Hi Hive,
It's with great pleasure that I'm welcoming everyone to my blog and I hope you're all doing well and having a great day.
There are always those memories, secret we all have and keep to ourselves but which we later able to move on and thanks to time that heals everything.
Wile some memories fade with time, others remain silently buried, only to resurface when we least expect them. For me, one of such memories is a painful secret I carried for years during my secondary school days in my village.
At that time, I was living with my uncle and his wife. Just like many young people sent to stay with relatives for schooling, though I tried my possible best to adjust, to be respectful, and to avoid trouble. I kept to myself most of the time and focused on my education and football and believing that endurance was part of the journey.
But on one fateful day, something happened that changed how I saw everything.
One evening like that, after coming back from football training session, I was suddenly accused by my uncle’s wife of stealing 25 litres gallon of palm oil. At that time, my uncle's wife job is producing palm oil and it's a job she inherited from my grand mother and we usually store those palm oil in a small dark room after production. The accusation came out of nowhere, and hit me like a heavy blow. I was shocked, confused, and deeply hurt. Even though I knew I haven't done nothing wrong, yet I found myself in a tight situation where my innocence didn’t seem to really matter.
My words felt powerless no matter how much I tried to defend myself. Before I could even say anything, it was as if the judgment had already been passed. It was the feeling of being misunderstood and unfairly treated in a place I called home at the time that really hurt most and not even the pain about being accused.
And what really made it even more painful for me, was about what later happened that very same day. The palm oil was eventually found that same day, and it became clear that I had nothing to do with it. But by then, the damage had already been done. No apology came that could truly heal the wound or erase the embarrassment I felt that day.
And that moment stayed with me. Even though, it changed something inside me. I became more reserved, more cautious, and less willing to open up to people since that incident . I learned to keep things bottled up, instead of expressing my feelings. And that incident became a secret I carried silently for years.
The worst part was I never told my mom about it at the time. Maybe I didn’t want to cause problems, or maybe I felt it was something I just had to endure at that time. But deep down, it hurt that I had no one to speak up for me in that moment.
After some years later, which I have completed my secondary school and not leaving with my uncle again, I finally shared the story with my mom. Her reaction was immediate, she was angry and pained that I had to kept such an experience away from her for that long. She wished I had told her earlier so she could have defended me. But at that point, the moment was already in the past and all that remained was just the memory and the lesson it left behind.
I can boldly say I have moved on today. Time has helped me heal, and I’ve grown stronger because of that experience. Though, there are moments when the memory flashes back and reminding me of that young boy who felt unheard and hurt.
In the end, I’ve come to realized that not every battle is fought out loud. Some are fought silently within us. And while the pain may fade, but the lessons remain and teaching us strength, resilience, and the importance of truth.
Everything is in the past now, but the story is still a part of me. Not as a burden anymore, but as a reminder of how far I’ve come.
The picture used is mine
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