Hey, there’s something that’s been on my mind lately, and I wonder if you’ve noticed it too.

We’ve kind of made romance into this huge, almost sacred thing in our culture. It feels like everywhere you turn — podcasts, Instagram, Twitter threads, even messages in church — the conversation keeps circling back to finding “the one.” How to position yourself for the right partner. How to know if someone’s worth your time. What your checklist should look like bla bla bla. it is constant. And while i do not diminish the importance of its awareness because of the awful things we’ve seen particularly in the media space

I just think we’ve started relating to each other in a really narrow way.

Instead of meeting someone and just seeing them as another human being — someone interesting, someone worth knowing, someone with their own story — our minds often jump straight to the romantic filter. You’re walking down the street, you see someone of the opposite sex, and before you even realize it, the questions start popping up: “Are they my type? Could this be something? Do they check the boxes?” Even when we see people just being friendly, we read meaning into it and make the whole connection very shallow, like waiting for when the next leg of the shoe will drop.

We’ve gotten so used to viewing people through the lens of “romantic potential” that we’ve almost forgotten how to connect with them as plain old human beings first. No agenda, no mental checklist. Just two people being people.

It’s weird when you stop and think about it. We talk so much about intimacy and connection, but it’s nearly always tied to romance. Almost nobody’s out there teaching us how to build normal, healthy, non-romantic relationships — the kind where you can be warm, kind, and genuinely interested in someone without wondering if it might “lead somewhere.”

This habit has dug pretty deep into society. Friendships can start to feel temporary or incomplete unless there’s a romantic spark. Even simple kindness sometimes feels strategic. And I can’t help but wonder what we’re missing because of it. By making romance the highest form of connection, we have inadvertently diminished all other forms. We have taught ourselves to look past the person standing right in front of us in order to chase the fantasy of who they might become in our love story.

By making romantic love the supreme ideal, we’ve quietly devalued every other form of connection. We lose the depth that comes from friendships that ask nothing in return. We lose the ease of community where people can be close without the pressure of “where is this going?” We lose the simple joy of seeing someone’s humanity first — their quirks, their struggles, their unique light — without filtering it through our own romantic desires or fears.

And perhaps most troubling: this habit changes us. It makes us more self-focused, more calculating in our interactions, and less capable of the kind of unguarded presence that real human flourishing requires. We become poorer in spirit even as we chase what we think will make us whole.

I think we’d probably have richer friendships, easier conversations, and a lot less pressure in everyday interactions. We might even rediscover how beautiful ordinary human connection can be when romance isn’t the only thing giving it value

Subscribe now

Share

The reality of Christianity is talked about enough, or they do and i was just simply too ignorant to notice and learn

Subscribe now

Coming into Christianity not the religion but the relationship with Christ is like marriage. There’s the wedding, the honeymoon and then the reality of the concept of marriage. The reality of daily carrying your cross isn’t talked about often because, boy I wasn’t expecting that.

Knowing Christ is greatest fulfillment of my life, the honeymoon phase was ecstatic. Waking up and my entire being filled with so much joy knowing Christ died for me and loves me so much would keep me smiling through the day. You could be talking to me and literally my mind is on probably something I read in scriptures about Abba. Being surrounded gradually by believers who also always wanted to talk about Christ was something I looked forward to doing in my day.

I don’t know what went wrong.

When did that delight start dissipating, how did I allow myself to get carried away. I guess when scriptures said to “keep thy heart with all diligence” it was truly a really wise advice.

The thing is cares of this world can easily snuff out that childlike awe. The joy of communion, fellowship with the One that gives life meaning. The human flesh needs a new stimulus, something more exciting. I thought my newfound relationship was just an adventure, but that relationship is my life without it I’m a dead man walking. That’s where daily carrying your cross comes in. Where you discipline your flesh to stay under, daily stay in the Word and fellowship even when you naturally don’t feel like. Keep at it until you intentionally generate that joy you once had.

