Who tells her story? 

Her eyes were full of passion, and her body, so much vigour. She knew how to live life to its fullest and enjoyed, completely, the blessing of every moment. She had not much thoughts for the future, and she followed thoroughly her fascinations without a care in the world. She let loose, engulfed in the joy of the little things that left her contented. Her talents were unhidden, and she unashamedly danced at every organised school event and at home, especially when she listened to hips don’t lie by Shakira—she was fearless with her passion and was daring in her pursuit. 

Okiki was certain of who she wanted to become. “A lawyer!” she always answered confidently whenever the question was posed to her. Her ground for this response was so that she could defend people and contribute massively to the society.  She was a bright young kid and greatly admired by her dad who always asserted that she was his carbon copy.

Few years passed by, and Okiki became more conscious and cautious about her environment. Now, she lived with questions and a curious mind.  She, although, beautiful, began to doubt it. Compliments as such, she waved off with disbelief. She, though, was brilliant, didn’t believe in her abilities—she was starting to lag behind in her studies. She, although, greatly talented, hid those potentials from the world. She became too careful and she now found herself being overly bothered about the world’s view of who she was. She was drowning in self criticism and her anxiety was eating her up. 

This went on for the most part of her adulting. Something funny was going on up there—she was certain, she hated the feeling, in-fact, however, she felt trapped still. She didn’t know how to reach for help, or, she didn’t know how to explain the help she needed. A little moment after high school, she resolved to unleash herself of the weight on her chest, the demons in her head, and the burdens that weighed her down. She was going to now love herself and allow herself. She knew quite well that she had such potentials and so much to offer the world. She needed to release herself now.

. . .

Lately, she has been doing a lot of reminiscing—thinking on where she’s come from and how she is stIll cultivating. It’s been a long way coming Indeed. 

Would she, In few years to come, narrate of all her conquered battles? The battles are from within—they are the limitations and restrictions that have bounded her In chains for as long as she can remember. They are the ones that have told her that she could never attain her greatest potentials—they are the constant voices that tear her down, these voices that say she is less than the rest—they say that she could never reach her goals, or make impactful contrIbutIons to the world.

She remembers, few years back, she walked into her mother’s room, in need of some motherly love, with tears filled eyes and a desperate fervour for freedom. “Mum, I am so afraid. I just, I am not happy, I don’t think I can be. I am so scared.” Her mum, surprised by this statement, told her of the many thIngs she was and she had—how she ought to be grateful instead, and get those silly worries out of her head. she left her mother’s room wIth a facade—as though these words have comforted her and have released her, totally, of the demons constantly hunting her. 

But she did wish. If these constraints could be worn out by words of motivation and self affirmations, she would already be set free. She wouldn’t have undergone all that she did growing up. Anxieties eating the best part of her, and her self esteem washing down the drain. She wouldn’t have had to suffer all that she suffered, and she wanted to tell her mother that nIght, that it wasn’t a physical battle—that she would have preferred—it was something going on in her head. 

Would she, In few years to come, narrate of her courageous moments, her moments of resistance and perseverance. This, perhaps, were difficult moments but worthy. She was left most fulfilled after every of this achievement—as little as it may be considered by others, It was huge for her. The times she stood up to speak, the times she asked questIons in class, the times she held positions and performed well, the times she was put in leadership positions, the times she applied for competitions, the times she walked Into that crowd wIth such elegance, the times she didn’t let those words get to her, the times she kept her head held high, the times she moderated, the times she chose herself, the tImes she persevered, the times she prayed for hours, the times she listened to the 6-hour Bible teaching, the times she fasted, the times she took up to responsibilities and performed well at them, the times she wrote her exams and aced them, the times she respected herself, the times she stood up for herself, the time she got paid and applauded for a job well-done, the times she persevered, the moment she became a writer—her lifelong dream—when she achieved her dream of being a reader, the time she took that bold step, when she forgave and let go, when she carried on even with the frightening thoughts that told her to quit, the tImes she held unto hope when the light seemed too far off. 

Yes, these are her wins, as small as they may seem, they are victories fought for, by her sweats and persistence. They are enough assurance of hope. They are signs of her growth and blossoming. They are triumphs attained by her resilience. They have formed and are moulding her into the woman of her fancy. 

She views these trials, now, from a better perspective and she is aware that great things don’t happen without trials. Greatness isn’t born but made. A great woman isn’t born but buIlt. They are tests needful for refinement, and so, she despises them no more. She embraces her trials, and expresses her gratitude for life and the opportunities it presents each passing day. The chances and new beginnings. 

So, who tells her story? 

Is it the inner voice that echoed within her and often told her that she could never be enough? Is it the past experiences that held her captive? Or, is it the past behaviours that gave in to the lies from within? Is it the outsiders who pass their hypocritical judgements? Is it the fears that often times pose unconquerable? Is it the unknown future and its uncertainties?

She does. She tells of all of her deeds, her conquests and get-backs, her tenacity and persistence, how she brought the world to heel, despite its unkindness. She tells of the wonders she pulled after. She tells of how she carries intentionality with a meticulous deliberation—this is her path to freedom and fulfilment. She tells her story—the one that has overtime consistently shaped her into the woman she is and the one she would grow to become. 

#WM2024