Longing...

How much must your heart ache before it stops hurting?

Today, like every other day, I’m reminded of the fact that I might never be truly happy. I know we talk too much about happiness being a mindset. You know that yada yudu yada motivational talks. But in reality, is the human mind programmed to be truly happy?

Keyword: truly.

Don’t be deceived, we are all happy on social media.

Happiness, like love and every other emotions is but for a fleeting moment, I believe. Victor Daniel, in his essay; “Father, I Struggle” posits that everything is finite— good and bad times, that sadness is as temporary as joy and we have an entire lifetime to enjoy both.

And I agree. Yesterday, Barca fans wept. You know that desire for a UCL trophy that has eluded them since 2015. A decade now. The joy that it is finally coming back only to be shattered by the Italian lions. The longing. The wait. How heart-wrenching that must be!

This is not to say they haven’t been happy this season. In fact, they are the football fans who have laughed the most. Who have enjoyed less banter. They were almost untouchable until they visited Italy and were asked: who goes you?

But despite the fact that they might end this season with 3 trophies. Already secured 2. They would remember the night at San Siro. The 94th minute equalizer. The 109th minute winner. Be it for a moment, the wind of sadness will blow and the longing would continue.

Makes me ask: how much must your heart ache before it stops hurting?

I am reminded of my upbringing. My mother’s accident when I was a kid and a divorce shortly after. My elder brother far away in a boarding school. My younger brother somewhere in an Arabic school. How I was left with my kid sister who was just learning how to read and write. And how I grew up without familial bond.

More than 2 decades later, and my heart yearns for the familial connection I never had. I haven’t seen my kid brother in years and every time I see a street boy, my heart breaks knowing he has become one of them. That one of the haggard-looking boys in Oshodi or Agege or wherever in Lagos could be him but the ones I have met have never been him.

I have friends who treat me as family. I have a family who has ‘adopted’ me and treat me like one of theirs but I still long for things beyond my reach. Long to see my brother. Long to build a meaningful connection with my family beyond the usual “How are you and how are you coping?” but isn’t it impossible to drink from a well you never dug?

One minute, I feel on top of the world. The next I’m consumed by sadness.

Dear friends. Again, I ask, how much must my heart ache before it stops hurting?