the musings of this nigerian gal

…heartbreaks are blue

The first Valentine’s Day gift I received was in SS 2, from a sweet gal who sat in front of me.

It was an impromptu thing. “I think we should be each other’s Val.” I received a necklace that I wore till it faded. It was my first and only valentine’s day gift.

I never minded much. I was content with pouring my longings into every stanza of my poems.

I never thought that I would mind. That I would feel the pressure before I found the one who would claim me.

I never thought. I never expected. And yet that was what happened.

I know what exactly was the causative factor that stirred the frustrating, melancholic feelings that plagued me for days. I know the exact place and time.

I had been viewing the statuses of the people on my CL when I stumbled into his. The guy who served me heartbreak many months back.

Now here’s the thing. I have forgiven him. I believed I have moved on. I don’t want him back. I see no future with him.

And yet when I saw a picture on his status that implied that he had moved on — with someone else — I felt this unbelief.

When the hurt was still raging in my heart, I had consoled myself with a picture of me serving him my wedding IV — oh my lands, this sounds so silly 😹 — and even after I forgave him and moved on, some part of me still held on to that image as a form of consolation.

When I saw the picture, I felt left behind. I felt like God should have dealt me the better hand. He should be the one viewing my status and feeling what I was feeling.

I felt disjointed.

In that feeling of uncertainty, I cried out to God. Pled my case. Called him to bar, asking him to defend why I have never been shown love. Why no one around me knew how to love me like I wanted. I was like, a simple letter won’t be bad. Just something.

And after hearing all my rants, the Holy Spirit replied, “you want a love letter from your loved ones? Why don’t you write them first?”

At first, the idea of writing love letters had merit but I soon became dissatisfied. I wanted to be loved, not just love. I have spent so many minutes of my life loving others. I wanted to be at the receiving end of one. I wanted to be the poem and not the poet.

Earlier this month — I believe it was this month — I read a novella where the guy was so spent. He had seen horrors. He had experienced so much grief. His love tank was low. He felt empty. So he went to meet his Pastor and after pouring out his heart, his Pastor responded with, “give”.

Like this guy, I could hardly believe my ears. What do you mean give from my emptiness? What do you mean I should love first rather than seek to be loved?

Even though I thought of not completing these love letters, I did finish them all. Even though I wanted to send it before Valentine’s Day, to get it done and over with, I somehow managed to wait till 9 am, February 14.

The response I got was beyond my expectations.

Just like the Holy Spirit knew, I felt satisfied with love.

My heart was full. My joy poured out of my lips in laughter. And it wasn’t just because I got to hear, “I love you too” in response.

No, my pleasure came from seeing how much my love meant to them.

I am loved. I am valued. I am seen. I am cherished.

In loving first, in stretching forth the hand of love, I got reminded of this.

Like the character, I found out that my counselor does actually know what he is talking about.