Hi there! My name is Oreoluwa, and growing up, I was always taught that it is essential to give thanks in all situations, and I suppose that, in many ways, that is valid; but in this moment, as I sit down to reflect on the year gone by, it is difficult to do so. I am tired. Genuinely so.

I’ve spent the last few days dilly-dallying on whether or not to write this birthday essay, because the feelings I’ve been carrying aren’t the most… pleasant (or socially acceptable even), but in pain and in confusion, in ecstasy and elation, or most recently in isolation, I find solace in words. And so, I write, hoping to make sense of it all. Hopefully, it makes some sense to you as well.

I’ve lost a lot, said goodbye to people and things that I never thought I would. That has hurt, like mad. I have learned that there aren’t enough seatbelts and airbags in the world to brace against some crashes. Mental preparation is a myth. I‘m sad, but not your regular garden-variety sadness. It’s an aching feeling bouncing between my neck and my chest, resisting my attempts to get it out and be done with it. You see, that’s the thing with grief. It’s not very concerned with your schedules and timetables. No, that would be too simple, too predictable, not painful enough. It much prefers a random, uncontrollable wave of pain and loss, on a random Tuesday afternoon, while you’re walking from class to buy buns at bbsf. Such is the way of the world. I’ve learned that tears and triumph are as constant as day and night.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I’m no stranger to the occasional (read: frequent) existential crisis, but I’ve never had so many aspects of my self and self-worth questioned in such a condensed space of time. Something about staring out the window on the morning of your paediatrics 1 exam, wondering about whether you are actually fit to be a medical student, does something to the mind of a man. I've wanted to cry, wanted to mourn emotional losses and pains, but I couldn't. There was simply no time. Too much to be done. Looking back, it’s so incredulous that at various points this year, I had to schedule my sulking time, for fear of falling behind on other things. I've learned that this was my anxiety, but in its third kit. Anxiety that sometimes has had me curled up in a ball on the floor, scratching at my already suspect heart, isolating for fear of "infecting" those around me. But sometimes, anxiety is pushing on despite it all. Not allowing yourself stop because you're convinced beyond all reasonable doubt that the world will collapse if you do.

I've struggled with, and had to come to terms with the fact that I might very likely be depressed this year, even as I consistently cross off my personal goals — high functioning, I think they call it. I must admit that it is creative in its manifestation and there always seems to be a nice combination of subtle and not-so-subtle signs here and there. As self-aware as I've always thought I am, I don't think I've deeped how much I've let go because of this. There are so many things I genuinely enjoyed that I've subconsciously let go of, and I haven't really allowed it to sink in because I now live this "get up and go, there's no time to slow down" life.

I find that dissociation has fast become a go-to coping mechanism when it all gets too much. There’s something quite alluring and addictive about reclusion, mindlessly scrolling through apps, listening to music, and playing games. Just numb. I'm realising that I sleep a lot, not just because I'm always tired, but also because I constantly need an escape. I’m aware that this isn’t the best way to deal with these things, and social interactions are essential (if not for anything, to increase my serendipity surface area), so I’m often at war with myself, fighting for the will to socialize, weird as that may sound.

I've always had some social awkwardness to my person. I've come to realize that I usually take a mechanical — almost robotic (see: scientific) approach to a lot of my social/interpersonal reactions. This means that I can be somehow in friendships sometimes and miss seemingly obvious social cues (some would say I can be 'willingly obtuse'). I try my best, but sometimes it's not enough. A lesson life seems to enjoy teaching me is that intentions don't always translate into actions, no matter how well-intentioned.

