Praizee Damx. (2025)

13/01/2025

My Ex Boyfriend series

I swear, this life is a Nollywood scriptwriter’s playground 😭. Imagine me— a simple student being rushed to the hospital half-conscious, only to open my eyes and see… My Ex Boyfriend. Not as a fellow patient o, but as the doctor assigned to me.

Let me start from the beginning because my chest is still paining me 😩😩.

I had fainted in class( and we don't use to faint in our family oooo 😭😭) —overwork, stress, who knows? I was rushed to the hospital half-conscious. I only started gaining awareness when they were setting an IV line. I couldn’t open my eyes properly, but I knew something was off. I heard a voice. That voice.

“Dammy, you’re awake,” the voice said.

No. It can’t be. I’m probably hallucinating, I thought. But when I opened my eyes fully and looked at his face, my chest tightened. It was him. My Ex Boyfriend. He wasn’t even wearing his lab coat properly—it was draped over his shoulders like he was auditioning for Grey’s Anatomy( leave me alone ooo, I'll sha say what I saw).

I wanted to faint all over again. Why is this man here? Where are all the other doctors? Where are the nurses? Why is he the one setting my IV line?

The real madness started later when I was feeling a bit better. He came back into the room with a nurse and said, “We need to give you an injection.”

My heart dropped. I’m not even scared of injections, but the thought of him holding a needle near my body was too much. And to make it worse, the nurse handed him the syringe and walked out.

I just sat there, staring at him like, You’re not serious 🥴.

“Lie on your side,” he said, his face blank like he wasn’t my ex who used to argue with me about long nails and weaves.

“Lie how?” I asked, already feeling hot with embarrassment.

“Dammy, don’t make this difficult. You need this injection.”

Ah, God, why me? I don’t want to turn my bu**um to this man. What kind of humiliation is this?

After a long back-and-forth of awkward stares, I finally turned, but you best believe I didn’t make it easy for him. Every time he moved closer, I’d flinch. When he finally gave the injection, I hissed so loudly that even the patients in the next room probably heard me 😩.

Now, normally, when you’re in the hospital, you ask questions. You ask the doctor, “What’s wrong with me? What are you treating me for?” But how do I ask my ex-boyfriend?

I wasn’t about to start a conversation with him. No way. But I was dying to know what was wrong with me. My curiosity was eating me alive. I tried asking the nurses, but all they’d say was, “The doctor in charge of you will explain.”

Who sent me to have an ex-boyfriend that’s now a doctor?

By the second day, I was convinced that this hospital was playing a cruel joke on me. Other doctors had started their shifts, but for some reason, My Ex Boyfriend was still assigned to me.

Why? Why is he still here? Isn’t there a rule that says exes shouldn’t treat each other? I’m sure that’s somewhere in the medical ethics handbook( I just know there must be something like that 😩).

I tried everything to avoid him. I’d pretend to be asleep when he walked in. I even asked one of the nurses if I could be reassigned to another doctor. The nurse just laughed and said, “He’s one of the best doctors here. You’re in good hands.”

Good hands? These hands? The same hands that used to scroll through Instagram and over-compliment every influencer with a fat ass and big b***s? God, why me?

On the second night, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I pretended I needed to use the bathroom, but instead of coming back, I found a quiet corner in the hospital and sat there. I didn’t even take my phone because I didn’t want them to call me.

I just wanted to sit in peace, far away from him.

But my peace didn’t last long. The nurses found me after a while. Apparently, my temperature was rising again, and I wasn’t supposed to be walking around. They wheeled me back on a stretcher, and guess who was waiting for me when I got back? My Ex Boyfriend.

He crossed his arms and said, “Dammy, what are you doing?”

I ignored him. I didn’t have the energy to argue. But the way he smirked, you’d think he’d won a competition.

By the third day, I was convinced he was doing this on purpose. There were other doctors in the hospital, so why was he still attending to me? Was he trying to prove a point?

Every time he walked into my room, I’d roll my eyes so hard, I’m surprised they didn’t fall out of my head. And every time he’d say, “Dammy, don’t make this difficult,” I’d hiss under my breath.

The worst part? He wasn’t even a bad doctor. He was actually good at his job, which only made it harder for me to hate him properly.

