The resonating sound of the doorbell echoed through the corridors of my heart, heralding the arrival of my English Language teacher at my doorstep. An unusual surge of emotion swelled within me; a curious blend of anticipation and trepidation. Little did I know, that moment would mark the turning point in my journey, one that had lost its way amidst the shadows of uncertainty.
The days leading up to this encounter were woven with threads of doubt, woven tightly around my dreams of pursuing a degree in Linguistics and African Language. The fire that once burned brightly within me had dimmed, flickering like a fading ember.
In earnest conversations, I had unveiled my aspirations to my father, the bearer of wisdom and guidance. His eyes, a reflection of understanding, revealed the depth of his concern. He saw beyond my spoken words, recognising the unspoken longing within me. Mass communication, he suggested, a path illuminated by my eloquence and the grace with which I wielded words. A spark of hope ignited, but uncertainty still gnawed at my core.
Jamb exams were not an issue, as I had scored above the required cut of mark twice but Post-Utme was like the emancipation of a third War and like a battleground of dreams, two attempts had proven formidable adversaries. I faced them, and twice they pushed me to my knees, leaving me grappling with the fragments of my aspirations. It was in those moments of defeat that my father’s wisdom took on a new form. He saw the potential in paths I hadn’t dared and he suggested that I reroute to study Linguistics and African Languages or English Language and Literature at the University of Benin. The weight of his suggestion hung in the air, heavy like a cloak I hadn’t asked.
Resentment brewed within me, a tempest of rebellion against a fate seemingly chosen for me. As the youngest in the house, I was often entrusted with following and complying.
Admission came, but the lecturers became mirrors reflecting my frustration, tarnishing my academic canvas.
And then came the day—the day when my voice trembled, revealing the turmoil within. I had the courage to leave school while sessions were in progress and I travelled home and had a discussion with my father who always listens to his children. His gaze steady, his words like balm on a wounded heart. “Read, Pray, Write,” he said, his voice a bridge between his wisdom and my uncertainty.
Read: The pages of the Bible unfurled before me, a drapery of solace and revelation. Words of old breathed life into my weary spirit, guiding my thoughts and soothing my apprehensions.
Pray: In the quiet moments that followed, I bowed my head, seeking divine guidance. I entrusted my aspirations, my doubts, and my courses to the One who saw the depths of my heart.
Write: A pen danced across paper, etching not just notes, but a testimony to my journey. My father’s words, etched like a mantra,
In the sacred space before my books, I found sanctuary within the scriptures. The boundaries between faith and knowledge blurred, and the once formidable textbooks transformed into gateways of understanding. Ink flowed from pen to page, bearing witness to the lessons imprinted on my heart. And in the quietude that followed, prayers soared, intertwining with the whispers of the wind.
This wasn’t just a routine; it was a metamorphosis—a revival of spirit and purpose. The journey continued beyond my graduation in 2014 and 2019, the echo of #ReadPrayWrite guides me through every challenge and triumph.
My story, once veiled in doubt, now unfolded as a testament to the power of faith, perseverance, and the unbreakable bond between a father’s wisdom and a child’s courage.
I love you daddy @Patrick Erhabor
(Forever in our hearts)❤️❤️❤️
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41 Responses
“My story, once veiled in doubt, now unfolded as a testament to the power of faith, perseverance, and the unbreakable bond between a father’s wisdom and a child’s courage.” This sentence piqued my interest.
what an interesting narative. Thank you sharing your real life story with us.
“In the sacred space before my books, I found sanctuary within the scriptures. The boundaries between faith and knowledge blurred, and the once formidable textbooks transformed into gateways of understanding. Ink flowed from pen to page, bearing witness to the lessons imprinted on my heart. And in the quietude that followed, prayers soared, intertwining with the whispers of the wind.”
I am stucked with this paragraph.
We are excited that you found the short story inspiring.
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What an interesting narrative.
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Thank you, Dorcas.
We appreciate your honest feedback.
Please, stay in touch.
Wow’
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Thank you,Jay.
I enjoyed reading this story. Please,
can we have more?
I enjoyed reading this story. Please,
can we have more?
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Thank you for sharing this beautiful short story with us.
I hope you enjoyed reading the story.
So inspiring. ✨
Thank you .
Thank you Ebube for your honest feedback.
What an engaging short story. I felt the depth of the naration.
Dear Tomissin, thank you for consistent readership on our blog.
Thank you for sharing an emotional story with us. I know your dad is resting peacefully.
Yes, he resting in peace. Thank you.
This article made me reminiscient my relationship with my dad. It was heavenly.
Awn!
I can imagine your relationship with your dad.
This paragraph got me teary-eyed-” And then came the day—the day when my voice trembled, revealing the turmoil within. I dared to leave school while sessions were in progress and I travelled home and had a discussion with my father who always listens to his children.”
Thank you, Buchi.
Thank you for the remarks.
What an interesting read. I felt the catharsis in the third paragraph.
Dear Charles,
Welcome to our blog. Thank you for your comment.
“Admission came, but the lecturers became mirrors reflecting my frustration, tarnishing my academic canvas.” This sentence got me close to tears. What an emotional write-up.
It’s such an emotional write-up. The purgation of emotions was intended.
Read, pray, write, he said. Wow! What an inspiring story.
Thank you, Bola.
More short stories, please. I am enjoying this category.
Thank you, Oyiza.
What an interesting narrative.
We appreciate your feedback.
This should be a series. We need more stories, Roseflower Editorial.
Thank you, expect more short story.
Thank you for blessing us with a touching story.
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