I've had to address some of my more self-destructive tendencies this year, particularly shrinking aspects of myself to make people more comfortable, to make them stay. It's always seemed much easier to take the slight dent of inconvenience than to risk confrontation and conflict. But that's the thing about tiny dents, they become craters if unchecked, and there have certainly been a few craters in my soul over the years. it has been a very hard road to walk sometimes. I've had to get comfortable with conflict. I've learned that sometimes you have to sit in it and be unencumbered by its awkwardness. I'm learning that for the most part, despite standing your ground, your people will remain your people in the end. I'm also learning that some people will leave regardless, and that's okay as well. I have had to face the fact that I am but myself, flawed, and seriously so, in more ways than I am willing to admit, but I’ve also learned that if I take responsibility for my wrongs and apologise sincerely, I am not banished to a torture chamber until you forgive me. I forgive myself in my own time, and you may (or may not) forgive me, in yours. More than anything, I am learning that I have to be kind to myself, to be truly kind to others. I want to be kind to everyone, but with certain boundaries. To be kind, but to be able to say no. To say I love you, but keep that shit away from me. To say I love you, but you cannot have this. No, I am uncomfortable with that. I want to be able to forgive myself as easily as I forgive others.

I have always had an interesting relationship with failure. One of the bigger after-effects of Gifted Kid syndrome (besides burnout, because omo Jesu Saanu) is an aversion to failure. Being good at most things growing up means you don’t often come in contact with failure, and by extension, resilience, which is apparently an important part of character development. What this means is that I usually quit things I’m not immediately good at. Unfortunately, sometimes the world does not care that you were a gifted kid. I’ve had to learn that there are things you will have to be bad at first, fail miserably and woefully (laughs in paediatrics), that you will not be able to run away from (except you want your mummy and your daddy to cry). And so, I’ve had to dig in, manufacture my own brand of resilience (cue the videos and pictures of Ore sleeping during nightwatch), and overcome a big setback. I’m hoping that this carries on into other areas of my life.

There are things I am truly grateful for. I’m grateful to be alive, despite it all. I have had the hand of God show up for me in places and times that I have no explanation for. Things that have gone my way, even though there was absolutely no meritorious reason for it (Napoli boys know this all too well 😂). I still believe beyond reasonable doubt that I am serendipity’s poster child, because I have lucked out with some of the great people, things and places I have stumbled into by happenstance this past year, and I like that despite the almost constant turbulence, my mind allows me the occasional foray into the world to garner an experience or two.

One lesson I keep having to learn is to appreciate my little wins. There is always a temptation (which I fall for more often than not tbh) to simply heave a sigh of relief and keep it pushing, because you know, there’s more to be done; but I’m learning that sometimes it’s important to stop and smell the roses. Passing exams, getting published in the newspaper, getting my first paid speaking gig, presenting at an international conference, heck…even having a few more months as a bloody MS. These are good smelling roses, and I genuinely hope I can learn to appreciate them, even as I strive to plant and pick more.

More than most things, I’m grateful for my community. The people who have seen all of me, stressful as I can be, and decided to stick around. I like to think that I am a mosaic of the people around me, particularly those I have loved, and that makes me so grateful for them (perhaps I’ll write more on this soon). I cannot even begin to articulate the amount of mannerisms I have subconsciously picked up from the Captain, whom I am especially grateful for, in any and all forms. I am grateful for OC, for his existence, and his refusal to allow me to succumb to my worst tendencies. I am grateful for Keshinro, and how they remind me of my promise to be a big ball of love. I am grateful for Temi and her constantly bright outlook to life. For Adenuga, and his contagious spontaneity, Tobi, for always making me want to do better, Tolu mafo we’re going to Harvard 😂. What trenches have I not been through with Fadi? I’m more grateful to my boys for continually (and sometimes forcefully) pulling me from the deep end. There’s a lot more life to live. Don’t worry, everything go soft for boys soon. For everyone in my corner and in my heart, I am immensely grateful. I am learning to see that I am blessed in a myriad of ways, and as I grow older, I'm hoping that I spend more time existing in the reality of the not-so-terrible things in my life.

I do not have my future all figured out yet. somedays I’m so sure of where to go and what roads to take, and then suddenly I'm not. Mostly, I just want to make it to next Wednesday. And so, even in the depths of my despair, I can look to the smiles of those who love me and be grateful. For all the unpleasantness I've had to endure in the past year, I remember that when there is life, there is hope. And so, we go again and again and again. Perhaps someday, you’ll wake up in the midst of your dreams, and it won’t be so bad anymore.

Happy Birthday, Oreoluwa. May you never lose the sparkle in your eye.

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