On the evening of the third day, he came into my room and said, “You’re improving. You might be discharged tomorrow.”

I should have been happy, but instead, I was annoyed. This man had seen me at my weakest—half-conscious, struggling with fever, and now I had to see his face one last time before leaving?

As he was writing something in my file, I muttered, “I hope this is the last time I’ll ever see you.”

He looked up and smirked. “We’ll see.”

Ah, this life.

So here I am, three days later, finally discharged but still recovering from the emotional trauma of being treated by My Ex Boyfriend. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: avoid your exes at all costs, especially if they’re doctors.

Because trust me, there’s nothing more awkward than turning your bu**um to someone you broke up with.

11/01/2025

My Ex Boyfriend series

It was one of those mornings where I had to choose between enduring a day of discomfort or risking my grades. My period arrived with full force that morning, and the cramps were wicked—sharp, twisting pains that refused to give me peace. Usually, I’d just curl up in bed with a hot water bottle, but this wasn’t one of those days. I couldn’t miss class.

The professor was strict with attendance, and his classes were directly linked to your exam performance. Missing a lecture was like signing your academic doom. Plus, psychophysiology was a restricted elective for physiotherapy students, meaning their GP was also depended on it too. My ex-boyfriend and his coursemates had to attend, just like I did.

I’d already calculated my game plan: show up, sit quietly at the back, endure the pain, and rush home as soon as the class ended. Simple enough, right?

By the time I arrived, the lecture hall was buzzing. The physiotherapy students were easy to spot—they were seated in one corner, probably discussing a course or whatever. I quietly found a seat at the back, dropped my bag, and settled into an uncomfortable position, hoping the painkillers I took earlier would kick in soon.

I had barely opened my notebook when I spotted him—my ex-boyfriend. He walked in with a few of his colleagues, chatting like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Now, let me tell you something about him. He had this annoying way of always noticing me in a crowd, no matter how hard I tried to blend in. And today was no different. Our eyes met briefly, and I quickly looked away, pretending I hadn’t seen him.

I thought that was the end of it, but no. Minutes later, I heard his voice behind me.

“Dammy,” he said, sliding into the seat next to mine like it was his birthright.

I turned slightly and forced a smile. “Hi.”

“You didn’t even greet me,” he said, leaning back like he owned the place. “Are you okay? You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine,” I replied quickly, avoiding his gaze.

He raised an eyebrow. “Fine? You look like someone who just ran ten kilometers. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, flipping through my notes to look busy. “Just tired.”

He didn’t buy it, of course. He never did. “You’re holding your stomach( I didn't even noticed I was doing that till he pointed my attention to it). Did you eat something bad?”

I sighed. “No, I didn’t eat anything bad. Can we just focus on the class?”

He studied me for a moment, his expression softening. “Are you sure it’s not…you know, your period?”

I almost choked. I turned to him, my voice a little sharper than I intended. “It’s not. I don’t know why you’re so interested.”

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Because I know you, Dammy. And this is exactly how you act when you’re on your period.”

I shook my head, irritated but determined to stick to my story. “It’s not that. Stop assuming things.”

He shrugged, but his expression said he didn’t believe me. I turned back to my notes, hoping he’d drop the conversation.

The lecture finally started, and I tried to focus, but the cramps weren’t letting me. Sitting upright was a struggle, and every few minutes, I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position.

My ex, of course, noticed everything. He leaned toward me at one point, whispering, “You’re not even writing, and you always write; Are you sure you’re okay?”

I clenched my teeth. “I’m fine. Can you focus on the lecture?, do you want this Baba to send us out?"

Instead of replying, he slid a water bottle onto my desk. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

I shot him a look but didn’t say anything. The professor was already glaring at us for whispering, and I didn’t want to draw more attention.

When the lecture ended, I tried to slip out quietly, but my ex followed me like a shadow.

“Dammy, wait,” he called, catching up with me.

I stopped reluctantly, turning to face him. “What now?”

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” he said, standing too close for my liking. “What’s wrong? You’ve been off since morning.”

I sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Nothing is wrong. I told you, I’m just tired.”

