I stared at my man, rapidly blinking my eyes as those words fell from his lips. That was what he had to say in response to the multiple break downs I had had in less than a week.

He hadn't meant for it to be unkind — not that I found it to be. But it struck something in me — my life genuinely sucked. In fact, life made it a point to throw lemons, rotten apples and prickly plants at me. What can I even do with those?

The life I wanted and the life I was given were like the two branches of the letter 'Y'. You'd note that they have a common denominator — but how do I forge both into something I'd be proud of?

Sometimes, I wonder if I do have the grit I tend to hide behind. I wonder if life hasn't dealt me a lasting one with all that ails me. I have so many questions.

How do I reconcile being neurodivergent with being a Nigerian?

Did I by any chance become dyslexic or have I always been dyslexic?

Why does my body want to shed itself of my soul at the slightest chance?

Every time I have decided to venture into nerve wrecking research, something reminds me that the only curse I have to break free from is that of being a Nigerian. Today, it's the general power outage that makes the most hardworking Nigerian unproductive.

I see my neurodivergent powers being unlocked the moment I get a blue passport, or whatever colour there is.

I see the churning wheels in my head coming to a stop immediately that email arrives in my folder.

I can feel the constant, random skin prickling dig into my bones for the last time.

In writing this, I've figured something out. I just want to eat hot okpa in a foreign land.