๐๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ซ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐๐ฌ๐ง’๐ญ ๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ค ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐ฅ๐ญ๐ก: ๐ ๐๐ก๐ซ๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐ฆ๐๐ฌ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ง๐๐๐ซ — ๐จ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐, ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐.
Christmas has a way of making us forget ourselves. The laughter gets louder, the days get longer, the nights get shorter, and suddenly, we’re running on excitement instead of rest. Meals are skipped, water is forgotten, sleep is postponed, and our bodies quietly wait for us to notice. But here’s a gentle truth we often overlook during festive seasons: ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐๐’๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐
๐’๐ ๐๐๐๐
๐. ๐ ๐๐ต๐ฟ๐ถ๐๐๐บ๐ฎ๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ป๐ ๐ข๐ณ ๐จ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ป ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ ๐ง๐ผ Last December, Kemi, a young woman living in Ibadan, had been counting down to Christmas all year. She had plans — travelling to see family, attending church programs, visiting friends, cooking, laughing, taking pictures, and ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ on life. Her days were packed, her phone was buzzing constantly, and joy filled the air. But somewhere between the long bus rides, the late-night gist, and the endless plates of food, Kemi started feeling off. She brushed it aside...