On Sunday, I came to the conclusion that I'm a very shitty friend. I wish this was an exaggeration for narrative effect, and at the end of this, you would wonder why I even said that. But nope. I'm pretty sure I'm right. One of my closest friends offended me one too many times, and I made the executive and poorly thought-out decision to give them space without addressing what it was that they did to me. It worked for a while. I would see them in spaces with all my other friends and be cordial, but not too friendly. I would make my usual jokes, but none directed at this friend. At this point, I think we should call them "Chi". Chi and I have always had a sort of explosive friendship. We would laugh really hard and argue just as hard—long, often unending arguments that made every unfortunate observer wonder whether we would ever reach resolution. Sometimes we did, but sometimes, we would end our vocal sparring tired, breathless, and hungry—for food and the feeling of being right. I guess I should have known that there was a bigger problem when Chi didn't push back. Typically, when we fought like this and one party withdrew into their shell, the other would be right there trying to fix whatever issue there was. This time, however, there was radio silence. My decision crystallized into diamond, and I felt unshakeable in my conviction to end the friendship that "obviously" wasn't serving me well. I didn't budge, at least not at first, not even when our mutual friends tried to get me to. "You guys are making things weird", they would say. "I'm not even sure Chi knows what she did to you. At least tell her." Even with all the external pressure, change only came when I decided that I was done living with the heaviness in my chest. I felt like it would let up once I told Chi why I made the decision I made. So, on Sunday, after we had laughed about a slightly moronic thing I did, I sprung up the conversation. I'm not truly sure why I did. To be honest, until I started talking about it, I didn't know what I wanted to say. According to Chi, I ambushed her. I think my timing was providence. Because I didn't give any heads-up about a heavy conversation, there were no walls on Chi's end (or mine). You would think that this is the point where I'd tell you what Chi did to me, and you'd make your judgments as if this were a post on Reddit's AITA forum, but no. Not today, not in this post. I gave Chi my laundry list of tiny, insignificant things she did that piled up into this giant ball of hurt, and she mainly sat quietly, apologising intermittently, and arguing only where she felt like the facts were a little sketchy. By the end of my list, I decided it was her turn to speak. She was quiet for a while. "I'm not sure what you want me to say", she said. "I don't have a prepared list like you do". I told her it didn't matter, and that all I wanted was resolution. Steadily, like rocks in an avalanche, the truth tumbled out. Somewhere amid the time when I decided to start pulling away, Chi's dad died. It was not a peaceful one, and she watched the light fade from his eyes as she held him in her arms. Immediately after, she had to travel to bury him, making the arrangements and taking the occasional 5 minutes to mourn the man she lost. In the time after this, I called her three times, and she bawled on the phone most of the time. I wasn't sure how to comfort her, and somewhere deep down, I didn't think it was my job anymore. Chi lives a 10-minute walk away from my home. I never visited, not even after she returned from burying her dad, not even when I saw her social media littered with dirges. She picked up her broken pieces and put them together by herself, and decided that the only people who mattered were the ones who stayed with her during the worst times of her life. By the time she was done speaking, I was silent and ashamed. Before I started speaking, I thought I had righteous anger, a valid reason for my stupid decision. But by the end, I knew I had done irreparable damage to someone I once professed to love. I couldn't cry. How did I dare mourn a relationship I brought to ruin with my bare hands? How could I find a way back to her heart when I razed the bridge so thoroughly? Chi had mourned already, both her dad and me, and this conversation was like picking at the scabs of a wound that she had tried so desperately to heal. Chi is a much better person than I am. "I can't promise you that we'll be better instantly", she said in the wake of my incessant and insufficient apologies. "I can only tell you that I left the door slightly ajar for you, and to walk through it, you'd have to do all the work". Chi, if you're reading this, you know that I'm clearly not very good at the work. However, I promise that I will try, and I will fight, until you're ready to fully let me back in. I love you. Thank you.

This is the second letter I'd be writing to you. The first time, you were just a concept. I wasn't married, I hadn't even thought of what pregnancy would be. I was just a confused post-grad with no job and even fewer prospects. This time, this time's different. This time I've thought about you for longer than the time it takes to write an article. I've imagined holding you, being a mother, your mother. Today, everything is in flux. I've gotten more needles prodded in me in one month than in my entire life, and I'm still no closer to figuring out what's wrong with me. On days like this when I'm about to lose hope, I remember what this is for. At least, I think that's what I'm supposed to tell myself. The truth is, I'm no quitter. That's all that keeps me going—my stubborn, STUBBORN head. I need to see this through. I need to tell myself that I tried. Would you be surprised to hear that I'm in over my head? I'm at a new job (an upgrade from jobless), and EVERYDAY seems to be a challenge, and not always the good kind. I tell myself that I can do it, that I didn't bullshit my way into a job that I'm not qualified for. I remind myself that I'm actually very good at a lot of things, and I just need to apply myself. The truth is, even though I'm scared, for the first time in a while, I feel sure about my career pathway. It still sucks, and I'm closer to the bottom of the ladder than the top, but at least I'm climbing the ladder. Dear future child, For the first time in my life, even through all this, I have hope. The waters seem murkier than the floods in Lekki, but I finally feel like an adult. I feel like someone with a whole life ahead of her, a life she can shape into something brilliant. People always said that after 25, you get a lot of clarity. Mine kicked in 2 years late, but it's finally here. I don't know how long this burst of good sense will last, so I'm using it as quickly as possible. I have plans now. I have bigger hopes and dreams than I've ever had. I think it's because of you. The more real you feel, the clearer my head is. Dear future child, I don't actually know when I'll get to meet you. In a year? More? I hope it's sooner rather than later. I have so much I want to teach you. I want to watch you grow, to hold your hand through when you need me, laugh and cry with you. But most of all, I want to experience you. Dear future child, The first time I wrote to you, I didn't know what I was doing or where I was going. I had more questions than answers. Now, I still have questions. They might even be bigger than others. But you're my light at the end of the tunnel. So come quickly, mama's waiting.

During morning prayers sometimes, you would hear my mother clap. Once. Twice. Three times. Each clap was for a time she caught one of us asleep or dozing off. Oftentimes after these incidents, my father would lecture us on the importance of prayer in forming our future, and how we need it to order our future paths or else life may prove too difficult to handle. "I cannot help you forever", he would say. "One day, you will leave my house, and you will have to make your own decisions for your life. You cannot keep sleeping during prayer". I am already at that point, standing at the threshold of my forever and I am afraid. I am afraid of a lot of things; like cats, insects that crawl on their bellies, and the sound my feet make when they lift off of my wet flip flops. But most of all, I am afraid that my choices will either make or mar me for good. It is this fear that has kept me motionless, never venturing out to find the thing I love, never wanting any form of uncertainty. It is this fear that makes me hold on so strongly to the concept of dissatisfied stability. I have read all the self help books, or maybe not all of them, and they all talk about finding purpose and dedicating your life to the pursuit of the thing that you love and I wonder, what if you don't know what you want? What if what you want is a simple stable life and the uncertainty of purpose scares you? I want you to know that you are not alone, because there are a lot of us unsure, reluctant people, people who would rather settle for now, and there is nothing wrong with you. I still think about my future when I hear my mum clap, still get that feeling of trepidation like bugs in my stomach but I remind myself that it is okay to not know, it is okay to be unsure. Maybe one day.