“You’re tired, but you’re sweating and holding your stomach,” he said, crossing his arms. “Stop lying. What’s really going on?”

“ do you even care?” I asked, exasperated.

“Because you look like you’re about to faint,” he replied. “Do you want me to take you to the clinic?”

“No!” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I don’t need to go to the clinic. I’ll be fine.”

He frowned, clearly not convinced. “At least eat something then. You can’t just keep pushing yourself like this.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, starting to walk away. “I just need to get home and rest.”

Instead of leaving me alone, he followed me to the cafeteria. I wanted to tell him to go away, but I didn’t have the energy to argue. I sat at a corner table, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.

But no. He came back a few minutes later with a steaming cup of tea and a pack of biscuits.

“Ginger tea,” he said, placing it in front of me. “It helps with stomach issues.”

I stared at the tea, then at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you clearly need it,” he said, sitting across from me.

“I don’t,” I replied, pushing the tea aside. “But thanks for the thought.”

“You’re so stubborn,” he said, shaking his head. “Just drink the tea, Dammy. It won’t kill you.”

I sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to back down. I took a sip, and to my surprise after a while, it actually helped a little. Not that I’d ever admit it.

He sat there watching me like he’d just solved a puzzle. “You’re welcome,” he said after a while.

“For what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“For saving you from yourself,” he replied, smirking.

I rolled my eyes and stood up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

As I walked out of the cafeteria, he followed me to the bus stop, still lecturing me about self-care and not overworking myself. I wanted to tell him off, but deep down, I knew he meant well maybe, but again I still couldn't get over the fact that when we were dating he said he was gonna leave me alone to myself as long as I don't announce I was on my period.

Still, one thing was certain—I needed to find better ways to avoid him in the future. Because if he kept showing up like this, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up the act.
It's so hard pretending like we didn't have an history among people.

Well anyways, I'm home with my struggles

Help!

02/01/2025

My Ex Boyfriend series

What if I told you I saw My Ex Boyfriend in our family house this festive season?

You know how Christmas and New Year season is always bubbling in family houses? I was in the kitchen, vibing to the song I was listening to with my earphones, when I heard someone say something to someone else. That voice. I identified it like crazy. I looked back, and there he was—My Ex Boyfriend.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe the festive food and all the noise were getting to me. But then someone called his name, and that was when I knew it was real. Must this man follow me everywhere I go?

And in our family house, of all places? I immediately went into ninja mode, hiding behind the fridge door and waiting for him to pass. Once I was sure he was out of sight, I continued washing the plates, pretending like nothing had happened. But my brain wouldn’t rest. One of the consequences of having a large extended family is that you can never know everybody. What if he’s my uncle’s cousin’s brother’s nephew’s child? Not my ex-boyfriend o! I told myself.

The more I thought about it, the more unsettled I became. I started asking random people casually, “Ah, do you know that guy in the green T-shirt?” The responses were worse than useless. “I think he came with Chuka’s people,” one aunty said. “Maybe he’s from your uncle’s in-laws’ side,” another offered.

So, here I was, in my family house, where I was supposed to feel safe, now playing hide-and-seek with this man. Every time I saw him, my chest would jump up like I was about to write an exam, and I’d quickly hide behind something—anything. Once, I hid behind a stack of coolers. Another time, I tried to crouch behind my 10-year-old cousin, thinking he’d block me. (Spoiler: he didn’t.)

My luck finally ran out when I bumped into him in the hallway. There was no hiding this time. He saw me Ohhh, he saw me. And guess what? His chest did a little jump too. The way his eyes widened and his mouth hung open for a second, I knew he was just as shocked as I was. I don’t know what got into me, but I couldn’t hide my excitement that he was shocked too.

He started walking towards me, and my brain went into overdrive. Should I run? Should I pretend I didn’t see him? Should I scream and cause a scene? Before I could decide, he was standing right in front of me, and the first thing he said was:

“Dammy, what are you doing here?”

Excuse me? What am I doing here? The nerve of this man 🥴. I folded my arms and gave him a look. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Last I checked, you’re not even from this state so how did you end up in our house 🤷🏻.”

