“If you had to pick between protecting your friend who did wrong and exposing him/her to the authorities out of conscience, which would you choose?”

“Protect my friend, of course”, she said without hesitation.

I found her response a bit…baffling.

Why would you decide to cover up misdoings, thus becoming an accomplice, instead of giving justice a chance?

But, I understand the sentiment.

It reminds me of the little community I found myself in at university.

I love independence.

I love the freedom of solo trips and building projects on my own.

I enjoy the thrill of using my strength to solve problems without having anyone else interfere.

Yet somehow, I found myself in the midst of a group of vibrant and intelligent girls.

Each had her strength, but they chose to work together.

I thought it was unreasonable at first.

Why would you risk not being your best?

Working together meant constantly checking with one another, sometimes having to trust the gut of another over your own.

So I chose to be by myself.

On my own, I was a solid 80%. 90% on a good day.

When I won, I celebrated by myself.

When I lost, I mourned on my own too.

But them?

They were different.

Regardless of the outcome, they were good. Together.

“Is there something I’m missing?”, I thought to myself.

“Do I need to change something?”

So this one time, I let my guard down. Let myself be part of the group.

I shared my certainties and doubts, and they shared theirs.

My opinions were heard and questioned.

My doubts were cleared, and I learned better.

The percentage I was missing? I think I found it.

I started to feel like I was going to war with an army. I never had to be alone.

Somehow, my skills became less about getting the perfect result and more about pulling others up with me.

No man left behind, as they say.

We celebrated our wins and mourned our losses as a team.

For the first time, I felt like I truly understood what it meant to go far together.

A better word for it would be synergy.

At first glance, working together seems like a burden. An extra leg that could slow you down.

Not until you put the pieces together do you realize half plus half gives more than a whole.

In working together, I found meaning.

Meaning that amplified the results we produced.

That’s why I say I understand the sentiment.

It might be more reasonable to protect oneself and surrender to the authorities,

but perhaps there is more meaning in protecting a friend instead.

The fear in her head that kept her from saying hello.

The feeling that kept her eyes glued to the ground and her shoulders curved in like a fetus.

She was scared;

not of people’s actions, not of their words, but of their thoughts.

What would they think if she stared a little too long? What if she were found wearing this or watching that?

What would become of her in their minds?

It was crippling, and she knew that.

It was more like perfectionism;

Wanting to fit into an ideal.1

Hating to be seen as dumb, odd, or flawed.

She took on a responsibility that was never hers. An outcome she could never control.

Separation of Tasks is a concept described in the book “The Courage to be Disliked” by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga.

It basically explains that all interpersonal relationship problems are because we concern ourselves with other people’s responsibilities.

We live interdependently,

wanting to love and be loved, to support and be supported.

This sometimes makes us forget that before a relationship, there are individuals; individuals responsible for carrying their own burdens.

Every person lives with the responsibility of their thoughts, actions, and the outcome of their lives.

When we seek to interfere in and direct the course of someone else’s life, we cause problems, either for ourselves or the other person.

As the philosopher in the book phrases it,

“All you can do with regard to your own life is choose the best path that you believe in. On the other hand, what kind of judgment do other people pass on that choice? That is the task of other people, and is not a matter you can do anything about.”

Being conscious of judgment from others was never the issue. Making it the decision maker for how she presented herself was.

She was constantly remoulding to fit different situations, unknowingly ridding herself of a true identity.

She cared so much about her reputation in other people’s heads, forgetting that the decisions and outcomes of her life were her responsibility,

and the thoughts and opinions of others were none of her business.

If only she were held by the shoulder, shaken violently, and advised with the words of the philosopher,

“What other people think when they see your face—that is the task of other people and is not something you have any control over.”

Perhaps she would have learned to be her own person and found her tribe earlier on.

Time has passed, and there’s no blaming her younger self. She just didn’t know better.

Every now and then,

she slips back into crippling herself with other people’s thoughts.

Sometimes, she’s right.

They do hate her for the “mindless” statement she made last week, and they do think she’s weird for sucking her lips when she’s stressed.

But sometimes, she’s wrong.

They couldn’t care less what she did or said. They’re too busy worrying about the acne on their faces and the numbers in their bank accounts.

I hope she remembers that whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.

People will always think thoughts and have opinions. It says more about them and doesn’t determine what is true or good.

Let them be, and you do you.

Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?

In my defense, I lasted two years before deciding something had to change.

I remember the day I decided to apply for the job.

A friend of mine was working full-time while studying nursing (a pretty challenging course). With the pay, she could afford her living expenses and some pampering.

I needed that too, but I had to overcome one fear;

working 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, studying and attending classes, creating time for sleep, and still having some left for everything else.

I couldn’t wrap my head around that, yet she was doing it.

It felt like there was some hack I didn’t know of, or something I was overthinking. So despite my fear, I took the leap and applied.

Not long after, I got a response. The interview and training period went by, and I was soon earning with my hours.

Getting paid was great man.

Like my own big girl money? Sheesh.

But I wouldn’t say that was the best part. The people I met made all the difference.

My social circle went from the handful of students I met in class, to strangers from all ages.

The stories and conversations went beyond lectures and textbooks.

People had lovers, children, exes. Some were figuring life out, and some had enough experiences to write in books.

I loved, and I felt loved.

Office politics and kissing feet were a thing too.

What was supposed to expand just my pocket, became an expander of my mind and heart.

It was fun and beautiful, until it wasn’t.

The thing about a job, is that a company runs and runs till it can’t by itself anymore. So it hires people to fill in slots and do tasks that it needs to keep working.

As you remain in that slot and keep doing that task, you’re valuable to the company. Your value, though, is only as much as a cog is in a wheel.

Once you start to wear out, a new cog can easily be brought in to replace you. Just like that, the old cog is forgotten.

Not to mention that our brains are incomparably more powerful than cogs. In the beginning, it’s exciting as you adjust to the new position,

then it gets easy as you get used to the task,

then the part no one warns you about; you get tired.

Tired of repeating the same thing over and over, and not feeling like you’re making much progress or increasing in value.

I watched people who served longer than me get fired overnight. I watched people get used to the routine. I watched people, myself included, sacrifice academics and personal time just to show up for this wheel.

How was it possible to fit in 8 hours of work, several hours of studies and sleep, and time for everything else all in one day?

It wasn’t.

One would have to suffer for another at some point.

Few months before I quit, I had been thinking about it.

Spending 8 hours a day on something wasn’t so bad, as long as it brought value to you that increased with time.

But working in a wheel for that long, and not feeling like I increased in value? Something had to change.

What if I spent that much time on myself?

What if, for the next two years, I dedicated 8 hours, or even 4 hours, to building something of my own? Where would it take me?

The thought of that excited me.

I started saving for my exit, and when the time felt right, I signed my resignation.

There was relief, then excitement, then fear.

I would finally be free again, spending my time on my own terms, but I would be broke.

Thankfully, I had a cushion to fall back on. Enough that I wouldn’t suffer, but not so much that I would forget why I quit.

It’s been almost two months since I stopped working, and my emotions have been a roller coaster.

For the most part, I’m happy to have my time back.

On some days, I consider getting another job, before reminding myself of why I quit and snapping out of it.

So what am I doing with my time?

Getting back on track with academics,

getting good sleep at night(or in the morning, since my circadian rhythm is messed up),

taking time to journal and think instead of constantly being in motion,

and of course, working on the life I actually want.

It’s kinda scary.

I feel like I’m taking a bet on myself, hoping I get to where I want in two years.

