LET’S TALK ABOUT LOVE LANGUAGES

My parents did their best. They love my siblings and I the best way they know how. They provided shelter, fed us, and paid our school fees as soon as they could.

From primary to senior secondary school, I was among the top 5%. Take out my problem with numbers; I was that bright.

As a teenager, I wondered if my parents knew that. I wondered if my class teachers told them.

No one was going to check. But each time I brought my report card home, I would walk into my mom’s room, report card in hand, hoping she would do more than just ask if my results were good and ask to see them. Even if I had to take my time to explain what the grades in each subject and my position to the total number of students in class meant,

I was hoping anyone would care to ask me what my position was.

What my favourite subject was.

What I wanted to become. And more.

One day, as I returned home with ecstasy and my outstanding report card in hand, I met Uncle Ayo. I wish he wasn’t there. I just wanted to enter the compound quietly.

Uncle Ayo owned and managed the drug store in one of the shops owned by my father. AY was like a big brother. He sometimes stressed me out, as I was not one of those chatty kids on the block. But give it to AY; his personality couldn’t be ignored.

“Come na, let me see your card. Hope you beat all those boys?” Uncle AY beckoned.

I handed him the card. He smiled as he flipped through the previous reports.

It felt like a proud, absent dad moment. “You’ve always held excellent positions. You should be showing me your results every term ooo. So I can give you something.”

That day, Uncle AY called his apprentices to join him in cheering me on. Thereafter, he gave me some candies and a bottle of Limca.

It was one of the best days.

I felt seen and encouraged.

And I cried. I wish it was my parents doing that, not him.

Notwithstanding, I looked forward to showing subsequent report cards to Uncle AY. But it never came. He became critically ill, had to close shop, and relocated. I still think of him and wonder where he could be.

What does love require of me?

Despite our best efforts, we sometimes misunderstand what love requires of us. We are doing our best, but we may become blind in the process.

We forget that there is power in asking.

We want to talk when they just need us to listen to them.

We want to act when their desire is just for us to hold their hands and be quiet.

We want to take them out when what resonates with them is breathing in the quiet of the room with them.

Even Jesus still asked blind Bartimaeus, “What do you want me to do for you?”

I mean, he might love his blind state and prioritise money over regaining his sight.

I think it was on Twitter that I read a tweet criticising vendors prioritising what they have in stock over actually thinking about what people may need as gifts and surprises on Valentine’s Day.

Imagine buying a wig for N500,000 for someone helpless about paying their rent.

The world needs discerning eyes and inquisitive hearts

Think of your parents, siblings, friends, and acquaintances.

Think of that boy on the street or your neighbor’s kid whom you give a token to each time they run errands for you.

Think of that old guard at the gate to your apartment.

The problem is not that we don’t express love. We all do it the way we think it should be.

But love requires a discerning eye and an inquisitive heart.

We must truly listen.

We must ask.

We must be attuned.

The language of love is not fixed.

Happy Valentine’s Day 2024!

You might want to read what was BAKED for last year’s Valentine’s Day👇👇👇

Stay BAKE!