A Fallacy? What is a Fallacy?

According to Irving Copi, a fallacy is a type of argument that may seem to be correct but proves, upon examination, not to be so. Let me give you an example.

A woman corrected my sister and me for something we did wrong, and I told my sister, "We shouldn't listen to the correction she gave us. Have you seen how ill-mannered her children are?" That statement is fallacious because her children being ill-mannered has nothing to do with her correcting us for our wrongdoing.

Are you following?

That example will lead us to one of the sub-fallacies under Informal Fallacies.

Fallacies are divided into two: Formal and Informal.

Our focus today, Informal Fallacies, are mistakes we make in thinking. Sometimes we make them because we're careless, and sometimes we use them on purpose to win people over with points that have nothing to do with the real issue.

Informal Fallacies are grouped into several families, including Fallacy of Relevance, Fallacy of Presumption and Fallacy of Ambiguity. The one that struck me the most is Argument Against the Man, which falls under Fallacy of Relevance.

A Fallacy of Relevance is when the reasons you give have nothing to do with your conclusion. They might sound convincing, but they can't prove the point because they aren't connected to it. You can pile up reasons all day, but if none of them touch the actual question, you haven't proved anything.

Just like conclusions need premises, this newsletter needed those explanations so you could understand the points I'm about to make.

Argument Against the Man (Argument Ad Hominem)

There are two varieties of this argument.

Abusive Ad Hominem: This is committed when, instead of disproving what someone said, you attack the person who said it.

Let's look at a scenario. Daniel was in a meeting and gave this opinion: "Based on our budget reports, we should cut back on paid ads and focus on email marketing." Anointed, who did not want us to follow his opinion, said, "Why should we listen to you? Look at how you dress, and you were late to the last meeting."

Did you see what just happened? In her bid to give a reason why Daniel's opinion shouldn't be followed, Anointed failed to give a logical one and attacked the person who said it.

That's Abusive Ad Hominem, and it's funny how relatable it is. One way or another, you and I have been victims of this fallacy. People share opinions, or we find ourselves in the course of an argument, and instead of disproving the other person's points with logical arguments, we attack the person so we can walk away victorious.

At home, your younger sibling notices that the generator is leaking fuel and says it should be checked. You wave her off: "Who asked you? You're just a small child, what do you know?"

Did you see what happened? It wasn't her age that leaked the fuel. The generator either leaks or it doesn't, no matter who noticed. But because the point came from "a small child," it was dismissed without a single reason. In many of our homes, that is how a good idea dies: it comes from the wrong mouth.

This fallacy also shows up in the place where it should be least welcome: the debate hall. Say the motion is "This house believes schools should ban phones." The supporting team makes a strong case about distraction and exam malpractice. Suppose the supporting team came late to the event, and the opposing team stands and says, "Honourable judges, how can we take lessons on discipline from a speaker who walked in late?"

Now I ask you, does that relate? Being late to an event has nothing to do with whether phones should be banned, and a judge won't score it.

Circumstantial Ad Hominem: This occurs when, instead of arguing logically with valid reasoning, one argues against the circumstances of the opponent.

What do I mean by circumstances? Their personal situation, background, motive or self-interest. So instead of insulting their character, the speaker points to who they are, or what they stand to gain, and claims their opinion is biased or worthless because of it.

Let's go back to Daniel's scenario. Suppose that instead of insulting him, Anointed said, "Of course you want us to focus on email marketing. You work in the email team, you would surely say that."

Did you see the mistake Anointed made? Where Daniel works doesn't tell us if he is right. Only the budget report can do that. So we look at the report, not at his job.

So, back to my opening fear.

I can't promise I'll never commit a fallacy.

None of us can.

But I can ask "Is it true?" before I ask "Who said it?"

Next time someone makes a point you don't like, try asking yourself the same question.

I started TDB at lecture theatres weeks ago, and I haven't lost a streak in attending the library since the semester began. Sitting here, I keep thinking about all the effort one puts in. I'm sure I'm not the only one. 90% of UIites do this. Presently, there are a lot of people at this lecture theatre, who left the comfort of their bed to come and read in this mosquito infested building. At 2am, the Solar went off and everybody brought out their various phones or torchlight for seeing. Now, I'm sure there are some people also in their hostels, doing TDB in their various reading room. You see.

Tutorials. Alone study sessions. Group study sessions. MTN at your faculty library, your department's library, the great Kenneth Dike Library. TDBs at lecture theatres. Lectures. Reading under the street light. Caffeine, because I refuse to fall asleep.

And yet, at the end, everything falls apart?

I know what first semester results did to me. I saw that in some parts, my efforts ≠ results. It hit me so bad that I fell off completely. I stopped my devotion with God for a while. I was crying myself to sleep. I went into depression, and nobody would have known, because I was too hyperactive, too happy, cracking jokes and laughing when it wasn't even funny. I don't know if my friends noticed, but that was my coping mechanism.

I got out, thanks to God, my parents, and the people around me. I went back to the main system and intensified, because I know what I want and I can't stop over one failure.

But I'm sure some people were let down by their results too, after all the effort they put in, and decided to just relax. What's the essence of all of it?

Being a UIte is a lot. When other university students compare themselves to us, I'm always like, omo. You people don't know what we're going through. Getting in is hard, and staying in is crazily hard, because nobody wants to be sent back home.

I'll keep on saying it that UI is like the MIT or Havard of Nigeria.

‎All one needs is just the grace of God that we all serve and prayers for direction and help.

‎Because, it is really tough here, honestly.

I'm in my first year saying this, and I still have three more years to go.

I know God is helping, and will keep helping. I just hope and pray that this semester is better than the last. I want a testimony, and I'm sure I will have one.

Yes, you will testify too. 🫶🏾

Lots of love, Anointed. 💗

Today makes it a year since I decided to put out my first newsletter on Substack! A few inconsistency and consistency here and there and I'm still here with 100 Subscribers! 😭💗

And yeah, this is my 39th Newsletter! I'm sooo proud of myself so I'll be saying 40 things about meee! 🫶🏾💗

Ride with meee!

1. I am Babatunde Anointed Temidayo. I share the backronym BAT with you know who. 😂

2. I am old enough to own a voter's card and driver's license.

3. I am a lifestyle and personal growth creator documenting university life, exploring ideas, sharing personal reflections, and navigating the journey of becoming through words, videos, and everyday experiences on IG. Here's the link to my pageee. https://www.instagram.com/i.am.theanointedone?dlrf=aThjeTFwNmNqNmll

4. I am in 180-level (I still have tests and exams) Mathematics Student in the University of Ibadan. Don't ask me why I chose Maths! And don't think I am a scholar.

5. I am a lover of Godddd! I'm a Pastor's Child of the Nigerian Baptist Convention. 🌚💗

6. I like academic validation. Like maddd! And if I don't do well my Dad will kill me, not literally but you know African parents right?

7. I am the first child and first daughter of three children. I don't like it and I like it. I don't like it because they are looking up to me so I have to set good examples, make no mistakes, be that good child. I like it because I'm lazy and I don't like chores and I have people to smile, laugh and relate with.

8. I like my parents a lot. I like both of them equally because they have their particular role. When I want to rant, crash out, gist or do amebo I'll call my mom. If I want someone to scold me and remind me to become a scholar, I'll call my Dad. He's not chill with me being lazy in my studies. Like man, be chill! 😭

9. I don't like mayonnaise. So Sharwarma is a no for me. Even salad. And do not say it is because I've not tried it. I've tried it countless times and it's not working and I've accepted my fate!