I have to take risks and seek out unconventional opportunities because I’m determined to be independent of the job market.

I’m scared, but hella excited to see where it’ll take me.

That’s one thing they don’t tell you about moving abroad.

Somehow the things you never paid much attention to become visible, including how different you are from the people around you.

You’re not like them

You’re surrounded by Caucasians with long hair falling to the back, while your 4c kinky hair takes every chance to shrink to your scalp.

It didn’t bother me much at first.

Back home, my hair met the standard. Maybe not the healthiest, but it was long, full and beautiful.

Until

Three or four years after moving abroad, I started to pay more attention to how I looked.

How I dressed, my personal style, and of course, my hair, whether or not I was wearing it out.

It had to be healthy.

No split ends, so I had a big chop.

Moisturized, so I invested in hair products.

Long.

Long?

I heard someone tell me my hair was long, and it sounded like a joke.

What do you mean long?

If you want long, check out the average white person.

Somehow I felt inferior. Like my hair was nowhere near the standard; silky, soft and draping down.

I’d look at myself in the mirror and be anything but contented.

Still, there was no changing what I was blessed with. I had to accept and love my hair.

So I went on YouTube, “How to grow 4c hair”.

I started to spend more time taking care of it. Washing, moisturizing and deep conditioning as needed.

Tried blowouts, braids, twists, all kinds of cornrows, mid part, side part, high puff, low bun, twist outs, braid outs, accessories..

It became an adventure.

My social media also joined the game, recommending all kinds of styles.

I started to look forward to the weekends I had nothing to do but style my hair and get dolled up.

One day, I looked in the mirror again, and then it hit me.

My hair is perfect.

It’s not soft and silky because it was never meant to be.

It’s coily and kinky and bold. Like fresh clay with so much potential. It was and is beautiful.

Sometimes I still wish I didn’t have to deal with detangling and shrinkage, but I realize it doesn’t make my hair worse or better than any other.

It’s simply different, needing its own kind of care.

It’s part of who I am and signifies where I come from.

I do realize 1

Silk press is a thing.

I could make my hair soft and silky if I wanted to. There are also chemicals like relaxers to soften hair, but I choose not to use them.

They’ve become more like options to me than aspirations, because the versatility of afro hair has won my heart.

“O Mankind, We have created you from a male and female, and made you into peoples and tribes, so that you might come to know each other. The noblest of you in God’s sight is the one who fears God most. God is all knowing and all-aware.”,

-Al Hujurat vs 13

One of the things that draws me to them is how they feel more real.

Like they’re a reflection of a world before the internet and globalization took over.

This may/may not be an unpopular opinion, but everyone and everywhere seems to be going in one direction.

Becoming a singular world driven by ideologies of those that speak the loudest, rather than those who care about truth and good.

Even though I don’t feel the need to agree to every trend or accept every idea, I sometimes crave independent thought.

Wanting to know of objective morality and a grounded way of thinking.

Not just “anything and everything goes”, but “this is right” and “this is not”.

And right becoming pretty obvious because anything otherwise would be going against natural disposition.

Where then do I turn to escape and find some sort of sanity?

That’s where classics come in.

This was somehow inspired by Awiista, currently one of my favorite people on the internet. She’s a lover of books and has a thing for God and classics.

My first pick, “The Knight Clad in Panther’s Skin”, was centered around friendship, grief and victory(feel free to check the post on friendships).

After some dilly-dallying with other books,

I then came to the English.

Frankenstein was my first target.

Awiista, of course, inspired me to read it.

She described it as the tale of a man who dared to do what no other man was given the power to do, and lived to bear the consequences.

Consequences?

Isn’t life about pushing your limits and challenging the status quo? Aren’t we supposed to constantly evolve, and bring to life whatever unprecedented ideas our Homo Sapien brains conjure?

Well, with the tale of Frankenstein, the questions pop up:

Are there some things better left undone? Does simply the ability to do something make the act right to do?

What’s this seemingly abominable thing that Frankenstein dared to do?

He brought to life a creature of his own.

The human body is very complex (with one “very” being an understatement).

The tiny but magnificent cells forming tissues,

tissues coming together to form independent organs,

organs collaborating to make working systems,

and multiple systems that beautifully make up this body we call human.

Yet besides that, there’s the consciousness.

I’m not sure how an atheist would describe the thing that makes us alive.

Is it the brain and its neural networks sparking well enough to bring life, or do they also believe in the soul?

The soul

An entity independent of the physical body, yet powers the body and brings it to life.

That’s what I believe at least.

Frankenstein(a fictional character btw), at the age of 19 or 20, somehow discovered the secret of what brings a being to life. With this knowledge, he set out to create a creature of his own.

As always, we don’t do spoilers here, but lemme just say there were a lot of…casualties. Casualties by the hands of the being he created.

Honestly, I wouldn’t say his quest was objectively wrong.

Perhaps if he had done a better job of fashioning and nurturing the creature, the story would’ve been different.

Who am I though, to judge a man who chose to pursue a drive he felt inside him?

My only question is whether or not the drive was worth everything he lost in exchange.

I often wonder about freedom and morality.

At what point do they shake hands, and at what point do they clank swords?

It pops into my mind whenever I’m faced with ‘to do or not to do’ situations.

Moments where nothing physically stops me from doing or pursuing something. After all, I am a being with free will.

But over and over I realize, not every action has the same effect.

Some things you do, it feels good through and through. You’re happy in the moment, and it’s worth it in the end.

Some things are delayed pleasures. They take sacrifice in the beginning, but overall they produce good fruits.

And some things, possibly the hardest to resist, are instant gratification with regret later on.

There’s always a mix of everything at one time or the other, but the main point is:

With every action, there is a consequence.

The consequence isn’t always bad though.

It’s more like a currency. Is it worth it? Is it not?

In my opinion, this is a better way of measuring the value of an action, rather than simply the ability to do it.

What am I going to lose from doing this? Is the benefit worth the cost?

That’s where morality gets value, at least for me.

Exploiting your partner in a business deal would make you more money, but is it worth the heavy heart you’d have knowing that the excess isn’t yours?

Or the way your mind wouldn’t see others as honestly anymore?

Cheating on your spouse would probably feel good at the time, but is it worth every moment you’d lay beside him/her, knowing that you’ve crossed the line?

As much as the world is starting to preach that you do as much as you’re physically able to do, there is an argument, this argument, that not every doable thing is worth doing.

With that mindset, there’s peace of mind knowing that whatever you choose to do, it’s more worth it than everything else you’re choosing to let go of.

And so, nothing is lost.

What does any of this have to do with Frankenstein?

Could he possibly have known that his decision at 19 to create life would ruin his?

Of course not.

But if he had a second chance, I’m pretty sure no one could ever pay him enough to make the same decision.

1

He was tall. 6ft3, as she found out later on.

Face card was about 7/10 at the time. Not bedazzling, but good enough.

What was his name? Where was he from? She had her ways of finding out.

One week, two weeks, she saw him here and there.

She was new to this flirting thing and wanted to try it out.

Eye contact they said. Hold it for just a little longer than usual; it does something.

And so she did.

As she walked by, she’d hold his gaze like the most natural thing. And he’d hold hers back.

Once, twice, three times.

It felt good.

He had these round, clear pair of eyes that she just couldn’t get enough of. Sometimes with his black-rimmed rectangular glasses, sometimes without.

He was supposed to fall for her, but she was falling for him instead.

As she walked past him a couple times, she noticed more and more of him. How he walked, how he talked, what he ate, who he spoke to.

