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Teh.miii
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In another lifetime, I’d still choose my mom to be my mom because there is something about being loved by her that has shaped the entire way I experience this world. I would choose her again because she made difficult seasons feel survivable even when she herself was tired. So in another lifetime, I would still search for her. Still hope I get her laugh again. Still hope I get her voice calling my name again. Still hope I get to sit beside her in kitchens, in cars, in church, at events, at home, at work, in ordinary moments that never feel important until years later.
Because if I’m being honest, no matter how many lifetimes exist, I think I would always want to begin in the one she’s existent in. 𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗠𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿’𝘀 𝗗𝗮𝘆, 𝗠𝗮𝗺𝗮. I love you.💓
English
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We don’t talk about it enough, but the first sign that you’re not okay, that you’re trying so hard not to fall apart rarely looks like a panic attack or suddenly breaking down and crying out of nowhere. Most times, it shows up in the little ways your body and mind try to tell you, “Something’s off.”🥺
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Every time I think of when my life’s dreams took a different turn, I always go back to three moments.
The first was my English teacher in secondary school. I used to do really well in my essays and assignments, and one day she told me I was a really good writer. But it wasn’t in a dramatic or a teacher-encourages-student way, it was just like she was stating a fact. She also said I was calm and well spoken, and that she could see me on stages someday. Then she told me she hoped I’d study Law because the field could use a mind like mine. I don’t even think she knew what that did to me.
Especially because I haven’t heard from Miss Adelugba in about six years now, since the last time I saw her at the immigration office.
The second was my mom. She found out I had been writing stories in small notebooks from as early as JSS1. I used to just write secretly and keep them to myself. But she read them. And she came back to tell me she was proud of me. That she loved them. That one day, she hoped to read a published book of mine. There’s something about being seen that early that stays with you.
The third was my dad. He noticed I liked to create—draw, paint, just do anything expressive. And instead of brushing it aside, he leaned into it. That’s how I ended up in saxophone and keyboard classes in school. He’d also see those same little notebooks sometimes, flip through them, and just say he hoped I never let it go.
You see, my life has been a constant remembering.
Remembering that I didn’t just arrive here by accident. That there were people who saw something in me early, something I’m still trying to fully grow into and become revered for.
And no matter how far life seems to pull me in other directions, I think a part of me is always trying to find my way back to that girl who just loved to create.
And maybe the work now is not to question it, or overthink it, but to honour it and accept it properly—to give it the time, the attention, the grit, and the commitment everything about my life always deserved.

English
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Stop forcing people to forgive their deadbeat parents, especially if your own parents are responsible.
Terry@terry_qcbf
A hill you’re willing to d!e on:
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