10. I like masc females! I love the way they dress. I try to dress that way too, hence my love for shirts, ties and trousers. To the extent that I've been mistaken as stud by certain people. 😂

11. I like mini twists! Aside from the fact that it aids my hair growth, it gives me the look I want. That masc look. 😭

12. I love love. Romantic books, movies, songs. Everything join.

13. I like money. Who doesn't? Aside from God, if you don't have money can you live? 😔🖐🏾

14. I like taking pictures. I take pictures of myself for a living. I've been taking pictures crazily right from when I was young that I had access to my dad's phone. It's my peace.

15. I like modelling. I really do want to model, walk on a runway, model for brandssss.

16. I like public speaking! I developed the love for debating right from when I was young when I represented my class in Pry 6 supporting the motion that Public School is better than Private School. I later spent my secondary school years at a Public School where I was opportuned to represent my school at several debating competitions. And now that I'm in UI, I've decided to continue my public speaking dream and so far I am doing well by the grace of God.

17. I like music. It makes me feel one kind of ease ehn.

18. Red, Black and Blue are my colours. Especially black and red combination!!!!

19. I like being put in leadership positions. I like to lead! It gives me one kind of ego and I get to learn.

20. I wear glasses. I liked the idea of me wearing glasses when I was 8 years old which was when I started wearing them but now, I'm tired!!! It's been 10 years please!!!

21. I love food. My roommates believe I eat too much but no, I just love food.

22. I have a sweet tooth. I like chocolates, milk, sweets, chewing gums and all.

23. I love my friends. Honestly, if I am my own friend, I'll be so glad. I'm so big on friendship, I'll do things for that friendships.

24. I am not perfect. No one is. So if I make mistakes, be good to correct me with love.

25. I don't like to be shouted at or on. I hate it so much. I'll just withdraw myself.

26. When I want to talk about something that hurt me, I cry while talking. My mom calls me "Asukun rojo". But that's just me.

27. I have a loud and slightly deep voice that could pass for that of a man, so I'm always told that I shout a lot whereas I'm not aware of that.

28. I like books. I like to read. Not my school book o! 😔

29. I like handwritten letters! Honestly, just pour out your heart in your writings. Let me read and smile sheepishly. Let me blush ehn.

30. I love my siblings. Even though we fight most of the time and they do things that are unthinkable, I still can't do without them.

31. I love learning new thingssss! I am sapiosexual. I'm attracted to smart people abi I like smart people. People that know more than I do. People that I can engage in conversations with and I'll go back with something tangible.

32. I am fun to be around. Ask my people around. You can't be around me and be moody or low on energy or be sulking unless you've made up your mind to be and I'll leave you to it or maybe my mood is dampened too.

33. I laugh and smile a lot. There was a time I was very insecure about my teeth that I stopped smiling in pictures but now, mo be so! I shine my teeth and it's whiteee

34. I am very observant. I notice every little thing. I might just decide to act oblivious to it but it's registered in my brain.

35. My brain replays events especially one where I failed in doing something well. It replays them for as long as it wants and there's no way for me to stop it.

36. I love sarcasm. I can be very sarcastic that my friends/roommates can differentiate whenever I'm being serious.

37. I hate sluggishness, nonsense, lackadaisical attitude to things and nonchalance. It makes me believe that you're unserious.

38. I didn't like hugs for a long time. I didn't see the reason behind it but now I see it. I'm still not all into it but hugs are cool for me now.

39. I love hyping people uppp. My school mum in secondary school then used to call me her hype woman. If you're looking good, beautiful or did something well trust me to hype you up! Make you feel gooodddd.

You need a hype woman, that will make you feel good when you're down or feeling less of yourself? Look no further! You've found one!!! 🤭

40. I love myself. 🫶🏾💗

The END! 💗

It was the year 1960,

65 Years ago, She was born.

Her cry— Freedom,

Her song— Hope,

Her dream— Unity.

Oh, Yes!

We have walked through storms,

Fumbling Governments?

Inflation in prices?

Insecurity?

Flaws in educational system?

And lots more.

But in all these issues,

We still dey catch cruise.

We still smile,

Not out of blindness,

But bold defiance.

Arise O' Compatriots,

Nigeria's call, we dey obey,

To serve our Father's Land,

The call is clear,

*ALL HANDS ON DECK!*

Yes, every independence celebration,

New motivational speeches, New themes preaching "It'll be better"

So again, I bring to you, what if we still keep on trying, what if we don't get tired?

We are the sailors of this ship, our country.

No one is to be left behind.

The Captain? It's not just the government.

It is Us; You, Me!

Every parent, Every child, Every dreamer, Every doer.

Oh dear! The tides are high,

Yes they are, but the sails are waiting.

So, if we row together,

If we build together,

If we dare together,

A greater nation will arise.

I assure, A New Nigeria will spring up.

Nigeria, we hail thee,

Not just for what you were or what you are,

But for what you can and will still become.

Rise our Motherland,

Your tomorrow is calling.

And we, your children, your people,

Have our hands on deck!

HAPPY 65 YEARS OF INDEPENDENCE TO NIGERIA!!! 💚🤍💚✨

October 1st, 2025

I still believed in the government.

My hope was still high enough.

I hoped a better Nigeria was not far from us.

I wrote a call to action.

October 1st, 2026

Just a year later, my hope has been shattered, from fragments to nothing.

Not just mine. Yours. Ours.

“Nothing can undo a Nigerian”, Havfy said.

But these insecurities are undoing us.

And in just one year, worse.

The education system has fallen further than expected.

Ask the average Nigerian student what going to class means:

a lecture hall that cannot hold the number of students,

no seats to sit on,

little or no ventilation,

no good microphone, so you cannot hear what the lecturer is saying,

and after rushing to class, the lecturer cancels.

Bad infrastructure, every single day.

Even getting in is a struggle. UTME results had to be re-released after a glitch.

And in the state I school in, Oyo, children were taken from their classrooms.

Two-year-olds. Three-year-olds. A teacher was killed.

Almost two months before they came home.

Last year I listed fumbling governments, inflation, insecurity.

This year, the list did not just get longer, it got worse.

NEPA don take light again, and we dey chase socket, solar panels to charge phone because we no sabi when next we go see light.

Transport fare don turn another wahala.

Graduates dey wait for jobs wey no dey, and those wey fit leave dey japa.

Hospital? Pesin dey fear to go hospital sick and come back dead.

This no be inflation of price, na skyrocket.

Government day do us bash-bash.

“Renewed hope, keh!"

We no dey listen again.

Last year me asked, "What if we keep on trying? What if we don't get tired?"

Present me is saying, we are tired!

The system has failed us, both young and old Nigerians.

The economy is like my great-grandpa, gone.

Can it arise again?

Even a simple 3.2GB is hard for me to purchase, and when I do, no matter how I manage it, it finishes before I even watch a video.

Last year, I said we should have our hands on deck.

Present me is seeing that our hands are on deck.

I see that we are waking up.

We spoke out when those Oyo students were kidnapped until they got released.

I see that we are creating awareness against the next election.

And that's one thing unique about Nigerians.

With all these issues, I say again, we still dey find time to catch cruise,

owambe and laughter here and there,

to cover that pain buried deep in our minds.

But let's not forget the reason for waking up.

It is not just to hope for a better Nigeria, it is to aspire.

It is to work towards a better Nigeria that other countries will be inspired by.

Working towards it isn't just talk, because talk is cheap.

Let us get our voters' cards.

Let us vote out the incompetent eggs and vote in the right ones.

Let us be kind towards one another and pray

so that no one among us becomes another prey

We are tired. Yes.

But it's not time to retire.

Because tired is not the same as done.

We still speak out.

We still get our voters' cards.

And we still look out for one another.

Last year, I asked, "What if we don't get tired?"

This year, I answer: We did get tired. And we are still here.

If we can stop waiting for someone else to fix it,

then we will see a better state and a better country.