There was something about his aura that was…magnetic.

He had this brown prayer mat always hanging on his seat.

Oh he’s Muslim. And he prays?

The romance was to be cut short.

He was leaving.

She overheard him telling someone about it.

Leaving? They hadn’t even exchanged a word.

She wasn’t sure when, but she had to do something. Quickly.

Hard girl, hard girl, but her heart was pounding like crazy.

Still, she chose to walk up to him.

He sounded smart.

He was easy to talk to, and was curious about her too.

Besides the hyperventilation at the start, the conversation went much better than she expected. Like it was no longer all just in her head.

The next day came, and he was still there. And so she went again. Even better than the first time.

Not that he was super funny, or perfect in any way, but she felt comfortable with him. Like she could keep talking to him for hours if she had the chance.

Surely it couldn’t be all in her head, right? He must’ve felt the same.

Or maybe not.

That was the last real conversation they had before he left. If he wanted to, he could’ve kept in touch, but he didn’t.

It hurt, but she moved on.

Three months later,

sitting in the room, she heard a familiar voice talking to someone behind her.

Could it be…no way..

It was him. He came back.

She was happy to see him again, and the huge smile on her face didn’t help in hiding how she felt.

“Heyyyy!”, She said, with the brightest smile on her face.

“Heyy”, he said back.

She looked away, trying to process the surprise.

Is this really…

She turned to him again, and he quickly looked away.

Was he shy to look at her?

Three months of sobriety in the mud. He was on her mind again.

He seemed pretty social.

He was quick to befriend the new guy on her floor.

Whenever he’d come over, she would catch him peeking at her side.

He’d look, then look away. Look, then look away.

Like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how.

She wanted to say something too, but she was scared.

Scared she may not be the girl he thought she was.

She was loud and pretty crazy. Not stereotypical in any way.

She could keep up an act, but for how long?

She was scared he wouldn’t want the real her.

And maybe she was right.

Soon enough, it became obvious.

In how she talked, in how she dressed, in who she spent time with.

She probably didn’t meet the fantasy of her in his head.

The random “hey”s when they crossed paths became less to none.

He came over to her side way less often.

Months after months went by, and they barely shared a conversation.

She wasn’t what he wanted, and nothing could make her change herself for him.

Except,

What if she simply wasn’t yet ready for the things she wanted?

It wasn’t just about the 6ft3 dude with full hair and perfectly groomed beard,

it was about everything she secretly desired and he seemed to embody.

His calm demeanor was attractive to her.

The way he walked with energy and purpose, how he made people around him feel comfortable, how he was focused about what he wanted,

and believe it or not, his shyness.

Maybe it wasn’t just about him after all.

Maybe his presence was a wake-up call for her to reflect on who she wanted to be, and the kinds of people and things she wanted in her life.

Thus, her not-so-happy ending love story triggered a new journey in her life.

A journey of focus and intentionality, as she’d like to call it.

Wouldn’t it be a nice if there was a sequel to this?

Like one where they ended up together?

What if we get to know his side of the story too?

I guess only time will tell.

toss it to me while you escort her out,

I run off with the bracelet to the planned exit,

we get into an SUV parked there and take off without any trace.

That was the plan.

Only, Lupin had something else in mind, and I wasn’t in on it.

In fact, I was at the losing end.

Getting betrayed by your lifelong partner in crime and good.

Someone you had sacrificed your well-being for more times than countable, and if push comes to shove, you’d even sacrifice your life for.

He left you at the hands of the hungry police officers, turning his back against you in a game of trust you both meticulously practiced together.

Where was the SUV? Where was the exit? Why?

Despite the betrayal, you are loyal to death.

You were beaten to a pulp in cell. “Who is your accomplice?”, they’d ask, but nothing would make you budge.

You don’t know why he did that, but you somehow trust he has a plan. You are not a snitch, and would rather die than turn your back on a friend.

That kind of friendship amazes me.

It’s the kind that Shot’ha Rust’haveli wrote about in a poetic tale “The knight clad in Panther’s skin”.

It’s not one based simply on vibes or proximity, but rather, a commitment to be with this person through everything. A friendship of love and loyalty.

Avt’handil was the one whose friendship was sought.

Tariel needed him. Tariel was broken and grieving. He had nothing to offer Avt’handil.

Yet Avt’handil shared in his grief and stuck by him, traveled and worked to see him well again.

In his words, “Three are the ways of showing friendship by a friend:

First, the wish for nearness, impatience of distance;

then giving and not grudging, unweariedness in liberality;

and attention and aid, roaming in the fields to help him.”

It seems too good to be true, no?

How rare is it to find someone to feel for you and treat you in that way? Someone you’d be willing to let your guard down for and prioritize like that?

As Marcus Tullius put it in the book, ‘How to be a friend’,

“If we can find someone in either situation who has proven himself reliable, constant and firm in friendships, we should consider him the rarest kind of human being-or almost a god.”

Marcus taught a handful about friendships,

but 3 main lessons stood out to me:

1. The reward of friendship is friendship itself.

   It’s not about what you can get from someone or how they can be of help to you. It’s about having someone to share yourself with.

   “What could be sweeter than to have someone you can dare to talk to about everything as if you were speaking to yourself?”

2. Friendship is based on goodness.

   “It cannot exist when evil is expected of it”. If there is something you both find wrong or shameful, true friendship cannot exist if one or the other feels comfortable engaging in it or encourages the other to participate in it.

   In the case of Lupin, perhaps the dishonesty in robbery was the crack in the door for betrayal, or the craft was simply not objectively wrong to them.

And my favorite,

3. A friend is, quite simply, another self.

   Friendship is formed when you consider the other person an extension of your being rather than another entity that needs your sacrifice.

   You would do the good you’d want for yourself and would avoid harming them like you’d protect yourself.

My favorite quote about friendship goes:

“Friendship is thus the main fact of life, the thing that makes it worth living; but its highest form is that noblest love of which some of the introductory quatrains treat.

This is the divine frenzy, breathed only into the gentle, the fair, the wise, the brave, and the generous, unseating the charioteer Reason, antecedent to a nuptial choice,

transforming the lover into the divine likeness, and thus preparing him for the creative act by which mankind is renewed from age to age.

It is a tender feeling, pure in its essence, hiding itself from the view of the world, needing not love in return, but enduring patiently the wrath of the beloved;

it is changeless in its object, steadfast to the end; when it is reciprocated it sweetens death, for in eternity it finds full fruition.”.

These are lines from the preface of the book “The Knight clad in Panther’s Skin” by Shot’ha Rust’haveli.

True friendship seems like fuel to the soul. If nothing else, it makes life a little sweeter.

But it begs the question:

How is true friendship found?

Is it something you hope to randomly stumble upon as you go through life, or a gem you go out of your way to seek?

Is it a feeling that grows as you spend time with people, or a choice you make with those who choose to be the same for you?

I’d be in my dormitory, laying in bed or studying by the desk, and suddenly, the thought to eat a piece of sweet cake would cross my mind.

It would dance and linger. I’d feel so uneasy and unable to focus on anything else.

Nine times out of ten, this craving would push me to get out of bed, dress up in whatever layers of clothing I needed, and run off to the store like an addict.

The sweets section

Something about seeing cake and cookies and chocolate and sweets and chips made my brain tick.

I’d pick out one or two sachets of packaged mini-cakes, maybe a bag of chips and whatever else catches my eye, then run off back home to munch them down all in one sitting.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t with just sweets.

Anything that meant putting something into my mouth and chugging it down made me tick. I was constantly thinking about food, and the sight of restaurants or the food and snacks section in grocery stores felt like dope.

