Essays, issue 14: jan 2017, Narratives
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on Healing and Heartbreak by Oyinda

You should’ve been more concerned with loving yourself than loving him. It’s a fatalistic attitude but all things come to an end (all things did come to an end), and when he leaves or you leave, and the love between the two of you fades to the hazy flicker of a candle light, then what you have will be your heart and you must hold on to it dearly.

At first it feels like a jagged sword to the chest.

Then later in the day, I can no longer bear the sweetness of honey. It drips on my tongue like fire, as if I am swallowing acid and burnt promises.

My heart lights up blue, like a willow tree struck by lightning. And in the walls of my eyelids, I see lilies and dark crimson roses.

A passionate feeling, unconditional with its misery, engulfs me.

And I know I cannot be unfeeling. Not yet. I am grieving for the void that kept me up at night, that made my heart beat funny… that sucked the sleep dry from my eyes.

Crying is cathartic. Ablution prepares a heart to go on.

The strangeness of sadness takes you from Mount Everest to the depth of the Dead Sea. One second your eyes are ardent and aglow, and you can feel your fingertips buzzing. The next, your body is languid and someone has come and hollowed out your red beating heart. Then again, your soul begins to fill with nectar and other sweet things.


The whispers from the sad song you play on repeat starts to become a parody of your heartache, and you feel madder and madder that it affects you so much and you miss him so much and it’s only the first day and I’m wondering if I’ll ever be able to shake off this feeling of loneliness.

Two days later and a strange current of wholeness blazes through my veins. Something about my head, heart and soul resonates across my thoughts, and power is that smile I give to the moon, and healing is that flutter of togetherness I feel as I run my hands across my chest and whisper a prayer to my God.

A sound somewhere in my stomach calls for tears that don’t fall. But love’s about rising not falling. So, I’ll climb that tower of heartbreak till I’ve reached the top and I’m waving a white flag, screaming “I surrender!” to any swollen-heart blues that the goddess Oshun decides to send my way.

Yes, and yes and yes and yes. In a moment, here and there or a moment now and again, there’ll be a glimpse into the other’s life or a glimpse at two hands holding each other, or a glimpse at two smiles leaning in, and I get in a big panic.  At the base of my throat, clinging to my vocal chords, I get a feeling of loss and a pang of melancholy for what never was. But from that I push forward and grow. There’s a hate that lingers, but from that I push forward and grow.



Oyinda is a very very confused teenage girl, and like most people spends almost every waking moment trying to figure things out. Born in Nigeria but resides in London, she’s trying to become herself without shunning any part of her identity. To Oyinda, the ultimate goal in her life is to be seen as an equal counterpart universally, to be accepted for who she is and all her passions. You can find her on instagram and tumblr.

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