Nigeria, we still hail thee.

Tired, but not done.

Hurting, but not hopeless.

Our hands are on deck.

But now, I ask should this Independence Day be something to be happy about?💚

In Schrödinger's famous thought experiment, year 1935, a radioactive atom is connected to a mechanism that will kill the cat if the atom decays. Until the box is opened, quantum mechanics gives us a strange picture: the system can be described as a superposition of the cat being alive and dead.

Schrödinger wasn't really trying to tell us that cats can casually be both alive and dead. He was showing how strange quantum mechanics becomes when you carry its logic from the microscopic world into the world we can actually touch.

But the cat escaped the physics department a long time ago.

It lives now in ordinary places, in the message you haven't sent, the question you haven't asked, the application you haven't submitted, the idea you haven't started.

In the things you keep in boxed.

And that's what makes the thought experiment so interesting to me. Not the cat itself, but the box.

Why the box? Because sometimes, we keep things closed not because nothing has happened inside, but because we are afraid of finding out what has.

You think about asking someone how they really feel about you, but you don't. So you keep the relationship in your head exactly where you want it, still possible, still uncertain, still capable of becoming something.

You think about starting an idea, but you keep planning. You tell yourself you need more time, more knowledge, better circumstances.

Because as long as you haven't started, the idea hasn't failed.

And it hasn't succeeded either. It simply remains unopened.

That's the comfort of uncertainty: it allows every possibility to remain alive. But it also means none of them can become real.

The atom has already decayed, or it hasn't. Something has already happened inside that box, whether you look or not.

And I have come to the realization that opening the box is not about creating an outcome. It is about confronting one you were never in control of to begin with.

You send the message and finally discover how they feel.

You start the project and discover whether the idea works.

You apply and discover whether you get accepted.

You take the step and discover whether you were right.

And sometimes, you may discover that you were wrong.

But even that is an answer.

And I think that is the part we often forget. We treat mistakes as if they are punishments for taking the wrong path, when sometimes a mistake is simply information you could not have received while standing still.

You cannot correct a direction you never moved in.

You cannot retrace a step you never took.

And you cannot learn whether something works by spending your entire life imagining that it might.

I think this is why we are so afraid of beginning. It isn't always the failure we're afraid of. Sometimes, we're afraid of the moment uncertainty ends.

Because while the box is closed, you can still say, maybe.

Maybe they still care.

Maybe I'm capable of it.

Maybe. Just, maybe.

And maybe feels safe, strangely safe.

But there is a cost to living inside maybe for too long.

You start investing in people who exist mostly in your imagination, that good version of them that keeps you hopeful.

You keep protecting ideas that have never been tested.

You build entire futures around possibilities you have never had the courage to examine.

And at a certain point, uncertainty migrates from a temporary state to a permanent state, a place where you live in.

And I don't want you or I to live there.

I'm learning that sometimes the bravest thing isn't knowing what is inside the box.

It is the will to open it.

And it's not because I am certain the answer will be good.

Not because I know the thing will work.

Not because I am guaranteed to be right.

But because I would rather deal with a difficult truth than spend months protecting a comfortable possibility.

So, the box was never protecting the outcome.

It was protecting me from having to feel it.

And that is the real lesson I take from Schrödinger's cat:

You cannot keep every possibility alive forever.

Eventually, you have to open the box.

You have to look.

And whatever you find, either success, failure, rejection, acceptance, love, loss, a beginning, or an ending, at least it will be real.

Because sometimes, the thing standing between you and the truth isn't the box.

It's your hand on the lid.

"You think you know a thing until you are asked a question about it. Then you realise that you know nothing about it."

I don't remember exactly what we were discussing when he said it, but I remember what it did to me.

It made me pause.

I started thinking about all the things I confidently say I know. Things I have never questioned. Things I have simply accepted because someone told me, because I read them somewhere, because everyone around me believes them, or because they have always been presented to me as facts.

Then I asked myself:

What is truth?

I decided to test myself.

"What is truth?" I asked myself.

And strangely enough, I couldn't give myself an answer. I knew what truth meant. Or at least, I thought I did. But the moment I had to explain it, I realised that I had never really stopped to think about it.

So I told myself, let's learn what truth is together.

According to the Collins English Dictionary, truth is the quality of being true, genuine, actual, or factual.

Merriam-Webster defines truth in relation to something that is true or accepted as true.

And that second part caught my attention.

Accepted as true.

Philosophers have spent centuries arguing over what actually makes something true.

One group says a claim is true if it matches reality - the world is a certain way, and truth is our statements matching that reality.

Another group says a claim is true if it fits with everything else we already believe to be true.

Notice what "accepted as true" quietly does: it leans towards the second idea without really proving it. Something fitting into a group's beliefs, a tradition, or a belief system does not necessarily mean it matches reality. And that difference is where most of my questions were hiding.

If something is accepted as true, does that automatically make it true?

If everyone believes something, does that make it a fact?

If something has been passed down for generations, does that make it true?

If I believe something with all my heart, does my certainty make it true?

And perhaps the question that bothers me the most:

Because we are surrounded by things we call truth. Some are things we have tested for ourselves. Some are things we have been taught. Some are things we heard from people we trust. Some are things we simply inherited. And sometimes, we don't even know which is which.

Think about how easily we accept things because someone we consider an authority told us so. A lecturer says it, so it must be true. A professor says it, so it must be true. A religious leader says it, so it must be true. Our parents say it, so it must be true. Someone with a title, a position, or years of experience says it, and suddenly we stop asking questions.

But is the authority of the person enough to establish the truth of the claim?

This reminds me of something else I learnt in PHL 102: the Appeal to Authority fallacy. It happens when we treat a claim as true simply because an authority says it is true.

The problem isn't that authorities can never be right - of course they can, and experts often give us very good reasons to believe something. But their authority alone is not the evidence that makes the claim true.

Then there is the other side of it. If a whole group of people agrees on something, does agreement automatically turn it into fact?

Perhaps that is what makes truth so difficult.

We don't encounter it in some perfectly labelled box that says, "Here I am. This is unquestionably true." Instead, we encounter claims. People make them. Books make them. Institutions make them. Traditions make them. Authorities make them. And sometimes, we make them ourselves. Then we decide whether to believe them.

But perhaps we should be asking something before belief:

What makes this true?

Think about it yourself. We were born knowing almost nothing about the world. We were taught what was right and wrong, what was beautiful and ugly, what was possible and impossible. We were told how the world works, and we believed because, at that point, they - parents and elders around us - were our source of truth.

Then we grew. We went to school. We met new people. We read books. We experienced things for ourselves. And suddenly, some of the things we once believed began to change - not necessarily because everything we were taught was false, but because knowing something and believing something are not always the same thing.

Maybe that is what my lecturer was trying to make us see.

You can know a definition without understanding it. You can repeat an answer without knowing why it is the answer. You can believe something without ever having examined the reason you believe it.

And perhaps that is where the real problem begins.

We often mistake certainty for truth.

I can be completely certain about something and still be wrong. Someone can confidently tell me something and still be wrong. A whole group of people can believe something and still be wrong. History has shown us that what people once considered obvious can later be questioned, corrected, or completely rejected.

So perhaps truth does not become truth simply because we are convinced of it. Perhaps truth exists independently of our confidence in it.

That thought is uncomfortable.

Because if truth exists beyond what I believe, then I have to admit that some of the things I currently believe may not be true.

And I don't particularly like that.

None of us really does.

We like being right. We like knowing. We like the comfort that comes with having an answer.

There is something unsettling about saying, "I don't know."

But maybe that is not a weakness.

Maybe it is the most truthful thing we can say, because admitting that I don't know gives me room to ask, room to learn, room to change my mind when I discover that I was wrong.