This seemingly unhealthy relationship I had with food projected unto how I saw myself in the mirror.

I’d stare at my thighs and tummy every time I walked by a mirror,

and say to myself, “I eat so much junk. I’m so fat.”

Whenever I felt my tummy tighten even a little after a meal, my chest would squeeze with guilt and I’d run to the gym to walk off the “extra calories” on the treadmill.

Now, I look back at pictures I took of myself at that time, and I truly have never been more skinny in my life since I can remember.

I was tall, long and slender. I could see dips behind my collarbone and my neck looked elongated. I looked pretty, but malnourished.

Whenever I mentioned to my friends that I wanted to lose weight, they’d drop subtle hints about how I’d actually look better if I gained weight. They said it so nicely that I thought they were simply trying to make me feel better.

After a blood test later that year,

I realized I had a little below normal level of iron. Perhaps that’s what caused the cravings.

I’m a tall girl, and I moved around a lot at the time. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that eating more was okay for my body type and metabolism.

The less I ate, the more I craved, the more guilt I felt for falling back to sugar, and without knowing, I was in this loop of hating my body and blaming myself for craving so much of the wrong things.

The word “dysmorphia” comes to mind, but I don’t like negative labels and their self-projection. I’d rather call it a phase of seeing myself though distorted lens. A scary phase at that.

Thankfully, I went home for the summer and spent two months eating good and gaining a normal body weight.

Even now, I still look in the mirror sometimes and wonder if I’m too fat, even though everyone else around me tells me the opposite.

Rather than overthinking,

I deal with this in a couple ways:

• trusting the mirror less and asking people I trust about how I look and what my eating habit is like.

• accepting that a bit of fold on my body here and there is absolutely normal. Visible skeleton isn’t exactly a sign of good health.

• focusing more on balancing the foods I eat rather than cutting things out. If I develop an unhealthy craving for something, I realize that nutrient deficiency is a possible cause.

• wearing clothes that fit me. Clothes I’ve outgrown and make me feel like I’m too fat and squeezing into them should not be the highlight of my wardrobe.

And lastly,

• gaining or losing a little weight isn’t so bad. I try to focus on being and feeling healthy rather than what I look like in the mirror.

Are these kinds of thoughts about our bodies more common than I think? Do you sometimes feel insecure about how you look?

Feel free to reply this email. Let’s be therapy buddies.

xoxo,

Basirah

Congrats. Welcome to the club.

It’s a romance story between a man and a woman, where parental opposition kept them apart for so long.

The love they had lasted a lifetime, and even did miracles.

Okay I don’t believe the miracles part(wanna type the scenes here so bad, but let’s avoid spoilers, shall we?), but a couple things about love felt clearer to me.

Before now, I had a vague idea of what love was/is.

Is it the warm, cozy feeling you feel towards your parents, siblings or other family members you hold dear?

They don’t occupy your mind 24/7, but there’s a feeling of calmness and assurance whenever you think about them. The feeling that makes you go, “Whenever you need me, no matter what, I’ve got you.”

Or is it the feeling of familiarity when you meet someone you share values with?

Feeling like you know and understand someone, and knowing that they feel the same. You don’t have to explain why you dress a certain way or only eat at certain restaurants because “they just get it”.

And somehow, you feel something deep for them. Something you can’t really explain.

Or rather, is it the attachment you develop from making memories with a person?

Like a coworker or course mate you see 5 days a week for a year. You sometimes laugh together, and sometimes argue about petty things, like what temperature the AC should be on.

They’re there for you on the days others physically can’t, like when your period cramps hit the ceiling in class and they happen to have a pill, or when you have to work night shift on your birthday and they make fun of you in a way that makes you laugh.

You barely realize how you feel until one of you is leaving and your chest somehow starts to squeeze a little tighter.

Is that love?

Love isn’t all romantic, but romantic love, I feel, is a little more complex.

I say I feel because I’m not sure I’ve experienced it. Or at least not to the depth portrayed in movies.

The kind that drives you mad.

Out of curiosity, I started doing some research on what that kind of love feels like, and how to spot it.

I refused to believe it’s that obsessive, overwhelming feeling when you suddenly find someone more attractive or interesting than anyone else. The typical “crush”.

From my research, a crush is based on a tiny superficial piece of information about a person, like how they look or a habit they have or something they like. Our minds then craft out an entire image of perfection about them for us to obsess over.

More often than not, they are, in reality, very different from that perfect personality.

Love, on the other hand, is based on the truth.

You get to know someone, and you accept, or rather, embrace what you know about them.

You realize they are flawed, but something in you wants to keep being with them and making memories with them.

You’re a little surprised when you learn something new about them that’s different from what you thought, but you’re happy to keep knowing them.

Most importantly, a crush fades away with time, but love? Love grows with time.

A crush isn’t all that bad though. Love can actually develop from a crush.

When we spend more time with the other person and the layers of fantasy gets peeled off, the heart might choose to hold on to and fall for the true person.

In “The Notebook” movie,

there were three other things I found interesting about love.

1. As long as it’s that person, the struggles don’t matter. They could be sick and on the verge of death, or they could look unappealing from burns or age. All you wanna do is just be with them.

2. You could genuinely love someone in the past, move on, and genuinely fall in love with someone else again. A part of you might forever care for the previous person, but your heart can open up to new love if you want it to.

3. Even as people change, love can remain. A person’s personality, look or lifestyle can change, but because it’s them, you wanna keep knowing them and keep falling in love with whatever new identity they adopt.

Maybe this kind of love is delusional, and maybe it only exists in movies, but I find it beautiful.

Maddening, but beautiful.

My head is throbbing right now, but I can’t shut my eye(thanks to the milkless coffee I had in the evening).

What to do while awake then?

Studying for the quiz I have tomorrow would be my best bet, but why do that when I can come here and type my heart out to you? So here we are.

As I opened my laptop, the first thing that welcomed me was Instagram. I was going through the website when my pc shut down last night.

A couple scrolls, and I saw a guy’s post about books you should read in your twenties:

Atomic Habits, The Subtle Art of Not Giving an F, and ahh…How To Win Friends and Influence people.

That Book. Written by Dale Carnegie.

It was one of the first non-fiction books I read. It was in secondary school, at the time when I had an F in social skills and didn’t even realize it.

I was almost always in my head. Anxious. Possibly pompous too.

For some reason, I just couldn’t connect with people and form satisfying relationships. Except with only a handful of people.

My first thought when I found Dale’s book at the store was,

“I’m a prefect at school. This’ll teach me to influence other students and be a good leader. Also to make friends of course”.

Little did I know how much it would impact me.

You’d think it would teach you about manipulation, psychology and control. Nope.

Instead, it taught selflessness. Putting the other person first in communication.

Simple values like listening to the other person rather that constantly being the talker, giving compliments, generally respecting the person and not condemning or belittling…

I remember when I read about giving complements. It must’ve been at night in the hostel(my favorite time for whatever leisure book I was into). The following day, I set out to put it to practice.

I can’t recall the exact words I used or who I used them on, but I can remember how good it felt when the person smiled brightly after I gave a genuine complement.

“So you mean this is all I had to do to make someone’s day?”. It felt like a revelation.

Every lesson after that, I’d put to practice. I started noticing moments where I’d normally try to out-talk the other person and leave them feeling awful. Moments I’d otherwise never think twice about.

I must’ve overdone it a couple of times though, giving compliments when I should’ve criticized honestly and keeping quiet when I should’ve let my thoughts be heard.