Apparently, he was here because his cousin got married to one of my uncles’ distant relatives or something like that. He tried to explain the connection, but honestly, my brain was still stuck on the fact that this man was in my space. I kept thinking, So this is how I’ll be explaining this story to people? Imagine the shame if my relatives find out I once dated someone who might be loosely related to them.

And let me tell you, this man was acting like we didn’t have history. He was standing there, chatting with me like we were old classmates who just bumped into each other at the mall. “How have you been? It’s been a while. You’re looking good.”

Looking good ke? Abeg, who’s looking good? I was wearing an old T-shirt and shorts, with my hair tied up in a scarf because I’d been busy scrubbing pots. If this is what “looking good” meant, then he must have been blind throughout our relationship.

Later that day, I was carrying a bucket of water to the bathroom when I saw him again. My plan was to avoid eye contact and just keep walking. But as fate would have it, my foot slipped on a wet patch, and the bucket tipped over, splashing water all over me.

He rushed over, trying to help me up, but I was too embarrassed to let him. “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I mumbled, drenched and mortified. He tried to stifle a laugh, but I caught him, and it annoyed me even more. Is this man laughing at my suffering?

Well, not like he ever liked me anyways, I mumbled to myself. I would have laughed too sha if I was the one 😩😂

As if the first incident wasn’t enough, another one happened the next day. I was in the living room, trying to place a bowl on a high shelf. Normally, my brother or cousins would help me with things like this, but they were out So, I climbed onto a stool and stretched as far as I could.

Just as I managed to push the bowl into place, the stool wobbled. My heart almost stopped. I thought, This is how I’ll fall and disgrace myself in front of My Ex Boyfriend. Before I could steady myself, he walked in and saw the whole thing.

“Dammy, come down before you break something,” he said, laughing. I hissed and climbed down, trying to ignore him. But as I walked past him, he added, “You’re still as stubborn as ever.”

To be honest that stood wasn't balanced, but I thought I could do it, and we'll

The worst one happened during the family dinner. You know how Nigerian families can be—plenty of food, loud conversations, and random people popping in and out. I was sitting quietly, minding my own business, when someone asked me to pass a bowl of soup. As I stretched my hand, the bowl slipped, spilling hot soup all over the table.

Why is my body shaking, this man around is really making me loose my awareness 😭😭

Everyone turned to look at me, including My Ex Boyfriend, who was sitting across the room. He tried to hide his laughter, but I could see the smirk on his face. I wanted to disappear.

By the third day, I was so paranoid about bumping into him that I started avoiding common areas altogether. But that didn’t stop the universe from embarrassing me.

I was in my room, trying to relax, when I heard a loud knock on the door. My heart jumped out of my chest. What if it’s him? I thought. I opened the door cautiously, only to find my little cousin standing there with a mischievous grin. Before I could say anything, My Ex Boyfriend walked past in the hallway and saw my reaction. He burst out laughing, holding his stomach like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“Are you scared of knockouts now?” he teased. I wanted to slap that smirk off his face, but instead, I slammed the door and sat on my bed, fuming.

Now, it’s January 2nd, and he’s still here. I don’t know how to avoid him any more than I already have. Every time I think I’ve succeeded, he pops up somewhere, smiling like he owns the place.

At this point, I’ve resigned myself to fate. If the universe wants me to suffer, I might as well suffer in style. But one thing is for sure: as soon as he leaves, I’m going to sage the entire house. Just in case.

27/12/2024

Ex Boyfriend series

The day this man said “ walk with your hips" keep ringing in my head like those 7:30am assembly bell back in secondary school. I ain't got no ass bro 😂😂, I've g*t nothing to walk with mápámí.

There’s something about My Ex-Boyfriend, that still leaves me wondering what exactly he wanted. This man was the CEO of confused preferences. One day, he’d act like I was everything he ever dreamed of, and the next, he’d say something that would make me question why he even picked me in the first place.

From the beginning, he sold me dreams of being a supportive boyfriend. “Dammy, I love you just the way you are. You’re my babe, and I’ll always be there for you.” But as time went on, I started noticing small, small comments and actions that didn’t add up.

This man could swear he wasn’t into all those baddie girls. He’d tell me, “I don’t need all that flashy lifestyle. I like you simple and natural.” Yet, every other day, he’d subtly try to upgrade me into his idea of a bad-ass woman.