Perhaps this is what that one sentence in PHL 102 has done to me.

It has made me more suspicious of my own certainty.

Not cynical. Not doubtful of everything. Just more willing to ask:

Why do I believe this?

How do I know this?

What makes this true?

And most importantly —

How do I know that what I call truth is actually true?

I don't think I have the answer yet.

Maybe that is the point.

Maybe truth is one of those things we spend our lives approaching — asking better questions, testing what we believe, unlearning what we got wrong, and learning to distinguish between what is true and what is merely accepted as true.

For now, I am learning to be comfortable with the question.

“Thinking about the work won't do the work.”

Intention without action is just procrastination appearing beautiful.

If you haven't heard it before, well, you're welcome. Consider this your formal introduction to a truth that will follow you for the rest of your life, whether you make peace with it now or later.

As for me, I didn't make peace with it early enough.

Let me tell you a story.

I had a Physics test last week.

At the beginning of the semester, I was actually doing well with that course. I attended every class. I read alongside the lectures. I was keeping up.

If I'm being honest, I was even a little proud of myself.

Then my Philosophy class started clashing with Physics on the timetable.

Nothing dramatic happened. I didn't wake up one morning and decide, "I'm done with Physics." I just started making small, reasonable-sounding excuses.

I'll catch up later.

I'll ask a coursemate for what I missed.

I'll read it over the weekend.

I'll sort it out.

And that's how it happened. One small trade-off at a time.

The problem with these decisions is that none of them feels dangerous when you're making them. Each one seems harmless on its own.

Until they pile up

Somewhere between "I'll do it later" and later not actually arriving.

Mind you, I had time.

I could easily make this story sound like I was overwhelmed or like I had too many courses that I have to put away Physics.

But that wouldn't be true.

I had free evenings.

I had weekends.

I literally go to the library mostly every day.

I had enough unstructured time that, looking back, I probably could have covered that entire syllabus twice.

What I didn't have was the discipline to turn that time into action.

I'd sit there with my textbook open and scroll through the pages. I'd think, I really need to read this soon.

And somehow, thinking that felt like I had already done something.

Then I'd close the book.

Or I'd decide to read another course instead.

Anything but Physics.

And that's the strange thing about procrastination.

Thinking about the work can feel a lot like doing the work.

Your mind is occupied. You're worried. You're planning. You're thinking about how much you need to do.

So it feels like something is happening.

But nothing is.

You're just standing outside the door of the work, thinking about entering.

And the work is still sitting there.

Waiting.

The worst part is that thinking about the work doesn't save you from the discomfort of doing it later.

It only postpones it.

With interest.

Compound interest, to be precise (proof of MAT 142 working well) 😭

And that interest came due the day before the test.

I finally sat down to study a semester's worth of Physics in one sitting.

And that's when I realised I was cooked.

Not "a little behind."

Not "slightly underprepared."

Cooked.

I remember staring at the slides on my laptop with my hands on my head.

I was only properly conversant with one topic, and our lecturer had covered more than five. Questions could come from any of them.

And I was sitting there thinking:

How exactly am I supposed to learn all of this now?

That was the moment it really hit me.

I had been defeated by my own delay.

I stayed up.

I read whatever I could.

I walked into that test running on adrenaline, prayer and whatever fragments of knowledge I had managed to gather overnight.

And somehow, I scraped through.

Barely.

Gracelessly.

But I passed.

God helped me, honestly, because merit alone was not carrying me that morning.

But passing wasn't really the lesson.

The lesson was underneath it, and it took me a few days to properly understand it.

I had not lacked time.

I had lacked a starting point.

And all that anxious thinking I had been doing had never once been a substitute for actually starting.

I've been thinking about that ever since.

Because this isn't really a Physics problem.

It isn't even a school problem.

It's everywhere.

It's the essay you've been meaning to write.

The content you've been saying you want to create.

The book you've been saying you'll read.

The project you've been planning.

That thing you've wanted to do for months but somehow keep "preparing" for.

We sometimes treat thinking as if it's a down payment on doing.

As if if we think about something enough, eventually we'll magically become the person who does it.

But it doesn't work like that.

You can think about going to the gym for three hours. You will still have done zero push-ups.

And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds.

That's exactly the point.

Thinking and doing are two different things.

Just like the Bible says, "Faith without works is dead."

Now, this came back to me again this week when I was watching my roommate.

She's been stressing over a course she described as "bulky." She was even getting a headache from thinking about everything she had to cover.

And I could hear myself in her.

The same person sitting in front of a closed textbook, worrying about the work instead of doing it.

So I told her, plainly, what I wish someone had told me strongly enough for it to actually sink in:

• Thinking about it will not do the work.

• Start. Bit by bit.

Now

Not when it suddenly feels manageable.

Not when you've finally motivated yourself enough.

Now.

Read one page.

Solve one question.

Watch one video.

Write one paragraph.

Do one small thing that moves you closer.

Because maybe that's what we get wrong about starting.

We think the beginning has to be impressive.

It doesn't.

Sometimes starting looks ridiculously small.

But small movement is still movement.

I don't know if what I told my roommate landed the way it eventually landed for me.

Maybe some lessons have to hurt before they make sense.

But I hope she gets to skip that part.

I hope she doesn't need her own "I am cooked" moment before she learns the lesson.

Because here's what I keep coming back to:

Thinking is free.

That's why it's so easy to spend hours doing it.

Starting costs something.

It costs a little discomfort.

A little uncertainty.

Sometimes embarrassment.

Sometimes the uncomfortable admission that you don't know what you're doing yet.

But starting is also the only thing that gives you something back.

Every version of yourself you'll eventually be proud of was built through small, ordinary acts of doing.

Not thinking about doing.

Not planning to do.

Doing.

So start.

Badly, if you have to.

Incompletely, if that's all you can manage today.

Start with the one page.

The one problem.

The one paragraph.

The one video.

The one uncomfortable step.

Just start.

Because one day, you'll look back and realise that the distance between who you were and who you became wasn't crossed in one giant leap.

It was crossed in tiny moments when you decided:

"Let me just start."

Honestly, as someone who is yet to start, who is still scratching the surface, I do not think it is right for me to say I am tired. But here I am, saying it.

I see people doing it. Doing well. Going far. Spreading their wings. And for me, whose wings are yet to even be spread, I am tired.

The past few weeks have been a rollercoaster, especially after seeing some of my first semester results. It hit me like a great tornado, threw me around, pushed me down with a hard force. I am tired.

I've picked myself up with the little strength I have. But will it keep me going?

As someone who wants to build her relationship with God, who wants to write and keep writing, who is chasing the dream of graduating with a first class — I find myself stretched between all of it. Debate. Scrabble. Reading. Content I haven't made yet. Oh, I had it all planned out already. But it seems the plan is falling apart, and this - being who I planned to be — is falling apart with it. I am tired.

I am taking one-leg moves when I meant to run. And still, I am tired.

So I ask myself: will it move me to relent? To do nothing?

No.

I am tired. But I am not done.

I do not know when the tiredness will lift. I do not know if my wings will spread the way I imagine them to, or if the first class I am dreaming of will actually meet me at the end. I do not have answers, and honestly, I am learning to stop pretending I do.

What I have is this: the little strength I picked myself up with. It is not much. But it has carried me this far, and I am choosing to trust it a little longer.

I am tired. I am still scratching the surface. I am still here and I will still keep showing up.

This week's newsletter is supposed to be on the thoughts series I've started, and I'm supposed to write on a logical topic — but a lot has happened this week which I'll probably write about one day, when I get a grace story, which is surely near. Not now. Not yet.

The second semester resumed officially this Monday, and trust my school to take the small freshness and stability I brought back to school away from us.

