I.

It is December 2025. I begin writing this in a state of brokenness.

My perfume, red-bottled and scenting of roses and Oud, fell to the floor and broke. I imagine this is what heartbreak feels like, an unceremonious dropping to the point of irredeemable breakage. I have become philosophical about the broken pieces of glass on the floor. I am also looking at it from a purely economic standpoint. Who gave a perfume I saved so hard to buy the audacity to break? Who?

I soak up the scent from the floor and walk past the shattered glass. My Bolt is waiting outside. I am going house hunting, which, dear people of God, is the sure recipe for madness. I enter the car and I hear a tear. The jeans I was wearing just ripped. I wish this was fiction. Brethren, I wore it like that and went to meet the house agent waiting for me because I was done with life and its treacherous surprises or maybe it's because I am Gen Z and a small rip on my ass should not hurt anyone. Or maybe I was just done.

II.

There was a breaking, tearing and ripping apart that coloured my 2025, and by God I hope it never repeats itself again. I was proof that you can function and not die, even though a million things are trying to kill you. I woke up each day and I brought all of myself with me, not in a good way. I woke every day and the Roseline you encountered, however piecemeal, inadequate, small, happy, kind, or rude, was all of her. I was operating like a person who had no base, no reserve. I sometimes wished to be swept away, and this is so crazy because in 2024, a couple I really respect prayed for me and their exact prayer was, "Roseline, you will never be swept away." They must have preempted that something was going to attempt to ruthlessly sweep me away, and they sought to avert it. The people who have full context will understand.

III.

2025 was the year I understood what the Bible meant by groanings that cannot be uttered. There was so much going on, too much even. I wanted to do a 2025 video dump and ninety percent were videos of me weeping grown woman tears. I see those videos and I look at my Instagram and I laugh. My bio reads: Mantra, Romanticize your life. I am fantastic at highlighting the little things, of mining goodness from the cracks of tragedy, of making goodness, laughter, beauty and aesthetics the centre piece. I am a master at carrying on and dragging joy and curating the beautiful percentages of my life into admirable, happy and aspirational pieces.

I told one of my closest friends that I feel like a mascot sometimes, like a fraud, that I like to share but it's unfair to mostly share palatable things. She said I do not owe people on the internet the interiorities of my life or the gory realities of it. That I can share as much or as little as I bloody want. I agree.

Truth is, I don't pretend to find joy in the mundane. Truly, the little things bring me joy and I can be so squeaky and cheesy and warm, but I can admit that on some days I lose myself trying to not look like what I am going through. On some days I am anxious about the smell of my troubles, I panic that someone can sniff it on me. I am pretending not to be falling apart in my own house and in my workplace. I fake a smile. I finish that document, I schedule that meeting, I say yes to things even when I would rather not be existing. I pretend to be easygoing in moments when I don't want to go anywhere and I want to simply say my mind. I do not know how to ask for help or demand for things, so I simply swallow my discomfort.

IV.

I am spiralling, but what I am trying to say is that I love life. I really love life. I don't know that I love all of my life at this moment but I know I want to be alive. I am not suicidal in any potent way. I just had a year where I was tired of being. I wanted to be human because it was animalistic and damn right banal, the mental and physical load I had to carry and dispel. I just had a year where I had to fight to be grateful. There were big wins, you know. I didn't fail the bar. I am a whole lawyer now. I became a published author. My chapbook, A Body In Spice sold out almost immediately. But the challenges, my God. One day, when there is complete victory, I will write about it.

V.

2025 also taught me not to blame people who offer advice based on what they know and the context they understand. I had someone tell me I was always focusing on my losses and the bad instead of celebrating my current wins. I told them they had a point and I still believe they do, but thinking deeply about it, nobody who knew about my challenges, anxieties, concerns and trauma would frame it as focusing on my losses, Nobody! So until people actually run a mile in your shoes, advice will flow like water. Take what you can, do not internalise the rest.

VI.

In 2026, I want deeply rooted victories, not fleeting accomplishments. I am also trying, in this new quarter, to take responsibility for my own joy and happiness. My 25th birthday taught me that. I don't know whether it is the societal rave surrounding 25 and how it means you are a whole adult now, or that for the first time in a long time I thought it was okay to have some expectation from people you are getting to know, that kind of failed but…

See, I feel like this whole 25 deconstruction is so personal and most of it has already happened in my journal and may happen in another blog post. But I had a lovely time with my friends, and they were people who actually went out of their way to remind me of the love and light that I am, to show with words and gifts what it feels like to be treasured and acknowledged. You see, if they wanted to, they would. That is another mantra I live by. Nobody who cares enough will be flimsy or dismissive about a day that matters to you. Please look for love in the arms of people whose love is sure. Please. And do not ever exaggerate your place in people's lives. I am begging you, because I can tell you firsthand that it is a recipe for heartbreak. I feel wise and seasoned now, as the 25-year-old that I so gloriously am. I feel like I know so much about life at this age, but I am also aware that I know very little, there is still so much to learn, so many mistakes to make.

