The Clock Will Keep Ticking

An attempt at an EOTYR

Zehisa

Jan 10, 2026

For my sake, imagine that this piece was published on December 31st, 2025.

What you’re about to read is my third attempt to post an EOTYR in the last 3 years.

I mean, how do you compress 365 days of manifold experiences and moments into one article??

Also, it took this long to post because your girl was obsessing over tiny, unnecessary details.

2025 was what it was: A mosaic year of good and bad experiences, grave mistakes, and equally exciting moments (as with any other year, if I’m being honest)

I put off writing here for so long because at some point this year, I lost myself. I lost the will to try, to create, and I just kept existing on autopilot—trying to meet the next deadline, sending out applications, looking for jobs/opportunities, getting accepted, getting rejected—and being numb through it all.

WRITING

2025 was an underwhelming year. Sure, I had a few moments of bliss where I scribbled like a madman in my journal, but that was the only thing I could manage. I spent the second half of the year being scared of writing and thinking of how infrequently I wrote.

Scared that I would be faced with the harsh truth of some feelings I’ve been keeping at bay for so long. I had specific experiences that shifted my overall outlook and changed the way I react to people/experiences.

Most of them singed me to irredamable extents, instead of addressing them, I pushed them to the back of my mind and “kept on moving.” Moving with parts of me falling apart.

I got so used to ‘not feeling’ that I went on autopilot to get through without breaking down.

Usually writing would be the elixir to get me out of this sort of funk, to help me understand the core of my emotions…but I didn’t write.

My journal started to feel like a foreign space, so I would turn to other activities to blur my thoughts (mainly involved doomscrolling and sleeping)

But I found a sort of serenity in the words of other people. It’s like when a body rejects an organ after an organ transplant; the words I wrote didn’t feel safe.

I lived through it regardless.

After long, exhausting days when my eyes were too laden with worry to close, I would fall asleep by plunging into deeply evocative essays and poetry and find respite in the hopes of one day writing one of such pieces, or even better.

In my head, I’ve written a thousand pages as opposed to the sparse pages in my notes.

I wrote when I got inspired to write a short story while watching a father give his all to buy a dress his daughter had always wanted.

I wrote about watching the series ONE DAY, which broke me, healed me, and showed me the beauty in both platonic and romantic relationships.

I wrote when I started having anxiety attacks…again.

I wrote every single time I saw yet another rejection mail, and wrote even more when I received an acceptance mail.

I wrote each time I forgot to eat, but the pure joy of being surrounded by the people I love filled me.

I wrote about how, in one day, I reunited with my ex, rekindled conversations with a former male friend, and received princess treatment from a guy I barely knew.

I wrote each time I got reminded of why I wasn’t very fond of the male gender, and each time I was glad that the male gender exists.

I wrote about not writing enough, about relapsing into bad habits, and about how self-sabotage quietly strips you of the chance to love yourself wholly and honestly.

I wrote about being ensconced in the warmth of family and friends. I wrote about life, philosophy, and psychology. I wrote about unlearning and how damn hard it is.

This part is dedicated to the people who reminded me of this space and what it means to them and to me.

MBK, particularly for the conversation where you asked why I hadn’t written in so long and then told me to “just write”, even if it meant me writing about not writing.

To Chidimma, my eternal love, for many times you’ve reminded me to keep writing because it’s something I enjoy, not something I am mandated to do. Thank you for reviewing my writing, even when I bring it to you at odd hours.

To Helen, for every time you asked, “So Comrade, when are you dropping for us?”

To Chidinma, my ex-roommate, for the various times you told me, “See ehn, you have a gift, and I want you to take it seriously because it’ll take you far.”

To ChuChu, for being a friend, an inspiration, an accountability partner, and a safe space to share our “Writer Rants.”

Complacency was a significant threat to my academics. You’ve properly seen tweets or memes about dealing with being average after years of being the “academic star kid.”

Yeah, I had a lot of those moments.

It felt like I was in a toxic relationship with my academics. I was giving my all but getting little to nothing in return.

I just want a less dramatic school life in 2026 and beyond. A lot to ask for, given my circumstances, but hey, a girl can only wish.