With all that happened this week, I am surprised that I am still standing. Making jokes about my situation, which is a very rare thing for me to do. Still being funny and making jokes like I didn't just crash out and cry my eyes out a few days ago. I still lighten the room even when the room is inside me too. Still taking pictures and videos like it's a normal day, angling my phone at the right moment, smiling on cue, archiving a week I'm not sure I've actually survived yet.

I laughed at something yesterday and I don't even remember now. I don't know if it was funny. I know I needed it to be.

And maybe it's all my coping mechanism.

Because deep down, I am not sure that I am fine.

I do not know why I am writing this, or putting it out. But I do hope it's doing something. I know the former me would have gone into depression — would have distanced myself from my friends and everyone around me, and gone MIA.

But not this time.

Here I am. Still standing because I decided to be — to wake up, to keep moving, even without the answers.

So if you're reading this and you're in the middle of your own crisis, your own critical period, I won't tell you not to feel it. Feel it fully if you need to. Cry if you have to. But don't let it become the only thing you carry. I didn't survive this week by not thinking about it, I am surviving it by deciding, every single day, to keep showing up anyway. That's the only advice I have. We'll all have our grace story to tell. 🫶🏾

Let me take you back to when Theaetetus, a Mathematician tried to give two theories on knowledge

He first said that knowledge was about skill and science - an answer Socrates quickly shot down. So he tried again: knowledge, he said, was about perception. But Socrates proved that while our senses give us raw data, knowledge requires judgment. Without the mind stepping in to organize, analyze, and reason beyond the present moment, we aren't actually knowing anything - we're just reacting to the world.

Which brings us to the accepted definition of knowledge: Justified True Belief (JTB).

It is right to believe something, because there's a tendency for it to be right or wrong. But when you say you know something, that's a different claim entirely which means what you're saying is true and cannot be faulted.

Here's the problem: one thing about knowledge is that we try to define it as "the fact that we know something." But are we ever really sure that we know what we know?

Now you are reading this article. You think you know that you are reading presently, right? But are you really certain that you are reading it? Can you really be certain that you know all you know? Let's take it further. Almost everyone dreams. Try to remember your most vivid dream - one so real that when you woke up, you were genuinely confused, because for a moment you thought it was actually happening. Now here's the question: if a dream can feel that real, how sure are you that you're not in one right now?

You'll surely reply that “Of course, your eyes are open, you're reading right now.” But remember that your senses were just as available to you when you were dreaming. You saw, felt, smelled - some people even taste and hear things in dreams. So if your senses have deceived you before, how sure are you that they aren't deceiving you right now?

This brings us to the accepted conditions for knowledge. When you say "I am reading Anointed's newsletter," for that to count as a piece of knowledge:

• It must actually be true that you're reading it.

• You must believe that you're reading it.

• You must have a reason for believing that you're reading it.

And when you're asked why - you can't say "I just know."

So there it is. Justified. True. Belief. Three conditions, and if all three are met, you know something.

Except that philosophy doesn't let one rest that easily.

In 1963, a philosopher named Edmund Gettier asked a simple but devastating question: what if you can meet all three conditions - justified, true, belief - and still not actually know anything?

Here's how that works. Say you believe your friend owns a Toyota, because you've seen him drive one for years. That belief is justified because you have good reason for it. Now say, unknown to you, your friend sold that Toyota yesterday and bought a new one - a different Toyota. Your belief ("my friend owns a Toyota") is still true. It's still justified. But did you actually know it? Or did you just get lucky?

That's the Gettier problem. It shows that you can tick every box - true, justified, believed - and still land on the right answer by accident. And if you got there by accident, can you really say you knew it?

Bring it back to the earlier scenario. Say you believe you're reading Anointed's newsletter because your notification says so. That belief is justified. It happens to be true - you are reading it. But imagine the notification glitched and showed you the wrong title, and you just happened to actually be on the right page anyway. Same three conditions, met by coincidence instead of by genuine grounds. Would you say you knew what you were reading, or that you got lucky?

So maybe knowledge isn't just justified true belief. Maybe it's justified true belief that isn't an accident - belief that holds up even when the universe tries to trick you.

Which leaves us exactly where philosophy loves to leave people: certain that we know less than we thought we did.

And that’s a hard pill to swallow. We build our whole lives on the assumption that we just know things. We say we know our friends, know our future plans, and know exactly what we believe. That certainty is what lets us get through the day without questioning every single step we take.

But here’s the strange gift in all of this: being unsure isn't the enemy of truth—it might actually be the start of it. The people who ask, "How do I actually know this?" instead of just, "Do I believe this?" are the ones who catch their own mistakes before life catches them out. They notice the blind spots - the friend who might have changed their mind, the phone notification that could have glitched, the gut feeling that might just be stress.

So, the goal here isn’t to make you doubt everything you’ve ever believed. It’s smaller than that, and much more useful: that the next time you feel absolutely certain about something, pause long enough to ask whether you have a real reason to be, or if you just got lucky and assumed you were right.

Because in the end, the line between truly knowing something and just thinking you know it is incredibly thin. It's almost invisible, easily missed, and usually the only thing saving you from being completely wrong about something you were sure of.

It got me thinking a lot so this is my opinion.

I went looking for what personality actually is and found something that unsettled me more than my original argument. As a Mathematics student studying a Philosophy course, I learnt that philosophers call this Narrative Identity. It is the idea that the self is not a fixed, discoverable thing but a story we construct. We stitch our choices, impulses, contradictions into a coherent “I” and call it personality. Which sounds like I’m agreeing with Ever until it goes further, because the argument is that the construction itself becomes real. The story is not separate from who you are. It is who you are.

So, its not a façade, it is a Building.

I caught myself acting insecure once and I knew it was out of character, except it also wasn’t. I traced it back to body shaming. To words that were never mine that somehow got into the story anyway. And I realized something, Narrative Identity assumes you are the one building. It doesn’t fully account for the times other people’s words get into the walls even before you pick up a brick.

So yes, maybe personality is constructed. But we are not always the sole architects.

And that's the harder question, isn't it? If the walls went up before you even picked up a brick, do you tear them down? Can you? Or do you just keep building around what's already there, hoping the new additions outweigh the old ones.

I don't think you get to start from scratch. I think you renovate. You keep the foundation because it's load-bearing whether you like it or not, and you work with what's already standing.

Maybe that's the mathematician in me talking. A proof doesn't get to erase its earlier steps either - it builds on them, corrects for them, sometimes has to go back and reroute around an error it can't undo. The structure holds because of what came before, not in spite of it.

So maybe personality isn't a façade or even just a building. Maybe it's a proof still being written. Messy, cumulative, occasionally wrong, but always working with what it's already shown to be true.

One of the reasons I started this series is because I didn't look forward to this birthday at all. But I didn't want it to just come and go, unmarked. I wanted to have a memory I'll still hold onto when I'm 28 - that I wrote letters for 18 days toward my 18th year, and that I actually finished. Here it is. It has ended.

Starting this took a lot out of me, and I was surprised by the support I got along the way.

Starting with Halima, my roommate. Always the first to check my Substack post, like it, and even comment on it, online or in person. What a supportive roommate. I'm so thankful for her.

Next is Inioluwa, another roommate, who created her own Substack account just because of me. Both she and Halima competed for who'd be first to read my latest article. She constantly reminded me when I hadn't uploaded yet. God bless her.

Mercy, Tofunmi, and Divine, my other roommates who also supported me through this series. I love you guys.