My biggest advice for anyone turning 25 is this: please know that it is literally just another glorious year, but also it is very special. Make of that day what you want. Don't leave it in anybody's hands. You are responsible for your own joy. Save and spoil yourself. Sleep in and watch a movie if that is what you want. Just do something that makes you happy.

VII.

Finally, 2025 really taught me that even when I come undone, I cannot be fully done. It taught me that I don't know how to give up. Done is a word that will call me a weakling and a liar and win. I carry on, I live, I do things. My heart and brain is full of ingenious ideas. I am a very blessed, very gifted individual. Something about my destiny, about my walk here on earth, is too precious to be cut short.

My relationship with God has been rocky, there are many things I do not understand, many unanswered questions, many valid fights between faith and logic, many unfulfilled promises, divine heartaches and church hurt. I am tired of 'suddenly,' of the kind of eleventh-hour blessings and miracles that came right at the brink of my catastrophe. So I say, God, if you already have the solutions I seek, why are you allowing my agony? I have told God that there are less debilitating ways to teach me how to trust him. You don't have to bring little Miss Independent to her knees to get her to know that she should turn to you. In all of this, I still believe. It is nonsensical that I still believe, but I do. Much of my help has come from God. Psalm 121 is a scripture that has now become an anchor. God has sent me people, created opportunities for me, delivered me from sticky situations, and saved me from death. I believe so much in the spiritual. Nobody can convince me that there is no God. I prefer to keep wrestling with the faith, than to have no faith all. 

VIII.

I should stop here now. Shout out to my friends, all of you. God sent you people to me. It is not ordinary to have people who feel my ache, even before my mouth can express it, even before my body can articulate it. You know yourselves and if you are reading this, thank you for being balm. I am forever moved that you love me. That love has carried me into 2026.

Ps: all typos belong to my alter ego. Can never be me!

Images by Noels_insight

If this blog post is magically up today, only three days after I met Pelumi Nubi, it’s because, as opposed to putting the writing of this post in a future to-do list, I decided to just write it. Pelumi said action is better than perfection, and if the first woman in the world to drive solo from London to Lagos is telling me to just do the thing and not overthink it, then I better listen.

The invite for this gathering read “A Table For More.” Pelumi designed it for women seeking more: courage, connection and real conversation. I went because I am always excited to be around women, and I wanted to meet this woman who has shown with her own life that it is possible to see the world on your terms. I wanted to meet this person who truly believes impossible is nothing, this woman who has experienced different cultures, people and places while still owning all of her roots.

The invite also read, Dress code: Elegant and Chic. You won’t believe it, but I went on Google to really understand the meaning of chic and elegant. I was getting nervous thinking about what to wear, and as flimsy as this may sound, it was almost grounds for me not to go. I first thought, even if I put together something from my closet, what will I wear on my feet? I wear a size 47 or 48 depending on the type of shoes, so getting pretty shoes is always a hassle for me. I simply do not own shoes that are made for the girlies in mind. I decided to just wear white sneakers or slides because a gathering of people that would mock shoes is not the kind of gathering I imagine Pelumi Nubi would attract. I have followed her since COVID and I could feel her authenticity, joy, grit and grace from my screen.

Anyway, I wore this light blue Ankara jumpsuit with dark brown patterns on it. I paired it with a white shirt, white sneakers and my mother’s gold jewellery and suddenly, I felt like a fashionista.

I got there and, from the entrance, I knew I had just stepped into an event curated with so much intention. It was the way the security conducted themselves, the way the staff welcomed me. I walked into the Onomo Allure restaurant, and the soft music, lighting, arrangement, brown aesthetic and overall Africanness of the space completely floored me.

I see Pelumi sitting in her radiant pink and orange bubu, the embroidery at the top of her bubu is art. Her earrings looked like an Adinkra symbol. I was not sure, but I was too enamoured to ask where they were from or if she knew what it signified. She is smiling at me as I hug Yvonne, this amazing writer friend I have known only online for years. I don’t know how long it would have taken for us to meet in person, because we didn’t even know we lived in the same city.

Image by Noels_insight

Pelumi’s aura is warm, vibrant and illuminating. It’s a vibe that sees through you but also puts you at ease. She took us to the poolside for a chat, while more amazing women arrived. Pelumi asked us to introduce ourselves. She is very mindful of the push and pull in the room, very intentional about everybody’s needs and opinions.

I am listening to women from all walks of life introduce themselves and be vulnerable. I am also very moved by the beauty in the room. The gathering had not even fully started, but I knew then, in that round of intros, that I was meant to be there at that time. Nothing else could have felt the way being in that room felt.