Still, I could tell the difference between who I was before reading the book, and who I became after. It was…an improvement.

That must’ve been my moment of, “Damn. Reading is power”.

It reminds me of a quote an old teacher of mine once shared.

“If you want to hide something from people, keep it in a book”. People won’t read, so it’ll forever be safe.

How true that is? I can’t say.

But if you’re to hide something from others, it must be valuable. And value, I must say, is in books.

Reading is a hobby I’m grateful for.

Ironically, I’m not the girl who would be caught dead with a book in her hand. I’m not obsessed with reading and I don’t do it as much as I’d like to.

You’re more likely to catch me bingeing a sitcom on a weekend than shoving my head through a good book. It’s easy and takes less brain work.

Yet I call reading my hobby.

In part, it’s wishful thinking. I want to one day be a companion of good books. Grow with them and own a library of books and authors I resonate with.

And in part, I love it.

Holding a book beautifully written makes me happy. Reading through well written text makes me happy.

Learning something I never knew just for the sake of it makes me happy. Talking about something I found interesting in a read makes me happy.

Thinking about the possibility of growth from continual learning gets me so excited that I want to get a book on every topic that thrills me, run off to an island or a mountain top and spend all my time just reading them.

I know it seems crazy, but it’s not. It’s just an obsession. An obsession with something I’m so distracted from.

That’s my theory. Distraction.

Movies, social media, music…fake dopamine.

And life of course.

Maybe wishful thinking, but I hope to read a lot more than I currently do. Perhaps as much or more than I’d love to claim.

One I’d like to start with is a Georgian poetic tale recommended to me by a colleague. It’s titled, “The Knight in the Tiger’s Skin”, written by Shota Rustaveli in the 12th century.

The style and depth of writing captivated me so much I had to bring it to the top of my list.

I’ve also gained more interest in fiction and cultural books, so I think it’ll be a good read.

And you? Is there a book you’re reading or would love to read?

Feel free to reply to this email.

xoxo,

Basirah

It was the second time I tried riding.

The first time, I and some other exchange students in Türkiye went to visit Büyükada, one of the Princes’ islands in Istanbul.

The island is known for its seaside, restaurants, and my favorite, cycling.

As we got there, we had 3 things on our agenda:

• rent bicycles,

• take the 30-minute bike ride to the other side of the island to get food, and

• watch the beautiful sea view (or swim if we were feeling extra).

For some reason, I thought riding a bicycle would be the easiest thing, even though I had never done it before.

“It’s just to get on and row, isn’t it?” How hard could it be?

Boy was I wrong.

I paid the 80 liras to rent for the whole day, got on my bicycle like everyone else (I’m a tallie so that was easy), and started pedaling.

One..two.. and I fell to the side.

Thankfully, my legs were long enough to push me back up. Also the reason I didn’t quickly notice my mediocrity.

I tried again and fell.

Again, fell.

After a while, I started getting frustrated. Almost everyone had gone and I was still struggling.

There was one girl left though.

She offered to teach me so we could go together.

Standing beside me and guiding my movements, dropping praises and “You’re getting it!”, even though the only thing I was getting was sunburned.

We were together for about three hours, trying to get me on the road, but I just couldn’t keep my balance.

I left the island that day with something new on my bucket list: learn how to ride a bike.

Ever heard of a bicycle subscription? Yeah.

Istanbul had bicycles for rent on sea sides all over the city. That was my ticket.

The day I finally got it right, my oh my.

I went with a friend who had a subscription and offered to share.

The evening was breezy and cool. The sea was beautiful, the waves had the most calming sounds and the rocks brought everything perfectly together.

We took a bike and I got on, determined to get it right before leaving there.

I’m not sure how many times I tried but couldn’t keep my balance.

There was this voice in my head that kept whispering to me, “You’re going to fall”, so instead of pedaling the third time after starting, I’d stretch my legs to the ground to “protect” myself.

Aah. Gotcha.

That was the mindset I had to work on.

“Kenny, instead of being scared, move your legs fast enough. Control the pedal before it controls you.”

That was the key.

It took a few tries, but finally, I got it right.

I remember taking the first pedal, then the second. Almost fell at the third but the chain was stiff and slow enough for me to catch up.

And so I did. Kept pedaling till I felt full control of it. All of a sudden, I could ride a bike.

Not perfectly of course.

I still couldn’t go very far, but boy was I proud.

I spent the rest of the evening riding and falling and riding and almost hitting a million people. My whole body hurt the next day but I was over the moon.

It became my biggest hobby (besides shopping of course) till I left the country.

Now, I’m not as obsessed with it as I was because, let’s face it, it’s a sport.

Still, it taught me something about myself; I can find love in things I choose to try.

Cycling? Who would’ve thought?

But now it’s in my stack of hobbies to enjoy whenever.

Next is ice skating.

I tried it for the first time this week and fell flat on my face. Literally.

It’d be so cool to learn.

And you? What’s one thing you’d love to learn as a hobby?

Feel free to reply to this email.

xoxo,

Basirah

is a question I ask myself whenever I remember what my younger self thought about it.

For some reason, I never told anyone my other names besides the ones that had to be used for identification in secondary school. BKA, as my initials were.

My best friends would ask me, “What are your other names?”,

and my response would always be, "Don't worry." or "I don't want to say it".

At a point, I even said I was going to tell them only on graduation day.

Somehow, it felt like a prize, like a hidden gem that only special people should have access to on special occasions.

My middle names weren't the only odd things I tried to hide.

I remember when I started my period and I was told to not tell anyone about it.

Being a boarding student in a Muslim school, you can imagine how hard that was.

Everyone had to go to the mosque during prayer times, and the only valid reason to stay behind was being on your period.

When my turn came, I would either go with the other girls to the mosque or hide in the room till prayer time was over.

All in the name of not letting anyone know.

Word got out eventually of course. Thankfully.

Same with experiences I had, struggles I was going through, or some random stuff in my life that most people would easily talk about.

I always waited for the perfect person at the perfect time to share it with.

Now I'm on social media,

the thriving spot for storytellers.

I'm sitting here, typing my period story,

not worrying about the look on your face when you read it or where word of mouth will take it.

Yup. I'm shocked too.

Sometimes I wonder how I got here, and these are three theories I came up with:

1. Regret.

Perhaps I regret the times I had the opportunity to grow closer to the people I cared about by sharing parts of myself with them, but I didn't.

Maybe we would've formed nicknames for ourselves or turned into therapy buddies.

Maybe I wouldn't have felt as lonely or cried as much as I did.

Perhaps I'm choosing to share more with people because gate keeping myself didn't do me as much good as I thought.

2. Confidence.

You know that good kid all the adults liked and parents wanted their children to be friends with?

That was me.

Or at least that's how I thought people felt about me.

God forbid they find out I'm actually a normal kid with a tendency for bad behavior.

I wanted to keep being the good kid and was so scared to open up to other people.

Growing up and meeting all sorts of people, I realized that a lot of the "bad" I had in my head were actually... not abnormal.

Most people were just living their lives while I was trying to keep up this image that no one asked of me.

So this could be me being comfortable with every part of myself and sharing to connect with others that would appreciate it.

3. Impact

Every time I think of a struggle I have or have had, I realize that I'm not the only one going through it.

But there were times in my life I truly felt alone, like no one else would understand.

I needed someone to tell me, "I get it. I've been there" or "I feel the same. You're not abnormal".

Being a shy person, I found that comfort in books.

In authors that would write on topics that no one really talked about in real life. Authors that made me feel seen.