First, it was the nails. “Babe, why don’t you make your nails sometimes? Just small pink or red paint, or that brown paint you did that time. It will bring out your hands.” I did do my nails and it was a disaster. My nails were cute, but I couldn’t even write properly in class. (If you're not someone that fix nails regularly you'll understand how very uncomfortable it can get and how it interferes with how smooth your life goes as long as you have them on 😂😂😂).
I was sitting in lecture, struggling to jot down notes like I was learning to hold a pen for the first time.

So the thing is, I did my nails today my period came the next day. I just couldn't add that level of discomfort to period wahala again, so I removed them that evening.
When I told him, this guy looked at me like I had ruined his 5-year plan, he said “ your body no just calm" 😂😂. “you’ll get used to it Soon. Just try it again.” Get used to what? Being a clown in class? Abeg, I carried my natural nails and faced my academics ( which has also been after my life 😫)

Then came the hair days. I usually like rocking my natural hair or simple styles—something I can manage by myself. But no, that wasn’t good enough for My Ex-Boyfriend. “Dammy, you’d look so good with long braids or wigs. Imagine 30 inches—guys won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

First of all, who are these “guys,” and why should I care? Secondly, he wasn’t contributing to these hairstyles o. Not for the attachment( I hate picking attachment 😩), not for the wig ( would you help revamp, straighten or recoil or get maintenance?), and definitely not for the hours of sitting down to make braids.

One day, I decided to try long braids just to shut him up. By the time I was done sitting for 8 hours at the salon, I was already regretting my life choices. And let me not start on the pain of loosening those braids by myself because I couldn’t ask him for help. When I finally told him I wouldn’t do long hair again, he said, “Babe, you’re limiting yourself. You’re too fine to be playing small.”

Excuse me, sir. Am I playing small or am I saving my edges from permanent damage?

The most annoying part was how he pretended to be the most supportive boyfriend. Anytime I mentioned my struggles, he’d act like he was 100% behind me. “You’re so smart, Dammy. You’ll go far in life.” Meanwhile, when it came down to the actual support, this guy was as reliable as NEPA light during the rainy season.

The worst part of the relationship was how he made me feel about myself. He’d always talk about how much he loved me, but his actions said otherwise. Anytime we were around curvier girls, he’d get this look in his eyes, like he was studying them for a science experiment.

He’d never say anything outright, but he’d over-compliment them in a way that made me feel small. “Wow, that girl’s confidence is on another level. See as she carries herself.” “ she looks very fit", What was I supposed to do with that information? Start walking like I’m on a runway?

And let me not forget the time he casually said, “Babe, if you ever add small weight, ehn, you’ll be unstoppable.” Add weight? Is that what’s stopping me from greatness? I started looking at food differently, wondering if I should be eating more or less. It was like being with him came with an unspoken weight requirement.

Why Did He Even Pick Me?

The part that gets me till today is why he even picked me if I wasn’t what he wanted. It’s one thing to love someone and want them to grow, but My Ex-Boyfriend didn’t want me to grow—he wanted me to transform. He wanted nails, long hair, curvy body, bad-ass attitude, the whole package. But instead of finding someone who already had all that, he chose me and tried to mold me into his confused preference.

Moving On

Now that we’re no longer together, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders—literally and figuratively. I’ve gone back to my simple life: natural nails, low-maintenance hair, and eating whatever I like without thinking about “adding weight.”

Sometimes, I catch myself laughing at the things I used to put up with.
Honestly, I’ve learned my lesson. Next time, if a guy says he loves me “just the way I am,” I’m going to ask him to define exactly what that means. Because My Ex-Boyfriend? He didn’t know what he wanted, but one thing’s for sure—I’m not anyone’s makeover project.

Can you relate to my story?
Have you experienced this before?
Have you done this to your woman before?
If yes, why?

25/12/2024

My Ex Boyfriend series

The Road Trip Disaster

When Tolu suggested a weekend road trip to Calabar( I have never been to calabar aside my imaginations from Ali and simbi story book), I was excited. It had been a while since I took a proper break, and I trusted Tolu’s planning skills. She had this knack for organizing things and making them memorable. So, when she sent the group chat itinerary and added, “Guys, this trip go loud,” I didn’t even think twice before agreeing.

