Stories told through female experiences, emotions, relationships, ambitions, and personal journeys.
Dear Diary, Before I start ranting about Nigeria, men, women, politicians, social media philosophers, and the collective confusion we call adulthood, I suppose I should tell you who I am. After all, it would be strange to spend years talking to someone who doesn’t know my name. Well… My name is Rahima Ifunanya Adekunle.At least
Dear Reader,Since you’ve somehow found your way here, introductions are probably in order. My name is Rahima Ifunanya Adekunle. Most people call me Ria.It’s shorter, easier, and saves me from turning every introduction into a discussion about Nigerian geography. I am a Nigerian woman with too many thoughts and a diary patient enough to listen
Dear Diary, There is a particular kind of pain that comes from being betrayed by a stranger. And then there is the pain that comes from being betrayed by the person who knows exactly where your heart lives. The second one is worse. Much worse. Because they don’t stumble into your weaknesses by accident. You
There is a difference between being alone and feeling alone. I learned that tonight. The hard way. For the past three months, my life has become a predictable cycle of exhaustion.Wake up.Fight traffic.Work.Fight more traffic.Get home late.Repeat. Sometimes I wonder if adulthood is just paying bills while sitting in increasingly worse traffic. I work in
Dear Diary, I have always believed that most crises are avoidable.Not all. Just most. The problem is that people confuse preparation with pessimism. When you ask difficult questions before something goes wrong, people call you negative. When the thing eventually goes wrong, those same people schedule emergency meetings and suddenly discover the value of planning.