Now I don't think I'm ready to write a book yet, but sharing my stories online seems like the least I can do.

Perhaps I wanna be someone's big sister. Someone that makes them feel less alone.

Someone they might never meet in real life, but will make them glad to have heard her story.

Someone that adds the domino that changes their lives.

Occasionally, I wonder if I share too much online.

And sometimes, I get scared.

But then I remember I'm going to die one day, and all the fears I have about people knowing me too much won't matter.

Like the story of Paul Kalanithi I read recently.

In his book, "When Breath Becomes Air", he wrote about his journey through cancer and until his death.

That book made me cry.

It made me stay up late at night.

Made me bring out my phone at 3 am, wanting to text a friend saying,

"Paul spoke my mind. This could be the answer I've always wanted".

Paul is dead now, but his story left a mark in my mind and in my life.

Perhaps, no not perhaps,

I wanna touch someone's life like that.

I wanna tell my stories till they make sense to the right people.

If that means becoming an oversharer, then I think my future self on the deathbed would be glad about it.

I don't wanna ask a question this week.

If a part of this letter hit you differently, feel free to send a reply.

Until next time,

xoxo,

Basirah

Y'know, those ones where the girl would be walking on the street, books in her hands, headphones plugged in, and the boy would be running from the opposite direction.

Somehow, they both don't see each other coming, and so they collide.

Her books fall on the floor and she squats to pick them up. He also bends down to help her.

As they both look up to apologize, there it is. The spark.

She falls first, he falls harder and they both know they're meant to be. Lol.

Would it be funny if I said I believed in it though?

Okay maybe not the whole drama about books falling and sparks flying, but the part about seeing someone for the first time and having this strong feeling that they're the one.

I believe it because that was me with Salil.

Not his real name obviously.

(And Salil, please never find this. I might just die if you do lol)

I met Salil for the first time at an office in Türkiye where I went to make inquiries about a registration.

As I walked into the office, I met with a tired-looking Turkish man. Understandable because it was about a few minutes till their closing time.

I told him what I was there for, and he directed me inwards to someone else.

I took a few steps in, and there he was. Salil.

Salil was tall and brown skinned. He wore a full black beard and had these gorgeous glistening eyes.

He spoke clearly with possibly the softest Nigerian accent I had ever heard, and he understood Turkish.

(I'm a nerd, so if you somehow manage to learn a language that has nothing to do with your background, just marry me already.)

He wore this beautiful smile on his face and tried to help me through the issues I had.

When they say “butterflies in your tummy”, this was it. The whole time, I kept trying so hard to hide my awkwardness and the gushing smiles that were forming on my face.

After everything was resolved, I was scheduled to go back in 3 weeks time to complete the process. He also gave me his business card to reach out if I had any other question(stay with me, this is important).

On my way back home, all I could think of was, "This is the man I'm going to marry."

I started imagining our engagement and wedding and married life and beautiful kids.

With all that excitement, I had to tell someone else about it.

So I texted my friend.

“Girl, I've found my future husband oo".

This girl did not discourage me one bit. Instead, she became my ranting partner throughout my period of delulu.

She told me to pray about it and trust that it will happen if it's meant to. Love her so much.

After three weeks, I got to see Salil again. He was as fine and kind as the first time.

But of course, I couldn't do anything but hope that somehow in a million chances he'd be interested and say something.

Nothing unprofessional was said.

And so I went home, ranting to my girl over the phone that I was never going to see my finest man again.

I barely knew anything about this guy. At the very least, I wanted to know if he was married.

And so my friend said, "Why don't you ask him?"

"Am I crazy? I'd rather die."

"But seriously, ask. If you don't, you'll never know", she said, like it was the most casual thing ever.

Somehow this crazy idea of hers was sounding...not so crazy.

If it flopped, I'd never have to see him again anyway. What was there to lose?

And so I brought out the business card he gave me, prayed for my dear life, and texted.

"Hello Mr. Salil. Is it okay if I ask if you're married?"

"No I'm not married"

Oh my God.

I called my girl and started screaming over the phone.

"What do I do now he's not marrieeeed!"

I won't embarrass myself further with how the rest of the conversation went, but he respectfully admitted that he was with someone else.

So maybe engaged, maybe in a long term relationship, my Salil was taken.

And I wasn't. I was heartbroken.

Now I don't think this is pure love(even though I spent the next couple of months recovering from it).

I never knew the guy. How could I possibly love someone I never knew?

But I fell in love with something. With the idea of him.

I easily created a life with him in my head. I imagined a character and a story and I was head over heels for it.

Knowing that it could or would never happen felt shattering.

That's why I say I believe in love at first sight.

It may not be real love, but it's love.

Have you ever loved someone or something at first sight before? How did it go?

Feel free to reply to this email.

xoxo,

Basirah

The days when my parents would take me and my siblings to our hometown in Ekiti, Nigeria during festive seasons.

We'd get into the green minivan we had at the time, with our large suitcases in the trunk, us kids sitting at the back, and my mum and dad in the front seats.

We always tried to get on the road before sunrise to beat the traffic that could turn our 5-hour breezy road trip into an agonizing day-long drive.

Some days, we beat it, and some, we weren't so lucky.

Besides being stuck in the car for hours, with occasional stops for potty breaks in the bushes, the trips were fun.

My dad always tried to make us as comfortable as possible.

He and my mum would entertain us with stories of their experiences with previous travels, and we got to eat so many roadside snacks we wouldn't normally see in Lagos where we lived.

If nothing else, my siblings and I would play games and nap till we got to our destination.

Spending time in Ekiti, even for just a few days, opened my eyes to life outside what I knew.

The state had somewhat two sides;

the modern side, with stable electricity, internet, clean water, and most other things you'd see in any city,

and then the village.

The city was where we usually arrived at. We'd spend about a night there before going to the village where home and the larger family were.

When I say the village humbles a person, I mean it.

For the first time in my life, I had to use a well.

Throwing the small paint bucket in and then pulling it out with a thick rope, scooping water that's unmistakably brown.

That was what we'd use for everything besides cooking and drinking.

If we wanted it cleaner, we'd put a piece of alum in it so the brown particles settle under and leave clear water at the top.

Pit latrines, outdoor bathrooms with wooden doors, buildings with century-old timber stairs and wide-open windows, nights with cool breezes and mosquitoes, and no internet.

Unless you were an MTN user, which I wasn't at the time.

Life in the village was messy. Messy, but it was fun.

Raw.

Families celebrating together, everybody knowing everybody else on the street,

sharing festive foods, meeting cousins of cousins and the most distant relatives,

rushing out to buy snacks whenever the hawkers passed by because they only came at certain times of the day,

all things that were far from my chill lifestyle in Lagos.

After about a week, we'd then return home feeling refreshed.

Happy to finally have internet and clean water, but not wanting to trade the experience for anything.

Since then, I've been blessed enough to experience more of life outside my home, spending a couple of months in Turkiye and most of my study years in Georgia.

They’ve given me so many stories to tell, but I’ll have to save them for another time.

One thing I’ve learnt from them though, is that the beauty of travel is not in the fancy stuff.

It's not about splurging money and taking pics for insta.

It's about how it expands your perspective in ways that nothing else can.

You see beyond the life you're used to and learn to appreciate the world and people on a different level.

As soon as life permits, the top places I wanna visit are northern and eastern Nigeria. I’m excited to uncover the gems and lessons I’m sure they have to teach.

And you?

If you could travel anywhere in the world right now, all-expense paid, where would you go?