But I should have asked questions. If I had known my ex-boyfriend would be on the trip, I would have stayed home and enjoyed my weekend with Korean movies and shawarma.

I didn’t even notice he was part of the group until the morning we g*thered at the park to leave. I was busy adjusting my sunglasses when I heard that unmistakable voice behind me.
“Dammy, long time. How far?”

I froze. My grip on my small travel bag tightened as I turned around. And there he was, standing with his ever-annoying smirk, looking like he didn’t once ghost me without explanation. I managed a tight smile .
“I’m fine.”

I turned away quickly, hoping that would be the end of it. But when Tolu came over, she made things worse.
“Dammy, don’t tell me you forgot o. Your ex is coming along too. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, na. Abi?”

I wanted to scream. Tolu was my guy, but sometimes, she could be so clueless. I wasn’t about to let my ex ruin my trip, though. So, I shook it off and climbed into the van, determined to ignore him.

That plan lasted all of two hours.

The first problem started when the driver’s aux cord stopped working, and everyone started taking turns playing music from their phones. Of course, my ex-boyfriend decided to play his playlist—a mix of all the songs we used to vibe to when we were together. You know those kinds of songs that make your chest tight because they hold too many memories? Yeah, those ones.

Tolu and the others were nodding their heads, vibing to the music, but I couldn’t stand it. I put on my AirPods and pretended to sleep, but my ex being my ex, he leaned over and whispered, “You remember this song, abi?”

Yanyanyanyanyanyayayan( I muttered in my mind)
I ignored him.

The second problem started when the van broke down. We were in the middle of nowhere, on a dusty road, with no mechanic in sight. Everyone got out of the van, fanning themselves in the heat and trying to figure out what to do next. My ex, of course, decided to take charge.

“Let me see if I can help,” he said, rolling up his sleeves like some Nollywood hero.

I stood aside, arms crossed, as he fiddled with the engine. After about 15 minutes of trial and error, the driver sighed and muttered, “Oga, abeg leave am. You no sabi this work.”

Everyone burst out laughing 😂, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. My ex shot me a look and smirked.
“You still find me funny, sha.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not you that’s funny. It’s the situation.”

But the peak of the drama came when it started raining. Yes, rain. In the middle of dry season, rain decided to fall. And of course, none of us brought umbrellas because who expects rain on a December road trip?

We all huddled under the nearest shelter, which was basically an abandoned shed, trying to stay dry. I stood at one corner, determined to keep my distance from him. But as luck would have it, the others decided to leave me with him while they ran back to the van to grab food.

“So, Dammy,” he started, leaning against the wall. “How come we never talked after… you know?”

I glared at him. “You mean after you disappeared without an explanation?”

He sighed dramatically, like he was the victim here. “I had my reasons.”

I folded my arms. “Good for you. I’m not interested in hearing them.”

The rain kept pouring, and the awkward silence grew heavier. Finally, he said, “Look, I know I messed up, but maybe this trip is our chance to… you know, fix things.”

I blinked at him. Fix things? This man really thought life was a Korean movie where people reconcile in the rain. I shook my head and walked out into the rain. I didn’t care if I got wet. I just needed to get away from him.

The others came back shortly after, laughing and eating snacks, oblivious to the tension between us. As we climbed back into the van, I caught my ex glancing at me.

Now, I’m sitting here, pretending to read while the van speeds toward Calabar. But my mind is racing. What does he mean by “fix things”? Should I confront him properly or just keep ignoring him? One thing is certain: this road trip has turned into something I wasn’t prepared for, and I have no idea what the next move will be.

I want to get my own camping Van 😩

24/12/2024

Christmas Without My Ex-Boyfriend

I won’t lie; this Christmas feels weird. Not bad, not good—just weird. It’s not even about the breakup anymore. I’ve cried, journaled, and blocked him on WhatsApp 😒, so that chapter is closed. But as I sit here, struggling to pin fairy lights to the top of my window, I can’t help but hiss out loud🤦🏻. If we were still together, my ex-boyfriend would have done this part. He was tall, unnecessarily so, and would’ve reached up without breaking a sweat.

