The Birthday Issue: Leaving the Light On.

Tomorrow, I clock 24. Amazing, right? In this issue, I talk about how I struggled in the past one month and how my friends and family kept the lights on for me.

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

My birthday is tomorrow. I did not want to do anything. I did not want to even tell anyone about it. The plan was to go into the day in complete silence and come out older but without any concern. This was my plan, until three days ago when I received a call from my dad around 7 am. 

I love my father because we have a good relationship, an exceptional relationship, and also because he respects me. This man, who is clocking 60 this year, respects me. He sees me and listens to me. We have conversations almost as if we are equals. If I am out by 11 pm, I can tell my dad when he calls. If I am out by 2 am, I can tell him why I am out and where I am. I am hardly ever out by 2 am anyway but you get the gist.

So this man calls me early in the morning on Thursday and asks, ‘Inioluwa, what’s going on?’

It was a heavy question. I knew what he meant. He had been asking me this question since September when I started sinking into a dark place and withdrew from everyone and everything. I had always told him I was fine. It was just busyness, just work, just this, just that. But that morning, he was not going to hear it. I was about to say something dismissive when he said, ‘Don’t answer me. Call me back when you are ready.’ So I dropped the call and cried. 

I am telling you this because the essay I am about to share today is one on self-reflection but much more than that, it is about how life changes and how we can always see things anew. It is an essay I wrote six months ago when I was sick and had gone to Bowen University Teaching Hospital to get treatment. It was a dark time. I was close to death. I have been close to death many times on account of my health but this time around, it was different. It felt like everything was going to collapse that May. The last time I felt that way was, coincidentally, also May 2021 when I was in Port Harcourt, serving the fatherland. 

In addition to this essay which I think you should definitely read, I want to talk about something called Leaving the Light On. About two weeks ago, I came across the song, ‘Leave a Light On’ by Tom Walker. Tom had written this song for his friend who was battling drug addiction. Tom wanted him to know that he [the friend] and his family could always talk to him [Tom Walker] about it. That he would always be there for him. That he would never turn off the light. 

Depression is dark. When someone is depressed, it’s all darkness. It takes a crazy amount of light to send the depression packing. It’s like trying to cast a Patronus as a dementor arises. It seems easy but it’s quite hard, harder for the person being attacked. But it can be easier for the person standing to cast this Patronus, this light, for their friend. And this is what Tom Walker’s song is all about: it is about leaving the light on for a friend going through the dark. It is about being present. It is about reassurance. It is saying, ‘I know it’s dark and you probably can’t see clearly but I will keep this light on until you come out of the dark.’ It is saying, ‘Hey, I am here if you ever want to talk. I know it’s crazy but I am here.’ It is being patient without giving up. It is knowing that it may take a long time for your friend to see the light but also deciding to never turn the lights out. It is staying. Staying. 

In the past one and a half months, I have had people stay. My family stayed. My dad kept on calling even when I ignored his calls. My mum called my friends. My sisters sent text messages. They stayed. I will forever be grateful for the light they shone on the dark path that was life then. My friends stayed. In a funny stroke of life, I saw all my close friends from university this October. People I had not seen in years. Three of my male friends came to stay with me and the cats for over a week. We were eating together, sleeping in my small room and living room. We prayed together. We took long walks together. We played together. We laughed. We played Chess. We were playing Chess every day for like two weeks. Their presence mattered. They stayed. And just yesterday, I saw a friend I had not seen in years, a friend whom I had a fallout with. We talked and then smiled and it mattered that we talked. Because that also was another light kept on. 

I am blessed to have people around me, a whole lot of people, people who notice the slightest change in my routine. People who notice if I don’t post on social media in one day. It’s insane how this can be the difference between light and darkness sometimes, noticing the disappearance. 

During this period, I gave away all my cats. First, I gave Clyde away. He was a lot to handle, for me. He had left the home for four days but he finally returned. When he did, I could not keep him. I found a suitable cat family who wanted to have him. Then I gave IBK away to another friend. And then, about two weeks ago, I held my own cat, Moremi, looked her in the eye, and said, ‘I am going to miss you.’ Then I gave her away to a friend who lives in Ile-Ife. There was a lot of noise in my life and I needed space. It broke me, giving Moremi away [albeit for a while]. This cat has been the only one with me through some dark and good days. But then, some days are even too dark for an animal with nine lives. Hopefully, just hopefully, I will be able to take her back in December as I promised. 

In giving things away, in cleaning my house regularly, in going out again, in talking about it, in having my friends stay with him, in crying, in dancing, in meeting new amazingly beautiful people, in reading Chimamanda over and over again, in listening to my sister’s words saying, ‘You are blessed and never forget that. No matter what you are going through, always remember your family loves you a lot and that is enough.’ - in all these, people kept the light on for me, and yesterday I asked a close friend, ‘If you have been through all I am going through (and you have) and your birthday is tomorrow, would you celebrate it?’ and he replied, ‘I am sorry, but yes.’ - and that was the final shout I needed to make for my Patronus to burst out, a pretty daring cat made of blue light.

Yesterday, after trying a million times in the past month, I screamed Expecto Patronum and finally, something more than a glimpse of light came out. Something big enough to cast the darkness away burst forth from the tip of my wand and galloped into the darkness, sending away the dark away as she did.

This is long, intentionally so. And I have not even talked a lot about the essay you should read, maybe because it was written by me and I don’t think I need to sell myself to you again. I have also decided to share all this because it matters. It matters for me, so if the darkness ever comes again, this newsletter issue will be a light. And it matters for others who might be going through their own darkness and can’t find anyone to leave the light on for them. This is me leaving the light on for you, my friend. I will leave the light on. 

Here’s the essay you should: al final la vida no tiene sentido

And here is the song by Tom Walker that you should listen to: Leave a Light On.

I will wake up tomorrow and I will be 24. Funny how this thing called age works. I will listen to Tom Walker again with a touch of 30 BG and Buju. I will be in my house all day, working from home, keeping the light on.

If you’re feeling generous, here is a wishlist I curated in haste. Please know that cash gifts can never be too much. You can also send me a sweet birthday cake or ask me what I want. I will reply this time around. 

If you’re in a dark place and would like to talk, please say hi anywhere you can, via email or socials. Let’s keep the lights on for you my love, just like they’re doing in this video:

If you enjoyed reading this, please share it on Twitter so others can see it. If you have some thoughts to share or an essay you think we should read, you can write back to me by replying to this email or tweet about it using the hashtag #TheERClub so we can find it.