Feel free to reply to this Email.

xoxo,

Basirah

I had spent the previous night at work, taking customer calls and living on coffee.

The last thing I wanted was to wear my groggy eyes to a 2-hour long lecture on pancreatic diseases at 9am.

But my grades matter, don't they? I had missed the class two weeks in a row already.

One I planned to retake at the end of the semester, and the other, counting on the good grace of every other test I'm going to take this semester.

Perhaps it's the coffee I had the previous night, I was somehow sitting wide awake in the middle row of the class, grasping whatever I could from what the lecturer was discussing.

One hour in, it was break time. Time to catch up with friends on Whatsapp and pick up the gist on how they planned to spend Eid the next day.

I sent a voice note to a friend at that point, mentioning how I wanted to stay over at her place that night so we could go to the mosque together in the morning.

Eid prayer here is at 7am. Too early, I know.

Even worse when there are only 3 prayer grounds in the city, all of which are at least 40 minutes away from where you live.

See why it makes sense to call a friend for backup?

As I made the statement on the phone, a guy sitting in front of me turned around with a smile. In a second, he faced forward and was back to whatever he was up to.

Normally, I'd be curious. What did I say that was so interesting?

But I wasn't curious. I knew that smile a little too well. It was the kind of smile I used to have whenever I found someone familiar.

You know when you walk into a room, and everyone there is wearing a blue t-shirt, and you happened to be the only one wearing bright red?

You feel really awkward and start questioning your life decisions. You try not to make it too obvious that you're odd.

But then someone else walks in. Someone else wearing bright red like you.

The excitement you feel when you realize you're not the only odd one in the room? That's what I saw in his smile.

You see, religion is not a commonly discussed topic here.

You'd think it would be normal to ask a random muslim-looking person what their plan for Eid is, but it's not always that simple.

You sometimes have to figure out how important religious practice is to them before deciding to ask about it.

So when you figure out that, like you, this muslim-looking person is actually making a plan for Eid, there's a wave of familiarity that rushes through you. The kind that would make you smile.

Perhaps this is all just in my head, and maybe turning back and smiling was his response to something or someone else, but I can't help but write what it reminds me of.

How little waves of familiarity in a world far away from everything that knows you can put a smile on your face.

You're probably reading this a good number of days after Eid. If you celebrated, what was the highlight of it for you?

Feel free to reply to this email.

xoxo,

Basirah

It seems like a straightforward statement, but to my teenage perfectionistic self,

it didn’t sit so well.

Whenever someone told me something that was bothering them, my immediate reaction would be to give the most reasoned, or rather, calculated advice.

I was a problem solver after all.

A time the lesson really hit me was when I was recently at the receiving end.

My perspective on a lot of things have shifted in the past couple of months,

and subsequently, the decisions I made started changing too.

To no surprise, some people who knew me reached out.

“What’s going on?”, they mostly asked.

I’d be grateful for the gesture and would feel comfortable sharing my thoughts with them.

A couple statements in, however, I’d find myself…constricted.

Each point I made would be countered. Like they came with a tool box to figure out the “problem” I had so they could fix it.

I could feel the sincerity in their words, but somehow, I wanted them to stop.

It reminds me of my younger self.

I’m blessed enough to have a younger brother. One that’s four years younger than me.

My brother is mostly shy, safe to say, a lot more than I was at his age.

I grew to be a lot more confident, and sometimes, I regretted moments where my shyness stopped me from having interesting conversations with people or speaking up for myself when I needed to.

As the sweet older sister that I was, I took it upon myself to make my brother different. “Help him” overcome his shyness.

And I tried the best way I knew how. Talk.

I’d pour down advice on how he should speak up and be confident, pointing at instances where he could do better.

As a quiet one, he’d simply stare at me with those small eyes like mine and wear the awkward smile he always had when he had nothing to say.

Somehow, I took that as a sign to keep talking.

I imagine he felt how I did when I had those conversations.

I didn’t want to be fixed.

At most, I wanted to be heard.

I wanted someone to understand me and be a safe space for me to come to when I did need help.

Getting advice in those moments came off as,

“You’re not capable of thinking well on your own. I know better, so I’ll do that for you.”

Not exactly a nice setup for a good conversation.

I tried to remind myself that it was a show of care, but a part of me felt unsafe and unheard.

And so the chance of me trusting enough to take the advice was…not so high.

To the brother I love so much, I try not to do that anymore.

To the people I care about, I choose to listen more than I speak, because truth be told, they probably need a listening ear much more than another solution to add to their list.

In cases where I feel they might need advice, I’d rather ask first,

“Would you like some advice, or you’d prefer if I just listened?”

That way, I can do and be the best I can for them in the conversations.

The thought to write this struck me while reading Hamda Koya’s Substack.

She wrote so captivatingly, yet she didn’t come off as advising.

It’s like you learned her perspective without feeling the need to defend yours.

I wanna try my best to be that kind of person.

Now I’m wondering,

have you ever had a time where you were getting advice when you’d just rather be heard? How did that make you feel?

Feel free to reply to this email.

xoxo,

Basirah

After sending the letter to you last time about struggling to choose between this newsletter and the podcast,

a friend of mine reached out to me.

She got the letter as well, and from there,

we had a nice conversation about stuff we've been up to.

Somehow, I mentioned to her that I really wasn't sure what to focus on.

I had multiple projects I was working on,

and the last thing I wanted was a burnout from doing too much.

And then she reminded me:

What's the pressure?

Am I really at a point where I need to put all my eggs in one basket?

I enjoy leaving bits of my thoughts on this space,

and sharing reflections from books I read doesn't satisfy me any less.

On some days (like this morning),

my hands will itch to type.

And sometimes, I will find a quote in a book so profound

that keeping it to myself would be criminal.

Should I then plug one pipe in the name of keeping the other flowing,

even though they both fill the same tank?

Maybe one day, choosing one over the other will be my best bet.

But today, I will write and I will speak.

Two days ago around this time,

I wasn't typing.

I was recording the podcast episode,

sharing my reflections on a book that made me feel seen.

I'm glad I didn't let indecisiveness stop me from pulling out my phone

and speaking my heart that morning.

I'm glad I took my friend's advice. Thank you Rozhina.

If you care for some inspiration,

a nice book recommendation,

or you just wanna hear my pretty voice,

feel free to listen to the episode.

The lessons here?

1) Get yourself a Rozhina

2) Don't listen to that indecisive voice in your head

especially when it stops you from taking action.

Now I wanna know,

is there something you've been indecisive about lately?

Feel free to reply to this email.

xoxo,

Basirah

Or a bed potato rather.

Maybe it’s insomnia or something,

I get tired during the day and usually end up staying indoors till I have to go to class or work.

But tonight, I was craving ice cream(kinda deserved it after a thirsty day),

so I grabbed an umbrella and threw myself into the rain pouring outside.

Off to Dunkin.

Got myself a Nutella doughnut(not Ice cream, I know. Judge me not.),

and took a seat at the center of the room.

Perfect mood to go through my email.

I read through Nurain Takuma’s weekly newsletter and was getting into Lady Soteria’s when it occurred to me to write this.

I’ve been struggling to decide between keeping the podcast and running this newsletter.

I didn’t want to be a quitter but so much has changed since I started the podcast,

and writing is starting to feel more and more appealing.

(or maybe I’m just being lazy about recording the episodes idk.)

I guess this letter is to let you know how things have been with me and the podcast.

We’re still here together though.

You can expect more of me sliding into your mail randomly.