But now, it’s just me, balancing on a shaky chair I borrowed from my neighbor, trying to secure the lights with tape that doesn’t even want to hold😫. One wrong move, and I’m sure I’ll tumble down like one of those failed circus acts on TikTok😂😂. “Dammy, you can do this,” I mutter to myself. Because, let’s be honest, what other choice do I have? I'm 5'4 btw.

This whole solo Christmas project is about proving a point—to myself, not him. I’m self-sufficient, and I can handle anything. Even fairy lights 😌. But when I finally get them up and plug them in, only half of them light up😩🤦🏻😂😂, can you imagine . I just sit on my bed, staring at them like, “Wow, even the lights are mocking me.” 🤕

The plans we made together keep playing in my head. We were supposed to have a picnic first. I’d already picked the spot—under that big mango tree behind the Faculty of Arts. We planned to pack jollof rice, chicken, and Chapman, and he’d promised to bring suya. We talked about how we’d snap pictures and laugh at anyone who stared too long.

But look at me now, staring at a picnic basket I bought myself, wondering if I should even bother. The basket is cute, though—white with red ribbons. It looks like it belongs in a Christmas movie. I laugh because, let’s be honest, this is not the vibe I imagined.

Then there’s the orphanage visit we planned. We didn’t buy anything together, of course. It was all talk. “Dammy, let’s get them cool stuff like storybooks and toys,” he’d said, smiling like he actually cared. But now that it’s just me, I’ve been buying the gifts one by one. Nothing fancy—some snacks, a few toys, and even storybooks, because I’m stubborn like that.

The worst part of this whole thing is how I feel in moments like these—trying to push through but feeling the weight of doing everything alone. Yesterday, I tried carrying the new bucket of paint into my room to repaint the walls. I tripped on the edge of the door and almost spilled everything 🥴🥴. I sat on the floor for ten minutes, just staring at the mess like, “This guy has ruined my life small.”😭😂😂

But then, I remembered the pep talk I gave myself last week: “Dammy, we move!” And move, I did. I cleaned up the paint, repainted the walls, and even sprayed air freshener like I was celebrating.

And don’t even get me started on the final plan. On Christmas Day, we were supposed to binge-watch Christmas movies in my room, just the two of us. He’d already made me promise we’d start with “Home Alone,” even though I told him I preferred romantic comedies. “Dammy, that’s why you need me,” he’d said, laughing. “You have no taste.”

Now, it’s just me and my laptop. I’ve decided I’ll still watch “Home Alone.” Not for him, but for myself. I even bought meat pies and made Chapman because, as I’ve told myself repeatedly, this Christmas is about ticking off all the plans. Once I do everything we planned, there’ll be no more “what could have been.”

Still, moments catch me off guard. Like when I was hanging my clothes on the line earlier today, and the wind almost blew my wrapper away😭🥴😂😂😂, he hated the fact that I liked wrappers, i mean wrapper is my comfort cloth 😂😂. I stood there struggling, thinking, “If this boy was here now, he’d be laughing and snapping pictures to mock me later.”

But here’s the thing: as much as it stings sometimes, there’s something liberating about this whole process. I’m learning that I don’t need anyone to complete me. If I fall, I’ll get back up. If the lights don’t work, I’ll find a way. If I feel silly eating suya and drinking Chapman on Christmas Day alone, I’ll laugh through it and keep going.

So, this Christmas, it’s just me, Dammy, the self-sufficient little girl who doesn’t need a tall ex-boyfriend to reach the top shelf or hold a paint bucket. I’ll carry my picnic basket to the mango tree, enjoy my jollof rice, and take selfies. I’ll visit the orphanage with my small gifts, and I’ll spend Christmas night watching “Home Alone” with my meat pies.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I am enough. And if you happen to see me snapping pictures in the garden or laughing too loud while watching my movie, just know I’m doing it for me. My ex-boyfriend can keep his confused energy and his main character syndrome. This Christmas, the vibe is mine, and I’m owning it.

Do you also do things like this, or you just leave it to what we could have been??

Praizee Damx.

13/01/2025

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