At this time, drinks were coming out, a glass here, a glass there. There was a handsome Chef who was sadly not on the menu. His name is Chef Bien. I gave myself a pat on the back when I asked if bien meant good, and he said yes. I should be better at my French as a WAEC A1 French student and a proud cutter of multiple Duolingo streaks, but here we are.

Chef Bien is evidently good with his hands because he served us Ewa Agoyin with chilli pepper and some kind of crust and it was spicy. I am sure he gave it a more fancy name, but as you can guess, I was carried away by other sizzling issues. 

In the company of these eleven women were tears, laughter, love, and a genuine interest in everyone’s faces as a sister spoke her truth and another arranged her words. We were twelve women on that table. Pelumi said she was intentional about that number. And twelve, according to divine knowledge, signifies completeness, a kind of discipleship, a number that says “Here is this mantle, here is a wing, here is a foundation, run with it!”

I was blessed by everyone’s honesty, how it was clear that this gathering was no mistake and we were leaving with more. I mean, look at me, my last blog post was 5th January 2024. More than a year ago, but here I am writing my way through, because I needed to get out of my own way and just document this wholesome experience. It’s honestly a win in my books.

From talking to everyone, I may have some material for a nature essay I am working on. I don’t feel motivated in the glossy motivational speaker way. I just feel prompted to do, moved to try. I feel assured that even though life is unpredictable, I am not running out of time. I am not too young or old to reinvent myself. I feel like life is a gift and, in Pelumi’s words, “Take action on the things you want to do.” 

On that table with Pelumi was Yvonne, whose lovely trousers and petal earrings I must steal and whose hair had me wishing I could grow mine out for a day. Yvonne, who I think is as stunning as her poetry and who had the most charming smile.

There was Emmanuella, whose pink kimono and Bantu-style hair made me squeal in aesthetic delight. Emmanuella, who I consider incredibly gifted and hardworking. Emmanuella, whose documenting put us at ease because we felt adequately photographed and knew we would revel the evening through her lens. 

There was Nwamaka, whose dress had red flowers on them—flowers that looked like roses. Nwamaka, whose powerful tattoo warmed my Igbo heart because it read “Onye kwe, chi ya ekwe” which loosely translates to “When a person agrees, their god agrees too” or “When a person says yes, their personal spirit says yes too” it reminded me that my success or failure is not just about fate, but also about personal actions, choices and determination. That I can be the architect of my own misfortune or I can be determined and committed, and my  chi will support me.

There was Zoe, who had an aura of peace, power and gentleness. Zoe, whose beauty was just refreshing to witness. Zoe, whose first impression for me was a woman who listens and sees, so I was not surprised to learn about her podcast, Matters of the Heart. She is a woman with depth!

Then there was Abigail, who I consider such a force, a woman who is incredibly brilliant, and knows how to own a room. Abigail, whose pointy black shoes and lovely black dress were both chic and elegant. Abigail, who put law and coding in the same sentence and it did not sound impossible. Abigail, whose voice I consider very lush.

There was Jane, who was to me a quiet wonder, beautiful in an ephemeral way. Jane, who gave me major builder vibes. A woman who knows how to make awe tangible. A woman who loves to see and does not waste the sight. A woman who is precious about vision and does heartwork.

There was Asesosa, whose dress was as colourful and stunning as I perceive her heart and person to be. Asesosa, who embodies such a pristine brand of courage. Asesosa who was a delight, who felt to me like a woman whose presence is balm, Asesosa, who I consider such an ebony queen!

There was Salome, who has a strength to her that I can’t fully articulate in words. Salome, who is gorgeous in a very intercontinental way. You know when beauty transcends. Salome, who I just perceive is a creative genius in all the ways that matter.

There was Rukayat, whose cowrie-beaded locs I find very stunning. Rukayat, who has a kind of defiance—one that I suspect has held her through both hard and thrilling days. Rukayat, whose entire demeanour is a masterclass on the beauty of wearing one’s heart on their sleeve. Rukayat, who I can now trust with my taste buds because she shares my sentiment on avocado and is owing me an avocado powder recipe!

Then there is Gladys, who has a full laugh. Gladys of good joy. Gladys, whose energy and animation is contagious. Gladys, whose leopard print heels and locs complement each other like slay. Gladys, whose face card I consider timeless. Gladys, who drove through the night to drop me and some other women off at home. Gladys, whose kindness I will not forget for a very long time.

I should stop here, but my whole heart of gratitude to Pelumi Nubi for being the catalyst for this very transformative gathering, for affording me the chance to meet these amazing community of women, for sharing so honestly her heart and intellect, for showing very clearly with her own life that the limits and boxes don’t exist. May life always be kind to her and hers.

Amen.

Ps: All typos & punctuation errors belong to my alter ago, she writes mostly at night and hates editing her own stuff.