Also I’d love to know,

how have you been too? Feel free to reply to this email.

xoxo,

Basirah

Ahh Those Girls.

The ones you feel like you've spent a lifetime with, growing up together in the same neighborhood and attending the same secondary school. You've created dreams of becoming millionaire doctors and travelling the world together, having babies on the same day and calling them triplets lol. Memories.

Finally, you spot them at the corner of the room. There's Grace, sitting with her legs crossed and subtly smiling at you as you walk over, and Amina waving at you with a beaming face to make sure you found them. At last, after four years of being away from one another, you meet again.

Your Stories Aren't the Same Anymore

You’re a medical student crossing over to fifth year, on the path to fulfilling the dream you all had.

Grace, unlike you, couldn't get into medical school. Instead, she went abroad to study Aquaculture and Marine Science, and is in her final year.

Amina, as well, isn't pushing through Medicine like you. She got into business administration and has bagged her bachelor's degree from a different university on the other side of the country.

It's fine though. You may not have the same career path, but there are still a million things you can talk about.

Or Is It Not?

You've ordered some drinks and are chatting away. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like it used to. You're thinking of how to grind through medical school, then move on to residency to finally practice in the clinic. Grace and Amina, however, are speaking different tunes.

Grace has decided to leave the sciences as soon as she graduates to pursue an importation business. Amina has gotten an internship as a human resources manager, and is looking to settle down with her fiancé.

You're happy that they've chosen paths for themselves, but you can't help but think,

"How did we all change so much?"

As much as you would like to share your struggles and joys as a medical student with them, they don't seem to relate anymore, or as you dreamed they would. The worlds they entered four years ago has shaped them in ways you can only get a glimpse of.

They've met people you've never met, dealt with struggles you haven't dreamed of, heck Grace even picked up a new accent!

They've grown into different (maybe better) people, and so have you.

And It's Not Such a Bad Thing.

You may not relate with a lot of things, but the different experiences and persons they bring to the friendship is enriching. You can share your struggles with them and they'll show you insights that beautify the perspective you already have.

And guess what. You can do the same with them.

They may not be the same girls you used to walk back home from school with or play doctor and have dreams with, but they chose to show up at the restaurant in hopes to rekindle the friendship you once had.

They've changed, you've changed, and that, my friend, is a beautiful thing.

Even the classes you take or books you read for school or work seem like a chore. "Lemme just get through it so I can pass this exam and finally binge watch the drama I've been eyeing.", you must've thought.

But is that all what learning is about? Surely, If knowledge is truly "key", then there must be more to it.

You're right. There is.

But I'm not going to sit here and tell you how your forefathers became leaders because they stuck to their books, or how your greatest potential is in facing your studies(not even close).

What's all this fuss about then?

I truly believe that widely exposing yourself to information that makes you better and keeps your brain moving is the key to making the most out of yourself.

Take for example, you want cake. The problem is, you can't bake. You have a few options:

1. Accept that you can't get a cake, so you sit at home with your videogames and eat chips or something

2. Find someone who sells and buy from the person. Might be expensive and makes you dependent on the person every time you want cake, but problem solved.

3. Go on the internet, learn how to bake one, bake, eat, and have the knowledge to use whenever you need it.

Case 1: No progress. You're the same person as who you were before you thought of cake.

Case 2: A bit of progress. You learned where to get cake and made it easier to get next time. The downside is that you getting cake now depends on whether or not the baker is available to bake or sell to you.

Case 3: Growth. You put some effort into learning and practicing to bake in the beginning. Next time, it's much easier. Plus, you eating cake now depends on whether or not YOU want to bake, not on what you don't know, or what another person decides.

See what I'm getting at?

Knowledge sets you free. In a million ways than one in fact.

When you learn, you rely less on others for things you want and you become more confident in the choices you make. You rely less on other people's way of thinking and become more equipped to make rational, growth oriented decisions.

Now that we've gotten that clear

How do you build this habit of learning?

1. Find Something That Interests YOU

We often see learning as a chore because what we're learning doesn't interest us much, or we can't think of practical ways to apply the information.

Two solutions to this; learn something that interests you or develop interest in the thing you're learning.

For something that interests you, ask yourself; what thing(s) do you have questions about? What is bothering you now that you want to solve? Is it about your course mate/coworker that you admire and want to be like? Or customers that keep leaving your messages on read and you want to learn to hook them and make sales?

Start from there. You'd be surprised how much better you become by solving those problems, rather than looking for easy answers.

For developing interest in the thing you're learning, this could be school work that you don't enjoy or a skill you know is valuable, but you don't really fancy. Think of ways you can apply them in real life, and if possible, do so.

More on this later on.

2. Use Whatever Medium You're Comfortable With

So you've chosen what you want answers to, or what you want to get better at, but you hate sitting with a boring book for hours. Guess what? You don't have to.

Yup. You don't have to sit with a 500-page book if you don't want to. If podcasts are too loud, pick something else. If physical classes bore you, find an alternative.

There are so many ways to learn things and if one medium doesn't suit you, you don't have to stick to it. I personally enjoy books, talk videos and podcasts(also why I started one), but if you prefer animations or physical classes, feel free. As long as you're learning and growing, keep going.

3. Make It As SIMPLE As Possible

Now you've figured out what to learn and how to learn it. But there are so many steps you have to take, and you barely have time. It's too difficult.

Wrong. You only think so because you're trying to grasp everything at once and not looking at the big picture.

There's a reason undergraduate studies takes 4 years, and not a week, or a month. Even if in a million chances, a person can complete the entire course in a month, it's not practical for most people. Instead, it's broken down into years, then semesters, then weeks, then days, then hours.

So when you're thinking of your program, it's "What do I have next hour or next period?", not "What do I have after this huge chunk of undergrad?".

The key? Break. It. Down.

If a one-hour long Youtube Video is too long, Start with 10 minutes everyday. If that's a stretch, then every other day. If it's a 300-page book, start with one page a day.

 Make it as simple as possible. Forget about the big chunk and focus on the little you have to do today. At a point, it either becomes a habit or the progress you've made fuels you to keep going.

4. Find Ways To Apply It

You're flowing really well with your reading routine, or the daily podcasts have become a part of you. Now what?

Possibly the most important step is applying what you know. It brings your knowledge to life and gives you insights and understanding that simply absorbing information cannot give you.

 If you're reading a book on business for example, rather than passively memorizing, you can think of a company or small business owner that you know, and how the information can apply to them. Or better still, join/start a small business and experiment with the ideas.

A smaller example would be communication. If you're reading a book or watching videos on how to start conversations, you can practice that whenever you meet someone new.

You get to understand how the knowledge applies to real-life situations, and you develop a personalized way of doing that thing. Plus, it makes what you learn stick better and become a part of you.

5. Teach It To Someone

It's probably most satisfying when you learn something, apply it to gain better understanding, then teach it to someone else to make their lives better. There could be someone that's where you once were and is struggling with an issue that you once faced. Perhaps the bit of information you share will change their lives for good.

It doesn't have to be a huge masterclass or some seminar or something. It could be to a friend or a family member. You can create this cycle of learning to teach, and teaching to learn, and that's beautiful.

That's why I share on The Booketeer Podcast some of the lessons I learn from books and have had experiences with, hopefully to inspire others to learn as widely as they can and try to better themselves.

Now tell me, what steps will you take to learn? And how will you use that to improve yourself and others?

Btw, you can subscribe to this newsletter to gets bites of lessons and reflections throughout my week, or to simply stay in touch. It’s free, and each letter contains interesting nuggets that you can grow from. See you there!

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