I grew up learning how to endure before I ever learned how to dream.
In our small house, silence often spoke louder than words. It wasn't the peaceful kind of silence, but the heavy one that sat in the chest and made breathing feel like work. My family struggled, not just with money, but with love, understanding, and patience. Every day felt like survival, and every night ended with the same prayer on my lips, There must be more to life than this.
I was not lazy. I was not careless. I was simply tired.
Tired of watching my mother age too quickly from worry.
Tired of arguments that never ended.
Tired of feeling trapped in a life that was shrinking instead of growing.
Education became my escape. Books were the only place where the world felt bigger than my problems. While others dreamed of marriage or comfort, I dreamed of leaving. Leaving the country. Leaving the pain. Leaving the version of myself that had learned to accept suffering as normal.
When the opportunity to apply for a student visa abroad appeared, it felt unreal, like a door opening in a wall I had always believed was solid. I didn't tell many people. Dreams were fragile, and I had learned early that too many voices could crush them.
The process was not easy. Rejections hovered like shadows. Money was scarce. Fear followed me everywhere. But something inside me refused to give up.
And then, one ordinary morning, everything changed.
My visa was approved.
I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, holding the paper with trembling hands. My heart raced with excitement and terror. I was finally leaving, but I was also stepping into the unknown. I would be alone. No family. No safety net. Just hope and determination.
The day I left Nigeria, my chest felt tight. I looked back at everything I was leaving behind and whispered goodbye to a life that had almost broken me.
Abroad was nothing like I imagined.
Life did not suddenly become soft or kind. It became harder.
I worked long hours, sometimes two jobs, and still attended classes. My body was always exhausted, my mind always racing. There were days I skipped meals to save money. Nights I cried quietly so my roommates wouldn't hear. Loneliness wrapped around me like cold air, constant and unforgiving.
Still, I held on.
Because I believed this suffering had a purpose.
It was in that season of exhaustion and quiet despair that I met him.
Not as a miracle.
Not as a savior.
Just another soul trying to survive.
We met in the most ordinary way, yet something about him felt familiar. He understood struggle without explanation. We spoke about dreams, disappointments, and the fear of becoming nothing. Slowly, friendship turned into comfort, and comfort into something deeper.
Love did not arrive loudly. It crept in gently, like warmth after a long cold night.
For the first time in a long while, I felt seen.
I did not know then that love would become my greatest strength—and my deepest wound.
Because the choices we were about to make would change everything.