Next is Treasure, my friend's roommate and my neighbor. She was one of the reasons I kept showing up - always looking forward to every episode. Thank you, my love. ❤️

Kachi. I told her I was tired, that I wanted to put a halt to the series. She told me I couldn't be tired, that it wasn't possible, and encouraged me to keep going. Thank you so much, Kachi’m. ❤️

Ella - she literally created an account because of this series. Such a supportive darling. ❤️

Damilola, who was the first person to give me my birthday gift, and who asked me to always send her the link the moment I uploaded.

And to everyone else who read from Day 1 all the way to today, I appreciate you. You were the drive that kept me showing up, even on the days I was tired.

And to you, Babatunde Anointed Temidayo - well done. I didn't think you could pull this off, especially with exams running alongside it. You've shown that you can be consistent with something, and I am proud of you for that. I'm proud that you didn't put a halt to this series, that you saw it through to the end. You'll be 18 tomorrow, and unlike your other birthdays, you didn't take pictures this time, and that's fine. You are finally looking forward to this birthday, and I'm glad for you.

Eighteen days ago, you started this as a girl who wasn't sure she wanted her birthday to arrive at all. Tomorrow, you stop being "Anointed who is becoming 18" and start being the girl who actually did it — who carried things without complaint and sometimes learned to put them down, who looked at 8-year-old her and didn't flinch. You showed up eighteen times for yourself. That's not nothing. That's the whole point.

I hope tomorrow is a beautiful day for you, and that you enjoy it to the fullest.

Happy Birthday in advance, Anointed! 🫶🏾❤️

This will be read by you at 28, but it was written when you were 18, ten years before.

Right now, Anointed is finding her ground in the University of Ibadan, studying Mathematics, working her way toward becoming a public speaker. She doesn't have a full picture yet of what she'll do once her four years are done. There's no straight directional arrow at the moment. She's still just going with the flow. She's made a friend who looks out for her and wants what's good for her.

Now, over to you.

What's 18-year-old Anointed doing now, at 28? Did she become a lecturer, or did she find her way into another field where she put the Mathematics to use somewhere unexpected? Does the University of Ibadan still echo her name as a great public speaker, even years after she's left its halls? Does she still get nervous before she steps up to a podium, or did that fade somewhere in the ten years between us?

The bucket list she made turning 18, did she check off all of it, or only a few? Did she learn a language, even badly? Did she dance in the rain properly, the getting-soaked kind, not the aesthetic kind? Did she ever write that letter to you and actually open it, or is this the first one she's kept?

Is the friend who looked out for her still by her side, or did they fall out somewhere along the way, the way friendships sometimes do without warning?

Is she still going with the flow, or did she find a direction worth pointing toward? Did the Mathematics ever resolve into a clear shape, or is she still figuring out, year by year, what it's for? Did she finally fall in love, or is she still deciding whether she wants to?

Does she still carry things without complaint, the way she discovered she does at 18, or did she learn somewhere in those ten years to put things down before they go underground? Is she still writing? Is she still the girl who could be fearless on a stage and careful everywhere else, or did those two finally meet somewhere in the middle?

I hope, whatever the answers are, that you're proud of her. She was trying. That's all she really knew how to do at 18, to keep showing up, even without the arrow, even when she was tired, even with exams sitting in the middle of everything she was trying to build.

I hope you remember her kindly.

With love,

Anointed, 17. 🫶🏾

You are about to finish Primary 6. You don't know that yet, sitting where you are right now, but you're close.

I want to tell you what's coming, a little of it anyway. You're going to cut your hair on your own decision. You're going to discover you hate mayonnaise and you'll never apologize for it, not once - salad will just be off the table for you, forever, and you'll be fine with that. You'll finally love Mathematics by then, properly love it, after struggling with it for most of your primary school years. You'll graduate top of your class, the way you always do, almost like it costs you nothing, though I know now it did. You'll start wearing glasses. And you'll decide, with the kind of certainty only a child has, that you want to be a teacher.

I have to tell you something about that last one. I'm ten years past you now, eighteen days from eighteen, and I'm not sure anymore. Not "no." Just not the same sureness you had. I think you'd want me to be honest about that rather than tell you a softer lie.

Here's what I can tell you instead:you went to a government school, met good friends in schools and through competitions which you represented your school for. You got into the University of Ibadan. You're studying the Mathematics you fell in love with back when you were nine, except now it has your whole attention, lecture halls and all. You're an assistant course rep - people trust you to hold things together, the way they always somehow have, even when you didn't ask for it. And you've taken up public speaking, standing on stages arguing positions in front of people, which I think would surprise you, the fearless but withdrawn girl you are right now. Turns out the fearlessness didn't disappear. It just learned to use a microphone. You will start writing on Substack. You will start plaiting your hair again. You will make friends and fall out with friends. You will still not have been in a relationship.

Here's who you are right now, in case nobody's said it to you plainly: you're fearless. Not loud, not performing it, just unafraid the way kids are before the world starts handing out reasons to be careful. You're dreamy, half your head is always somewhere building something nobody else can see. You're carefree, cheerful without needing a cause for it. And you're smart, the one thing about you that travels all the way to where I am untouched.

I'm careful now, where you were fearless, not scared, just watching my step before I take it, the way nobody had to teach you to do yet. I'm still a bit dreamy, but rationed. Still a bit cheerful, but "a bit" means something different at eighteen than it did at eight.

I don't think I've failed you. I think I became someone you couldn't have predicted from where you're sitting, and I think that's allowed. I hope you'd still claim me, the careful parts, not-sure-about-teaching parts, and all because the smart girl is still here, the stage-fearless girl is here too now, and the cheer is still here, just rationed, the way most good things become once you've carried enough to know their worth.

I still don't have an answer for you about teaching. But I haven't stopped becoming. That part hasn't changed since you.

With love,

Anointed, 17. 🫶🏾

Eighteen days becoming eighteen letters, and somewhere in writing them I started thinking less about what I want to say and more about what I want to do once the number actually lands. So here's the list. Some of it I'll manage. Some of it I probably won't. Either way, I wanted it written down before the day arrives, not after.

Sit somewhere on campus that mattered this year - not passing through, actually sit - with no phone in my hand, just living in the moment.

Skip a full day of class to rot in my room.

Forgive someone, or myself, for one specific thing, out loud, even if it's quiet.

Do one thing 8-year-old me would recognize as still her — something fearless, or dreamy, or carefree, on purpose, not by accident.

Tell someone exactly how being seen by them felt, instead of letting it go underground the way I usually do.

Read all eighteen letters back in one sitting, when I am through, and write down what surprises me.

And because eighteen shouldn't be all depth and no nonsense:

I should learn a new language - or at least enough of one to embarrass myself politely.

Actually go to a party, and stay past the point where I will start thinking about leaving.

Try a sporting activity I have no business attempting.

Get a new haircut, I've been thinking of cutting my hair.

Learn a new skill, something with no academic value whatsoever.

Dance in the rain/play properly.

Try something. Anything I haven't let myself try yet, on principle, just because I'm finally old enough to stop asking permission for it.

I don't know yet which of these I'll actually do. Maybe all of them. Maybe three. But eighteen felt like it deserved more than just being arrived at - it deserved a little bit of being chosen, too.

You wonder why? Because only God can explain why I, Babatunde Anointed Temidayo, who has never been in a relationship in 17 years of life, is now writing about one.

In this 21st century, year 2026, gen-z era, romantic relationship is the order of the day.

Why????

No, I'm not here to rant or vent my anger. No, I'm not against romantic relationships - it'll actually be nice to be in one. It's part of my list of firsts I'd love to experience. But before we dive into how this relates to my 18 days to 18 series, let me say something first.

Romantic relationship, how beautiful!

Honestly, I have seen people in love and I love it. I love love. I love romantic movies, just so you know. KDramas, Nollywood, you name it. Seeing people in love and growing together - genuinely growing, not just coexisting - is such a fantastic thing I would love to experience someday.