In 2025, I slow danced and wrestled with Agency. There were moments when I just randomly burst into tears because I was either overwhelmed by the tasks at hand or dealing with too many ideas that I hadn’t created outlets for.

I wrestled with the question of whether my talents and skills were a gift or a curse.

“Am I condemned to a fate of Death By A Thousand Interests?”

I had to learn (and still am learning) how to rein in my fleeting attention span and sit with dull, monotonous tasks that come with building a product. I had to find spaces to give myself grace when I wasn’t able to do the hard work.

Other times, I felt like I was bending over backwards trying to make everything perfect. I had to sit and tell myself not to crash out more than I needed to—yes, silently crashing out is one of my coping mechanisms—when I worked in/led teams where I felt like I wasn’t on the same page as everyone else and we weren’t progressing.

There were many days—more than I’d like to admit—when my body felt like an overused machine, and my emotions were just one trigger away from spiraling. All I wanted was to crawl into my shell and hide for days, but I couldn’t because there was a nagging reminder that, as a leader, it was more about them and less about me.

I realise now that I could have handled situations like this better, so that neither I nor the people I was responsible for suffered avoidable consequences.

I had to cross lanes that I had sworn off because someone needed answers. I faced humiliation, rejection, and embarrassment, but I put up with them because someone else depended on the answers I gave.

The panic attacks weren’t as intense because I swore they would not break me like before, but when they came, they hit hard.

One of the questions I’ve found difficult to answer in a professional setting is “What is your greatest achievement in xyz?”

For someone who sometimes struggles to acknowledge my wins to myself (a.k.a. taking my flowers), outlining my accomplishments to another person seems like a far stretch.

Because, in a way, I don’t sit down to reflect on what I’ve achieved; it’s always “okay, what’s the next thing to accomplish?”

I mentioned complacency as a significant threat to my academics, but on a deeper level, it affected almost every part of my life.

I sat in rooms where I could sell myself to potential clients, and I just didn’t. Not because I didn’t have the right words to say, but because there was an underlying conviction in my mind that I wasn’t deserving of the opportunity to be in such spaces, or worse still, it would be a waste for me even to try.

I got an internship that felt like a dream; it fit perfectly with my school schedule, but I eventually got laid off. It rocked me because this opportunity was precisely what I had been searching for in a long time.

Later in the year, I got a job offer through a recommendation, and I took to it like a duck to water.

I was already working on deliverables from the first call. I completed my probationary tasks weeks before the deadline. Still, it turned out I was just being taken advantage of (thanks to my eternal love for helping me point this out early enough, as I was so excited at finally getting a job that I didn’t read between the lines).

I had good days too, days when I got random bursts of motivation and took JUST ONE STEP: made my first post on my professional page, created an outline for a book I’ve wanted to write for 3 years, curated the contact lists for the different ventures I want to try and eventually share with people. I designed a brand identity from scratch, revamped my resume, wrote cover letters for various jobs, created portfolios for different projects, and took on a host of other side quests.

I wanted oh-so-bad to have this perfect, clear-cut path to career growth, but this year slapped the delusion out of me and made me realize:

It’s not going to be like the straight line graph. On some days, it won’t seem like your journey is taking the exponential route—even when it feels like you’re winning.
You will mess things up colossally and do great things that will break boundaries, but you’ll keep learning and growing.
You don’t have to hyperfixate on having every single thing figured out all at once. There’ll be growth—fast, slow, in directions you didn’t even know existed.

You could help me reach more people by sharing. This post is public, so feel free to share it.

The Blue Club

In January 2025, I assumed the role of Campus Lead of the Cowrywise Campus Community at my school. It was one of those things I did to challenge myself. I honestly didn’t think I would get the role.

The whole experience will be shared another day (on Medium), but if there’s anything I’ll hold on to from this experience, it’ll be the value of people and connections.

I am deeply indebted to all the people I worked with who helped bring projects to life. I never had it all figured out. Sometimes I didn’t plan well enough, or we didn’t have enough resources to make things work, but these people made sure we could consistently deliver and that we had something to give.

