A letter from Apr 18, 2025

Dear FutureMe, With each passing day, as I grow older, I realize that I don't truly know myself. I do know somethings like my name, my age, height, weight but those are just basic informations that even hospitals have. There are times I may think I truly know myself and what I like, love and hate or maybe what I fear. The thing is I cannot truly boast about my likes and dislikes knowing fully well that they might change later on in life. For example I loved indomie so much that if you'd have asked me about a year ago what I enjoyed eating I would have screamed INDOMIE!!! In my sleep. Now, It disgusts me. I eat it to satisfy my hunger not craving. It just doesn't tastes like it used to and that's my point. My intrests, tastes, likes and dislikes are fleeting. They're like a fever dream. I know that change is the only constant thing in this life but is it normal for me to always change the things I care about and indulge in? Moving on, that is not what I'm here to talk to you about. While I was laying in bed reminiscing, I remembered some certain events that occured and I thought to share. Today, I am going to be telling you about My Father, Your Father... OUR FATHER Five years ago, in April 2020, I lost my father. My father was.. A father. The typical African man with all his beliefs and the head of the household. As A father, he always pushed me to be the best. To become an Academic Weapon. Till this day when I think back, I really did do my best but as it is in an African home, your best is never the best. I remember one time when I took second place in my class in primary school he said to me "you were so close why didn't you take first" I don't remember if I cried that night or not. I also remember during my graduation ceremony in primary 6, when the only prize I was awarded was "Best in Home Economics" My mother, who was chairlady at that time personally handed the prize to me. I remember being upset coupled with a bittersweet feeling. Upset because I thought I deserved more prizes. I remember thinking surely it was a mistake. I was always among the first five except for one time when I took seventh place. It wasn't a mistake. I did win only one prize. Bittersweet because my father stood up and left the ceremony and I didn't know whether to be happy I received a prize or sad that my father saw me as a disappointment. I don't remember the many things that transpired that day but I do remember feeling like a disappointment, ashamed and devastated. There are many instances like these when my father was being my father, I rather not divulge in said instances because if I do I might end up writing a book instead and that is not my intention. I intend to write a letter to my future self. Telling her that I may have found out the reason why I became this empty shell. It's simple really take for example a hen and her chicks. A hen lays her eggs and then proceeds to sit on them providing warmth and safety. When they do hatch, she feeds them for sometime. Then after some days, with her guidance and protection, she leads then around helping them feed on their own. Eventually the chicks grow up and start feeding on their own no longer needing their mother's protection. In my case, my father was the hen and I the chick. Only that I didn't leave the nest because he wouldn't allow me, he fed me till I grew up not knowing that I would need to fend for myself one day. He didn't lead me around to see if I could feed by myself. He hovered around the nest ensuring I got everything I ever needed. Now, while I am grateful I am also angry. You can imagine why. I am not saying that my father's love and protection for me is what caused me to become this hollow being. What made me become this person was none other than ME. I crumbled under pressure which led to me losing myself completely. I spiraled so far out of the line that I didn't see the need to return to it. Or maybe to put it plainly; I lost my way. When my father died, I felt a little lost, more so angry and somewhat happy. You can justify the first two emotions but I can justify the last one. I felt happy that I could finally breathe and be myself with no one holding me back. No one holding me with such high regards of being their Academic Weapon. I was free to not be the best. Thus I became the worst. The first term in uppersixth months after my father past, I was in the second to the last position in my class. It came as a blow and shock to me. I did NOT take it well, my classmates can attest to this. In fact the whole student body at that time, including the teachers. I'll spare you the details. Little did I know that that was just the beginning. I managed to pass my exams and entered the university. I opted for the one where I didn't have to write a concour to enter. I was scared of the challenge and ran from away from anything that seemingly tried to test my knowledge. So I retreated to safe bubble, my house (living on my own) where I hardly attended classes, didn't answer questions in class, didn't study and only read when exams where approaching and even then I still didn't give it my all. After all who was there to pressure me? To push me to do my best? To act disappointed when I didn't do well. I was the chick whose mother had just passed away leaving behind a sheltered grown chick to fend for herself for the first time. So I misused the freedom I got and as a result I became disappointed with myself for not living up to be that Academic Weapon. I felt that I could never even become an Academic Weapon. I was harder on myself for not living up to what my father thought I would be. I felt guilty and ashamed that he might be looking at me from above and shaking his head in disgust. Well he can't walk out of heaven now, can he? Or hell? I don't know. There are many other things I did during this phase, ones I'm too ashamed to even admit to myself. I fell deep into depression, developed anxiety, butchered my already low self-esteem, gained a lot of weight, lost the act of discipline and consistency, completely disregarded responsibility as a whole, skewed my remaining morals and principles, became this hollow, empty, liar of a person. And because I couldn't handle the pressure, I tried to end my life, Twice. And now here I am in my final year, procrastinating my project report, missed two months of internship because of fees (I squandered it all, I don't know how), bed rotting, dying slowly, contemplating on whether I would graduate or live to tell my mum I failed her too. You might think I am being childish by putting all the blame on my father for how I turned out. Yes and No, because there are other people and many moments in my life that played an even bigger role in my upbringing. I may not even remember some of them, my memory tends to be foggy sometimes. But today, as I lay in bed, rotting, I just needed to admit it to myself and understand where all these stems from. After all they say the first step to healing is acceptance. I do plan on working on myself and becoming a better version of myself. So wish me luck and pray that I do graduate this year. I hope you survived and are in a better place. I do have a lot to tell you. So I will be writing to you often about the past. Maybe we could even talk about my mother who was not just a side character as you may think. _Until next time_ _Love you always❤_