If I were to consider the best gift I have received over time, I would pick the one given to me by my crazy ex-girlfriend. It was a package of everything I told her I loved at that time. It was perfectly curated and even included chewing gum.
Over the years, my love for things has gone through a revolution. I no longer chew gum like I used to—partly for the health of my teeth—and other things have also been stripped away from me.
In the last two years, I have been gifted by various individuals, one of which I now consider the best gift yet. Before going for my NYSC program, something I considered a habit was visiting my business friend.
We had known each other since primary school, and he was one of the few friends who still resided in the state. Since I fancied being a businessman and was involved in a startup idea for a clothing line, I often found myself learning lessons from him.
He seemed to be the best teacher, as he faced the daily hustle and bustle of entrepreneurship. One other thing I noticed about him was his interest in books.
On one of my visits, he took me to the bookstore across the street where his family conducted business and bought a book for me: The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel. That was the first time someone had bought me a book since I developed an interest in them.
During my youth service program, I attended a family church that highly valued love—both in spirit and in practice. We had a special Sunday where members were encouraged to exchange gifts, love letters, words of encouragement, and more.
It was on such a Sunday, while I was still relatively new to the church, that I received a wrapped gift from a sister. When I felt it, I knew it was a book, and my heart melted instantly.
Before I left the church that day, I thanked her twice. I was overjoyed. When I got home and unwrapped it, the book was Make Today Count by John C. Maxwell.
Toward the end of the same youth program, I was a little disturbed by the big question: "What’s next?" I found solace in a brother from church—a fellow corps member at the time—who always checked on me, gave advice, and tracked my progress.
One day, while visiting him, we were chatting, and he picked up a book he had just bought but hadn’t read yet: The 15 Invaluable Laws of Growth by John C. Maxwell. He handed it to me.
I devoured the book for days straight. I needed its lessons at that time, and it was a great read for me. This particular book made me appreciate the author, and if I ever become a self-development writer, I would imitate his style to mastery.
However, since I might lean toward a more philosophical approach, I favor Jordan Peterson. Somehow, that book ended up in the hands of my first friend.
After I left town and later came back to visit, I stayed over at another brother’s place from the church. This particular friend didn’t just bear the tag of "brother," as used in religious circles—he truly embodied it.
After staying the night and needing to travel back, I asked for a book to take along. He gave me Emotional Intelligence. It’s a beautiful blue book that sits in my book folder since I don’t yet have a shelf.
I haven’t read it, as it serves more as a memento to remember him by as the days pass.
On December 31, a lady dear to my heart—someone who taught me so much about friendship, commitment, forgiveness, and leadership—decided to buy me my church devotional.
It was her way of sowing seeds, as she wanted me to grow closer to the Lord. During the crossover vigil, I received it: Mountain Top Life by Dr. D.K. Olukoya.
Books are endless gifts. That much I know. Personally, I love to be around them. I am often filled with joy and a sense of power when, in church, I clean and arrange the many books on the library shelf.
Books are eternal. They encapsulate memories—like the one given to me on Love Sunday, which had a note written on the front page, along with a small sketch of a love image and the date: "Love Sunday."
Fifty years from now, it would still have been worthy, or even more valuable, than it was that day. But alas, I gave it to a colleague, who still holds on to it to this day.
It’s like giving away a piece of love, a torrent of memories, a package of intentionality—a gift eternal.