But not this contemporary definition of relationship. Please, not that.

Where I either don't want to fully express my love to my partner because I do not want him to "see me finish." Where I don't want to be the one to text first. Where I have to perform nonchalance just to seem unbothered, even when I'm not. Where the relationship is all about me collecting money from my partner and nothing else. Where the relationship doesn't add any positive growth to my life. Where we do not have goals as partners. Where we are a situationship and neither of us wants to admit it — or worse, one of us doesn't even know.

The list is endless. And honestly? That list is exactly what fears me.

Because I don't just want a relationship. I want the right one. The kind where I can text first without it being a weakness. The kind where I can fully express how I feel without the fear of being taken for granted. The kind where we are actually building something — not just existing in each other's spaces, collecting soft life and hollow vibes with no real foundation underneath.

That kind. Not the other kind.

For the 17 years of my life, I have never been in a romantic relationship. And for most of those years, the reason was simple — I felt I wasn't ready. I am still young. There is time. The books were more urgent. The goals were more pressing. And honestly, none of the options presented themselves in a way that made me think, “Oh, yes, this is worth the risk.”

But now that I am 5 days away from being 18, thoughts of being in a relationship are suddenly louder. Maybe because of the pressure around me. Seeing people around me being all lovey-dovey. Seeing my mates in relationships that look nice from the outside. Watching people hold hands and thinking — hm.

Oh, God help. (laughs in delulu) 😹

But with all the pressure sitting on my chest, something in me is still very clear: I am not getting into anything anytime soon.

Not because I don't want to. But because I refuse to enter something just because everyone else is inside it. I refuse to settle for the contemporary version when I know what I actually want. I refuse to be in a situationship and call it a relationship. I refuse to play nonchalant with someone I actually like, just to protect my pride. I refuse to collect and be collected with no intention behind it.

When it happens, it will be real. It will add to my life. It will be the kind where both of us can say - yes, this is it. This is the one worth showing up for.

Until then?

Make I first read my book abeg! 😹

It is not the carefully arranged sentences or the perfectly chosen words or the essay that sounds like someone who has everything figured out. It is not that.

Writing, for me, is putting my thoughts down scattered and raw. The way I feel it. The way I journal about my day, about a moment, about something sitting heavy in my chest that I haven't found the words for yet. Writing is just that - finding the words. For the things that are already there.

It started with a diary. A jotter, actually. Private. Mine. Nobody was reading it, well untill my friends and siblings found it, nobody was supposed to. I was just writing the way I talk to myself when I'm alone; honest, unfiltered, not trying to impress anyone.

And then last year, I decided to take it further. To grow. To write on Substack where people could actually read it.

That was a leap. Moving from just jotting down my thoughts to put it out publicly required something the jotter never asked for — an audience. And an audience changes things. Suddenly the words are not just for me. Suddenly someone else is inside them.

But growth was the reason. And growth always costs something.

Here is what writing costs me:

Vulnerability. Every single time.

I cannot write the way I write - raw, specific, from the inside of the feeling - without being willing to crack myself open a little. I have to actually go there. I have to sit inside the topic, inhabit it, feel it from the inside out. I cannot write about comparison from a safe distance. I cannot write about the bubbly girl I lost without actually missing her while I write. I cannot write about friendship without feeling the weight of the ones that drifted.

I have to be in it. And being in it is not always comfortable.

And then there are the days when my head is just - blank. Nothing. The page sits there waiting and I have nothing to give it. No feeling I can access, no thought that wants to be written down. Those days are frustrating in a specific way, because writing has become the place I process things. When it is unavailable, the processing stops too.

But here is what writing gives me:

Clarity. Shape. A place to put the things that would otherwise just rattle around inside me with no form. Writing takes the scattered and makes it ordered — not neat, not perfect, but ordered. I understand what I feel better after I have written it than before.

It also gives me something I did not expect when I started — connection. People reading these letters and recognising themselves in them. The floater friend. The bubbly girl who got shoved down. The one feeling stagnant while everyone else moves. I write about myself and somehow it becomes about someone else too. That is still strange and wonderful to me.

I started writing to process. I started writing to grow. And somewhere along the way, it became mine — the way few things fully belong to me.

Not the jotter. Not the Substack. The act of writing itself. The sitting down, the going inside, the finding the words for the thing that was already there.

That belongs to me. And I am not giving it back.

"Ṣe oloori meji ni?" “Does he have two heads?”

It sounds harmless. Maybe even motivating, if you squint at it the right way. But what it really means is - there is no excuse for you not to be where they are. They succeeded, so you can too. The playing field is the same. The heads are the same. So why aren't you keeping up?

Even the Gen-z that have gotten married and given birth intends to pass down this generation trauma. God help!

We all heard that phrase a lot growing up. For most of my childhood and through secondary school, I did well. I was the one at the top of the class, the one winning things, the one people pointed to. Comparison wasn't a problem then because I was usually on the side of it that didn't hurt.

And then secondary school ended. And everyone scattered into their next chapters. And somewhere in that scattering, I looked up and realised - my mates were doing great things. Moving. Achieving. Having direction. Knowing where they were going and going there with confidence.

And I was just - there. Still figuring it out. Still floating. Still standing at the base of something I couldn't yet name.

Stagnancy. That's the word that kept coming back. While everyone else seemed to be in motion, I felt stagnant.

The comparison followed me into university. You know, it is one thing to compare yourself to people you grew up with. It is another to arrive at a new place, full of new people, and find that the comparison follows you there too. New city, same feeling. Mates with clarity of direction, plans already forming, knowing what they want to do with their degrees, their lives, their futures.

And there is me, just going with the flow. Still searching. Still without the clean answer everyone else seemed to carry so easily.

I looked at their achievements and felt small. Inferior. Like something in me was fundamentally behind, like everyone had gotten a memo I missed. My self-esteem would dip. My belief in myself would quietly pack its bags and step outside. There was motivation, yes - but only a faint spark of it. The kind that flickers but doesn't quite do the work, because comparison is a terrible fuel. It gives you just enough fire to feel bad about yourself and not quite enough to actually move.

“Ṣe olori meji ni?”

No. Nobody has two heads. But nobody also has the same story, the same timing, the same path. I guess the phrase was never really about heads. It was about refusing to make room for the fact that people move differently. That some of us take longer to find our footing. That arriving later is not the same as not arriving.

I am learning — slowly, imperfectly — that my timeline is not a failure just because it doesn't match someone else's highlight reel. That the people I am comparing myself to are also fighting battles I cannot see, carrying weights I don't know about, moving fast because their own fears are chasing them.

That comparison is a thief. It takes what you have and makes it look like nothing, because it is always holding it up against something shinier.

Almost 18, I am still working on this. I will not pretend the comparison has stopped, or that I have mastered some peaceful indifference to what my mates are doing. I haven't. I still look sideways sometimes. I still feel the small sting of it.

But I am trying to look forward more than I look sideways. To measure myself against who I was yesterday, not against who someone else is today.

One head. My own. It is enough.

Anointed. 🫶🏾❤️

Dear Anointed,

Let's talk about something you've carried for a long time.

Your body.

In secondary school, puberty came late for you. While your friends were already filling out, you were still waiting - quietly, anxiously, hoping that one day you'd wake up and finally look like everyone else. You begged your mum for a bra. When she finally got you one, you were thrilled. The first day you wore it to school, your friends screamed. You were embarrassed but secretly excited that maybe the comments would finally stop.

They didn't.

Boys and girls alike. Jokes, insults, remarks thrown so casually you'd think they cost nothing. And maybe to them, they didn't. But to you? They were expensive. They cost you your confidence. Your smile. The way you stood in a room.