The cross is heavy, burdensome, tiring. But we carry it also knowing we’re never without help. You might and will find yourself thinking “I don’t want to study my Bible” and even feel bad for having that thought but take that thought to God, tell Him “Lord I don’t feel like”, “my joy is waning”, “please help me”, “

i want the pleasure of your presence”. If I’m being vulnerable and honest I’ve prayed that prayer before and I didn’t magically feel like praying, I drifted slowly. One “I’m tired here”, “I don’t feel like”, “let me just play worship music”- a lot of these combined pushed me so far before I became aware of my compromise.

It does take the mercy for of God for your eyes to be opened and please immediately, run to Him and plead

It takes effort to keep your first love.

Share

Hi guys, I’m Oluwaferanmi, a BNSc Graduate. I got inducted into the profession on August 25th — one of the happiest days of my life.

My dramatic dad rented a whole bus to transport my family, including relatives I hadn’t seen since I was six years old. Family friends, my friends — everyone came! That’s how excited my parents were… and so was I.

After the hall shenanigans — speeches from various dignitaries, swearing the professional oath, bowing to our parents, taking endless selfies and videos — I cried my eyes out in the hall cause I felt cheated (story for another article). Then we stepped outside, and that’s when the real party began.

We were greeted by drummers, trumpet players, and Yoruba instrumentalists. Guys, did I komole? Boy, I did! I flexed every dance move I had ever practiced. I was sprayed with money — in different currencies, o! Then came the trip to my assigned tent… only for me to find out that both my tables and chairs had been taken by families whose crowd was more than the chairs they paid for. My family and friends were staring at me like, “What happened?”
Wo, I sha fought some people to reclaim what was rightly mine.

Then came the food — rice, salad, pounded yam, semo, efo riro — everything made rounds across the table. Money was squeezed into my hands; laughter filled the air. Ugh, those memories still feel so alive in my heart.

But little did I know what awaited me.

Subscribe now

Fast forward two months later — I finally got back to Lagos, my state of residence, after colleting the necessary documents. The hunt for internship placement began. I don’t own a car, guys (this detail is very important). Because surviving in Lagos without a car or enough money to order rides every time? It’s hard. Don’t let anybody deceive you.

Monday morning, I was so excited to go submit my application at LASUTH. The night before, I had prepared all my documents — including my friend’s (I was helping her too). But the wahala started from Iyana-Ipaja.
Ahn ahn, that place is the real ghetto. I got to the bus stop, argued with conductors over fare prices, and finally got into a bus. I sat by the window for “fresh air” because the bus reeked of sweat. If i had known, i would have bought cold drink to fuel myself for the day’s stress. When I got to Ikeja, I had to ask like fifteen people how to get to LASUTH. With my fine cloth, I almost stepped into dirty mud and tripped over stones multiple times.

Finally, I got to the hospital, found my way to the admin department, and tried to submit my application. Only for them to say they couldn’t accept it because I didn’t have my primary school leaving certificate. Guys, i knew i didn’t have it, let me not lie, 'cause i went through the requirement the night before, i said let me sha try my luck.

In my mind I was like, “How would I be a nurse if I didn’t go to primary school? Ahn ahn, please nau!” If not that I skipped Primary 5 and 6, what’s that certificate I won’t have?
But omo, they no gree. They collected my friend’s own and told me to go and bring mine. Meaning I had just wasted my transport fare and strength under this bloody hot sun.

I pulled out my phone and called my mum (yes, I’m a mummy’s girl) to ask how else to go about it. That was when the real definition of stress started.

I took a bus and a bike to my primary school — a place I hadn’t been to since I was nine. Only for them to tell me they couldn’t give me the certificate because I didn’t finish Primary 6 there.
Mind you, it was these same people that advised and coached me to take the common entrance exam into secondary school! (I mean you can’t blame the brilliant kid, hehe)
They started speaking spri-spri English for me. That was when the real Lagos babe in me came out. I subtly implied that if there’s an amount I need to “settle,” they should talk.
They no gree o. At that point, I was just soliloquizing, “Why me, Lord? Why always me?”

“What’s with this series of ‘no grees’ I’m getting today?” I asked myself. S
After several rounds of begging and explaining to no avail, I called my mum again to update her. This lovely woman left her office and went there herself (as per adult nau). Guess what — these yeye nursery and primary school people still didn’t agree. We left there, frustrated.

