The Lost Jotter.
I remember the days of my youth when dating was frowned upon by our parents until a certain age. You will hear this like, "Do not have a girlfriend or boyfriend; they will ruin your life." This was our everyday sermon after my big sister and I reached our teenage years and started attracting the opposite sex.
Back then it was a strict rule in our household, upheld with unwavering determination. Amid my parents' training and cultivating the perfect kid, Cupid fired me an arrow of love for the lady who never loved me. She was in the same class as me, with eyes so bright you know she had never seen pain. She's always on neatly plaited hair, her uniform was always ironed, and her skin was the perfect example of "chocolate and caramel." She wasn't too talkative, and I saw all the beauty of this world in her face.
After a while of becoming her friend, we met secretly, stealing glances and sharing moments that were innocent yet filled with unspoken emotions. I have always wanted to tell her how I felt about her, but I always remember the teachings of my parents every morning: "You are not meant to have a girlfriend." I was bound by the chains of tradition and family rules.
Unable to voice my affection to her, I sought solace in a notebook, pouring my heart out in ink, which was the biggest mistake I had made in my life. I watch Western TV shows where kids have something called a "diary," which was meant to be secret to them, and others don't read even if they find the diary on the floor with no one around. I guess my folks did not get the memo.
I wrote of my love for her and my dreams and even detailed my admiration for my parents, who held me close yet unknowingly kept me from expressing my deepest desires. I wrote everything.
One fateful morning, I longed to write some more in my diary, but I couldn't find it. I rushed to my sisters' room to challenge them to take my journal without telling me. I decided not to tell them it was a diary because they would search for it just to read it. After some interrogation, I discovered it wasn't with them. I gave up looking for it since I never knew its importance.
The next morning, after we gathered for devotion, I noticed my dad standing in the middle of the sitting room with my diary in his hands, and at that moment the little sleep left in me vanished. "I found this jotter in Demola's room." Then he dropped a bombshell. "And I have read everything in it; Demola will be reading what he wrote inside the jotter for us this morning." My private thoughts, my hidden emotions, were laid bare for everyone to see.
At that moment, I felt exposed, vulnerable, and raw. The words that I had penned in secret now echoed in the room, painting a vivid picture of my innermost desires and fears. Since I was refusing to read it, he started reading it "When I hugged her, it was like I was lost in the breeze running around the forest," he said, and then my sisters burst into laughter. It wasn't even a funny moment for me. After he was done, I was used as the scapegoat for the morning devotion; I became the lost sheep without a shepherd.
The aftermath was a mix of emotions: embarrassment, anger, and a strange sense of liberation. Well, they now know how much I like this girl, and I think it was the best time to let her know how I felt about her. "This is what the Lord is doing," I thought to myself.
After a while, I met with her and asked her when she would be free because I had something important to tell her. We met in the evening, under a dim red sun that had no heat wave in it; it was the perfect cool evening. "The reason I wanted to meet with you this evening is because I have always loved you." I started talking, allowing my emotions to lead the way. My heart was talking and talking, and then I asked what she felt, and she dropped another bombshell. "Demola, I have always and will always see you as a friend; I really don't have anything to feel for you, and I have never thought of you that." That was the last thing I remember she said. At that moment, my brain cells stop working for a brief moment. I wanted to say something, but the words were coming out short. "Uhmm, yeah, I see, you know, uhmm, yes, yes, ok, how about?" was all I could say before she left me standing.
I got sick after that, but it gave me a huge character development. I learned my lesson, and it has never happened again.
Thanks for reading.
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