You were body-shamed. And then, because apparently that wasn't enough - the teeth-shaming started. You began avoiding smiling in pictures. You started calculating how to laugh without showing too much. You started covering your mouth mid-smile and if you are honest, you still do it now. You made yourself smaller, quieter, less visible, just to avoid giving anyone another reason to comment.

And that is what body shaming does. It doesn't just hurt in the moment. It moves in.

You left secondary school and slowly, painstakingly, you started to rebuild. It wasn't a straight road. But you got there. You found yourself again. You thought you had made peace with your body.

And then you got to university. A new environment. New people. New eyes that hadn't seen you before and somehow, that terrified you more than anything. Because you knew how this story went. You had lived it before. And the fear of living it again, the fear of someone looking at you and finding something to comment on - quietly changed how you dressed.

You stopped wearing skirts. You stopped wearing clothes that drew attention to your shape. You tucked yourself into trousers and shirts. Gowns and skirts became Sunday things. And the rest of the week, the cycle of trousers and shirts kept repeating - not because you didn't love other clothes, but because you were armoring yourself, you enjoyed it - not because you didn't love other clothes. Truthfully, you grew to enjoy it. The trousers, the shirts, the easy comfort of disappearing into them. But if you are honest about where it started, it was fear. And somewhere along the way, the armour became the outfit and the outfit became the identity.

And you didn't even fully realize you were doing it — until you did.

But it didn't stop at the clothes.

Last year, you posted a picture of yourself on Facebook. Someone commented on your nose. Said it was big. And you, who had fought so hard to love yourself, deleted the picture and you didn't really take it to heart. You moved on. Or so you thought.

Because then you got to university and someone said it again. And something shifted, quietly. The way these things always do - quietly, without announcement. Now you check every picture before you post it. Not for the lighting. Not for the angle. You check for your nose. You zoom in. You scrutinise. You ask yourself "Does it look too big here?" And if the answer is yes, the picture doesn't go up. A moment, a memory, a version of yourself that was happy enough to take a photo, gone, because of a comment someone made without thinking twice about it.

Do you see what happened? They said it once. Twice. And now you are the one doing it to yourself - every single day, every single upload, every single time you want to just exist on your own page. That is the real damage of body shaming. It doesn't need to keep coming from outside. Eventually, you pick up where they left off.

So I want to speak to you. And to everyone reading this who has ever done the same thing, who has deleted a picture, chosen an outfit to disappear in, avoided a mirror, laughed off a comment that broke something small inside them, or looked at themselves through someone else's unkind eyes.

I see you. I can relate.

Their words were never really about you. People who find comfort in pointing out what's "wrong" with someone else's body are people who haven't made peace with their own. That doesn't excuse it. But it means their opinion of your body was never qualified to begin with. They were never the authority on you.

You are not too flat or too fat. Not too short or too tall. Not too dark or too light. Your nose is not too big. Your teeth are not too much. You are not too anything.

You are exact. You were created in God's glory

Made with intention - every single part of you, including the parts the world has tried to shame you out of loving.

Look in the mirror and say it until you believe it.

"I am beautiful and wonderfully made."

"I was not made by mistake."

"This body has carried me through every hard day. It deserves my kindness."

And when someone makes a remark, don't laugh it off to make them comfortable. You are not responsible for their comfort. Let them know you are offended. And if they continue, walk away. Protect your peace with both hands. 🤍

As for me? I am still learning and unlearning. I have started inputting skirts and gowns into my clothes for the week. I still sometimes zoom into a picture before I post it, checking,then catching myself and asking why am I doing this again?

But I am learning. Slowly. Gently. Imperfectly.

To put on the skirt. To smile wide and not cover my mouth. To post the picture - nose and all doesn't matter because I was happy in that moment and happiness deserves to be documented.

My body is mine. And I am choosing- every day, in every small way - to live in it like I mean it.

With love,

Anointed. 🫶🏾

There is a moment, quiet, almost unnoticeable, where life stops being something you live and becomes something you survive. Where the days stop being yours and start belonging to a schedule, a goal, a version of yourself you're still trying to become.

You made a promise. We all did.

"After this, I'll rest. After this, I'll enjoy it. After this, I'll finally live."

But your own mind - the one that's supposed to be on your side, never quite lets you get there. It is constantly reminding you that there's always more. Another mountain. Another deadline. Another reason why now is not the time to pause.

And I want to be careful here, because discipline is good. Ambition is good. Having something to work towards, something that gets you out of bed in the morning, something that makes you feel like your days have direction - that is not the enemy. Do not misunderstand me. But there is a difference between working hard and running past your own life without noticing.

Because that is what happens. Slowly and Quietly. You blink and the months have moved. You blink again and it's a year. And another. And you have been so busy becoming that you forgot to simply be. The goals got hit. The tasks got done. The checklist kept growing. But somewhere between the ambition and the achievement, the joy slipped out of the back door and you didn't even hear it leave. You didn't hear the door slammed.

And that is the part nobody warns you about.

Your younger years passed. Those reckless, embarrassing, beautiful days where you could just exist without it meaning anything. Where you could laugh too loud and stay out too late and not have to justify it to anyone, least of all yourself.

The days you dressed up for no reason and took pictures. Watched movies until 3am and felt zero guilt about it. Read a novel just because the cover looked interesting. Rotted in your bed on a Saturday and called it a good day. Had no to-do list. Had no motive. Just lived.

And now you look up and wonder - when did everything get so serious? When did I stop playing? When did rest start feeling like something I had to earn?

And before you know it - you're older. The body that once felt invincible starts reminding you of its limits. The energy you once had in abundance starts asking to be managed. Time, which once felt endless, starts feeling very, very finite.

And you think "Oh, I was going to live. I had plans to live. I just kept pushing it forward."

That is the tragedy that nobody writes eulogies about. Not the life that was cut short. But the life that was fully lived — on the outside — and quietly left behind on the inside.

But here is what I need you to understand.

Yes. We live to die.

And that is exactly the point.

If the ending is already written, then the only thing left — the only thing that was ever truly in your hands — is what you do with the middle.

My favourite line in the song Jailer by Asa is "I'll die, you sef go die too. Life is beautiful, don't you think so too?" Why? Because it gives me the mental note that death is inevitable and I'm in this beautiful word, this amazing life, so why don't I just live it? Because that's literally the essence of me being here.

So live. Just live.

Do the thing that scares you. Just as Nike says "Just Do It!" Take the trip you've been saving for "someday." Say the words you've been rehearsing in your head. Go for that solo date. Heal your inner child of needed! Make the beautiful, costly, unforgettable mistake. Fall down. Get back. Fall in love. Stay out late for absolutely no reason. Make a friend just because they made you laugh not because of what they can do for you, but because human beings are wonderful and life is better with more of them in it. Laugh until your stomach hurts. Cry when you need to. Feel everything - the joy, the grief, the uncertainty, all of it — because a felt life is a lived life. Take pictures, videos. Have fun

Work when you have to. Lock in when needed.

But don't forget to breathe. Touch grass, abeg. Step outside. Feel the sun on your skin and remember that you are not just a brain attached to a to-do list - you are a whole, living, breathing human being who deserves to actually experience the life they are working so hard to build.

Pause. Rest without guilt. Eat the meal slowly. Be present in the ordinary moments because one day, you will miss them more than you know. Stop waiting to deserve joy. Stop treating rest like a reward you haven't earned yet. Stop shrinking your life down to a checklist of things to become.

You were not put here to simply function. You were put here to feel everything. Because at the end when we all die, the question won't be how much you achieved. It won't be how disciplined you were or how productive your years looked on paper. It will be a simpler, quieter question.

Did you actually show up for your own life?

So show up. Fully. Messily. Unapologetically.

Live - because, you will die.

With love,

Anointed. 🫶🏾