We started thinking of other ways to get the certificate. Even went to the Ministry of Education in Alausa that same day. They also said no.

At that point, I was shocked. Shey no be this same country wey money fit solve anything be this ni? Didn’t I offer the right amount?

I just retreated that day and went home to sleep, make nurse no turn patient abeg.
Guys, I slept for ten hours straight.

The journey is still long o… Cause what do you mean this was just the first day??
I’ll have to release a Part 2.

What was your own “nobody told me” moment after graduation? That one shock that made you realize adulting isn’t child’s play?

Leave a comment

Share

Something I’ve found interesting in the past week is the word ‘wineskin’. It’s literally like the word kept following me. It came up in my bible study, I went to church it was talked about. it was like everywhere I turned I was hearing the word.

During my bible study when I first encountered the word, it was when Jesus was speaking to the disciples of John the Baptist when they asked Jesus why His disciples do not fast often just like them and the pharisees and this reply was given to them by Christ and it was definitely no mistake He use of that exact word to make a point. However, I didn’t really go deeper into it, you know I just went with what Jesus said. After the too many coincidences, i decided to be deliberate, go into finding the genesis of the word. In my little rabbit hole of searching i found a lot things interesting about it. Permit me to indulge you in few of my (not so boring) findings.

Wineskins are containers traditionally made from animal hides (commonly goatskin or sheepskin), used for storing and transporting liquids, especially wine. Animal hides were chosen for their flexibility, durability, and ability to retain liquids without leaking or bursting. The hides were cleaned, tanned, sewn together, and treated (often with oils or resin) to make them watertight.

See the thing is that wineskin is a structure that is used to contain wine, wine is a liquid that is subject to fermentation. During the fermentation process, the liquid expands due to the chemical reactions that occur, let’s not get into all that nerdy stuff. Due to the expanding ability of the contained—wine, the container ought to expand. Now that’s interesting.

Subscribe now

The characteristics of the wine skin is what interests me revealing that the wineskin is first of all a structure that is put in place for the wine or any liquid of sort. Structure—framework that gives shape, order; determines how the contained would last(durability), how it will function(ability). So Jesus made use of this illustration to explain the importance of the structure and not just that but the contained— the life of Christ

He explained that what He brings for us cannot stay in the structure that was laid down, that structure cannot give the durability and functionality of the new wine, there is need to let it go. To let go of that rigid mindset, that belief system that was no longer serving you but you still clung to it religiously like it was the last candy bar in a store . In order to let it go, we need humility which was what the pharisees lacked and they were destroyed for lack of it thereof.

There is need for a structure that can consistently help live the life that is being presented. Only Him can sustain the life that He gives and that was what He was aiming for the disciples understand. The paradox of this is that Jesus is both the wineskin and wine.

Hi guyss! Before you start thinking, “Who is this one that cannot greet?” (yes, that’s something I might say 😅—hopefully, you’re not like me. But if you are, it’s not really a bad thing, I meannn...).

Happy nuuuuu yearr, folks! This is me officially welcoming you to the year tweny-tweny-faivv!!! Am I this excited in real life? Hmm, honestly, I don’t know. I’m just a bit scared of all the brave things I plan to do this year. Looking 2025 in the eyes and saying, “I dare youu!”.

Anyways, it’s our first letter of the year! 🎉 We had 15 new subscribers join us—woohoo! I’m super excited. Cheers to many more!

Just like my favorite YouTuber back in 2020 would say: “Without any further ado, let’s get into it!”

Inconsistency is such a dangerous word, especially to Christians. I know sometimes, in order not to beat ourselves up, we say, ‘When you fall, get right back up,’ and all of that. How my brain works, I really don’t know, but that phrase became an avenue for me to play with inconsistency. It got so bad that I rarely stuck to one thing for long, and it was killing me—my mental health and my progress.

i was doing well in my devotion, enjoying the Presence of God. Then in the busyness of my week procrastination swooped in so quickly. Three days passed, then a week, and soon, my devotional life was nonexistent. Everything began to unravel. By 'everything,' I mean my mind—because that’s the control center for everything I do outwardly. Concentration became a battle; tears flowed constantly, and everything felt unbearably frustrating. This frustration even flowed into my relationships.