Overall, the privilege to serve and to lead birthed lessons and memories that I am grateful will stay with me for a long time.

Since this space was created, I’ve managed not to write about my love life and romantic relationships for particular reasons, but I promised myself this piece would be full-on coverage, so here goes.

My stance on romantic relationships remains the same: not interested. However, I unintentionally found myself in situations that bear some semblance of intimacy, and my takeaway is this: we need to do better as a generation, for the sake of our emotional and existential well-being.

Last year, for the first time in my life, I experienced the exhilaration of being enamored with another person (a.k.a crushing on someone)—it didn’t end well for me, by the way. This year, I unexpectedly experienced it again.

The initial reaction to this was resistance. Instead, it felt like pushing against ocean tides, pulsating stronger with each waking moment. Eventually, I let myself go through the process. As the year progressed, it ebbed, and I could finally breathe again.

This sort of experience warps my hard-girl persona, so here’s to hoping it doesn’t repeat itself next year. (just kidding…maybe)

This is all I can bear to share regarding this topic/area.

Moving on.

…with a broken hallelujah on my tongue, will I be called a saint or a sinner?…1

I am not without faults and foibles.

Sometimes,

I was the priest or the Levite who looked away and didn’t help when I could have.

I was like the judges who wanted to stone the woman to death, indulging in hypocrisy and self-righteousness.

I fell from grace, many times, in many ways.

I went days without prayers and seeking the face of God. I held out on forgiveness because if I forgive, where would I place all this anger and hurt? I refused to be loved because then it would mean there’ll be no reason to believe His words about me.

But the grace of God reformed me; it held me and enveloped me.

I know from (personal) experience that I forget when the mundanity of life sweeps in. Forget His words; His mercy.

So I did whatever it took to make sure I didn't forget. Even when it meant fighting with my emotions, it was a slow but progressive battle.

My reading goal for the year was three books. Lying to myself has never worked, and I knew that even those three could easily not have been completed—side eye to poor time management and a short attention span—but I ended up reading fourteen books. Big ups to being realistic and intentional

Ironically, I read my first book of the year during my exams. On a random Saturday, when I was on the verge of tears because I was still far behind in my reading prep, and I was so drained from all the tasks I had yet to complete.

In that moment, I realised I had once again gone months without doing anything I enjoyed, and it was almost mid-year. So I randomly picked one book from my TBR and started reading.

A risky but worthwhile move.

I completed that book in a single sitting of less than 2 hours, whereas I had been stuck on the third page of my lecture slides for days.

Notable reads:

Roommates by Ola Tundun, for getting me out of my reading slump.
Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, for guiding me to connect with actualities that I didn’t want to confront. Also, for my brief but enjoyable “Stoic phase.”
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig, for being the soft push I needed to bare some of the most visceral thoughts I’ve ever written in my journal, and the glue that held pieces of feelings that felt too discordant to understand.

The sounds and symphonies I fell in love with led me to create several playlists that speak volumes about intentionality. I fear that I’ll soon have more playlists than just songs on my Spotify.

Some of these songs were the singular reason I took some big decisions this year, some were the only sounds I wanted to listen to for days (especially when I didn’t feel like talking or participating in human interactions)

Some of them were the lens through which I saw what unrequited love looks like. Some were the ladders that led me to the presence of my Father.

I didn’t share my Spotify Wrapped anywhere else because I wanted to share it here first, but it turns out I can't?? Sigh

As far as friendship breakups go, I had one too many; some I didn't even realise until I was forced to see the (painfully searing) light.

I've noticed a pattern leading up to these breakups, which stems mainly from me, that I'll be working on going forward (I'll let you know how it goes).

I've written about friends before; I don't think it's ever going to be an out-of-trend topic for me, but for this particular season in my life, I'm not sure where I stand, so I'll leave it here.

I started 2025 tired, and it carried on through the year. For this very reason, my only New Year's resolution in 2026 is to look after myself.

The title of this post was borrowed from the EOTYR I was supposed to post last year. So, this one's to the previous year's Zehisa, the one who was too lazy, then too scared to post. Your words now have a home.

Melody For Us:

Till I write to you again, Dear Comrade

Stay Jiggy.

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