That Little Immigrant Girl from Lagos

When I was 16, I obsessed over my presentations.

Hours spent making them just right.

The perfect mix of words, visuals, and jokes—

anything to keep my nerves in check.

It was always the night before.

That stressful window when I worked harder,

better, faster.

Like I needed the pressure

just so I could use it as fuel to push myself.

I’d stay up for hours, tweaking, perfecting,

then walk into school the next morning

with pride—

not because I wanted anyone else to notice,

but because I noticed.

At 16, it wasn’t about them.

It was about me.

What I thought of me.

That little immigrant girl from Lagos,

who believed she could do anything if she worked hard enough.

That girl who grew up with so little

but dreamed so big,

one day walking through doors her family had never even seen.

Because that’s what dedication does—it opens doors.

And now?

It’s January 20th. 6:30 p.m.

I’m in my Los Angeles apartment.

Sixteen years later, here I am again,

working on a project I should’ve finished before today,

setting deadlines no one asked me to meet.

But this time?

This time, it feels different.

This time, it’s not about proving myself.

It’s about letting go.

Leaving behind the doors that once made me feel safe—

because maybe they aren’t mine anymore.

〰T.