I started thinking God hated me (like I didn’t know better, lol) Why else would He let me sink into this state? “Lord, don’t You want to help me?” “Don’t You also want to speak to me?” Instead of asking Him to help me, this sense of entitlement clawed deep, as though I deserved His attention and intervention on my terms.

It wasn’t until I took a long, reflective gaze into my soul that I realized: I had become homesick. I missed my Father. I was starving for His presence, for that communion, and in my absence, my life had become unbalanced, scattered like leaves in the wind. I must confess: I am indeed Daddy's girl—utterly and irrevocably dependent on Him. May that dependence never wane.

Prayer (devotion) is such a place of comfort for me. It gives me direction, peace, and everything the world is seemingly unable to offer. Even though the Holy Spirit nudged me to return to the place of prayer, I justified my reasons for not praying.

Oh, the mercy of YAHWEH.

Pride is such a heavy burden, anchoring the soul and veiling the eyes. It whispers false strength while silently stealing clarity.

Now, I think I know better than to dance to the tune of apathy. No matter how busy my day gets, I make sure to talk to my Father. Even if it’s just disconnecting from the world for a few minutes in the busyness of my day. I take that moment to soak in the awareness of His presence—because that’s my fuel. I can’t afford to lose it, abeg. Nigeria is already doing enough to test my sanity.

I was also so religious in my prayer life. I felt that if I didn’t kabosh during prayer, I hadn’t truly prayed

While this doesn’t diminish the necessity of praying in the Spirit and spending time in His presence, I learned that the more we stay in His presence in truth and Spirit, the more we reflect His likeness. But during my time of spiritual dryness, I needed to simply talk to Him—no matter how incoherent my words were—and ask for His mercy.

I would ask for mercy, like the prodigal son, and just like the father in the parable, God was too glad to have me back, flooding me with His overwhelming presence. That feeling is one I can’t explain—words fail me. And He promises to give me that for eternity. The joy in my heart at the realization of this is uncontainable, for His mercy endures forever.

Subscribe now

Share

One day, I grabbed my phone, full of excitement and zero knowledge, thinking, “Maybe I could be a ghostwriter or a freelance writer.” for someone that wanted to start and nothing put in my portfolio (Don’t laugh—okay, fine, laugh if you want. I’m laughing as I write this too) the zeal was just there. Naturally, I turned to Google. Honestly, Google is such a paradox: it’s the worst place to look for information because it overwhelms you, but it’s also the most reliable source. (Yes, I looked up the word “paradox.")

I got completely lost in a sea of advice and tips, so much so that I didn’t get a single useful piece of information. By the end of it, I felt so overwhelmed that my dream of being a ghostwriter or freelance writer lasted just for a week and a half before I gave up. The only good thing that came out of that rabbit hole was discovering Substack. It quickly became my favorite app, and I think you can guess why.

The writers on Substack are incredible. Their creativity is inspiring—and honestly, kind of terrifying. It’s scary because it makes you realize just how much talent exists in the world. And then there’s me, feeling like I’m just here to soak it all in and consume other people’s creativity.

But something shifted in my mindset. I’ve come to realize that the Author of creativity—the One who designed this world with all its intricate details—dwells in me. That changed everything for me. Now I understand why I feel this urge to create and it made so much sense.

Creativity is such a subjective thing. It’s not this rigid box I thought it was. It’s fluid, something you can find everywhere if you’re open to it. Decorating my room to make it feel more like home? That’s creativity. Choosing the medical course I’m studying? Also creativity. Even the way I live my life has its own creative flair.

For the longest time, I thought being creative meant writing the perfect book or crafting flawless posts. I used to think only those people deserved to call themselves creatives. I was so wrong. Creativity shows up in so many different ways, and writing is just one of them.

So, am I a writer? Yes, I am. Because I write to express myself (even when i do not know how to structure my words well), to connect with others, and to create something that feels true to me. Even if the journey is messy and uncertain, it’s mine.

Leave a comment