My life is a meme and God is the admin….

There’s a particular kind of vulnerability that comes with crying on the bathroom floor at 2 AM. The cold tiles press against your cheek like an unfeeling lover, the mirror reflects a stranger with swollen eyes, and the silence laughs at your choked sobs. 

This is where I found myself last Saturday; knees pulled to my chest, tears mixing with the residual water from my earlier shower, wondering when exactly I became this fragile. The weight of unanswered prayers, rejected applications, and silent phones had finally cracked me open. 

If you’ve ever sent out 50 job applications and gotten 49 rejections (and one “We’ll keep your CV on file”,liars), you know the special kind of despair that makes you question every life choice. Your inbox? A graveyard of “Unfortunately…” emails.

Meanwhile, Your inbox stays emptier than a politician’s promises, while your data plan now recognizes all the job portals by name. At this point your job search has become so predictable that your keyboard now autofills “Dear Hiring Manager“.

The truth? My career path looks more confusing than Lagos road networks during rush hour. My social life has the energy of a NEPA office during a power outage. And my spiritual life? Let’s just say my prayer points have started sounding like customer service complaints.

I’ve started judging myself more harshly than a Lagos landlady judges potential tenants. “No steady job? No husband? No sense of direction? Sorry my dear, this room is not for you.” Except the room is my life and I’m both the landlady and the desperate tenant.

Ah, trust God. The ultimate plot twist. You pray for direction and get silence. You beg for a sign and get a bill instead. It’s like ordering jollof rice and being served white rice; technically edible, but where’s the flavor, Lord? 

Yet, in the quiet moments,usually at sunrise, when the world is still and your mind isn’t; there’s a stubborn hope. A whisper: “You’re not done yet.” Maybe faith isn’t about having it all figured out but about showing up anyway, even when your life resembles a danfo bus with no brakes. 

 Here’s what I’ve learned: Life doesn’t give trigger warnings. It throws curveballs, plot twists, and occasional power outages right when you’re in the middle of something important. But humor? Humor is the engine oil of life. It doesn’t fix everything, but it sure makes the squeaking quieter. 

So yes, I’m a mess. A work in progress. “God’s project” with questionable timing. But I’m also the girl who laughs at her own tears, who writes about her failures like they’re stand-up material, and who still believes against all odds that sunrise always comes. 

And when it does, I’ll be there. Maybe with puffy eyes, but definitely with a better story. 

If you’re reading this and your life also feels like a meme gone wrong, know this; you’re not alone. We’re all out here, faking it till we make it, one bathroom-floor breakdown at a time. Now, pass the tissues and let’s try again tomorrow. 

P.S, God, I know you’re busy fixing the economy but…my account details are in your DMs.

Till I write again….

Thank you for reading❤️

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