowing my house is in order. I throw my food in the microwave, set the timer, and go to take a shower.
—
I’ve been deep in work for the past month and I’m finding my groove. I wake, take a shower, make breakfast, work, eat, work, eat, work, head to the gym, return home, probably work again, you get it. For the first time since I arrived, I’m truly able to breathe. I have less on my plate and with this spare time and no distractions, all neglected emotions come to the surface. This is fun. My social life is good enough. I easily make friends, so I’m not lacking in that area. In fact, I’m planning to travel to Port Harcourt soon to see Hassan. The problem is not with my social life though.
Growing up as an only child, I learnt to be my friend and also to make friends. I learnt to start conversations with strangers and even the most unapproachable people. My parents also travelled a lot, both being career-focused individuals, so I had the time to explore and try out interests unhindered. When my parents were around, they were really attentive. Even during their trips, they were easily reachable. The point is that being alone isn’t an issue for me at all.
Mostly, it was me and our house help, who was more like an aunt. My mother insisted that they were related so she was more open to leaving me in her care. It wasn’t until later that I discovered that they were not related at all, even though she, our help, had grown up with mum’s family. She is my maternal grandma’s best friend’s last child. Her mother died minutes after birthing her and my grandma sort of adopted her since her elder siblings were unable to take care of her.
For the past few days, I’ve been reflecting on my childhood and its possible impact on my lack of a relationship. As someone who finds communication really easy, is introspective, and has a million friends, both young and old, it surprised my friends when my exes complained that I was not communicative. Due to this, the longest relationship I’ve had crashed before the sixth month. Instinctively, I’ve withdrawn from relationships for this reason. No relationship, no fuss, no drama.
Now, at 27, I consider myself young, and it’s not like I’m trying to get married anytime soon, but it almost pains me to admit that I’m lonely. Almost like I want to be accountable to someone, I want to share my day, my wins and losses, and even my money with someone. My friends come close but it’s not every day you find a friend who wants to dedicate everything to their friendship. I think that’s where a romantic relationship differs, it’s a commitment to do life with another. I’m not one to talk, though, considering my history.
It’s almost a weird feeling, wanting to share it all with someone. I get my friends gifts, I also get my parents gifts but they never take money from me. To them, I’m always their child. Every now and then, they even send me money—money that I don’t need, at least not anymore. Even though I want someone to share life with, I have a fear of not being enough for them. My last relationship was in the UK and it lasted for two months. I still recollect the way she screamed at me over the phone when she ended things.
“You’re so stiff! If you could devote half the commitment and passion you have for your work to your relationship, this conversation wouldn’t be happening. Here we are… If you think not cheating and calling every single night are all it takes, you’re mistaken! I knew it was too good to be true: the charm, the looks, the body, everything but the one thing that matters! ”
I sigh and grab my keys. I need to drive around to clear my head.
