From Setbacks to Comebacks: My New Year Story

New Year, Same Me… Just Leveling Up

Happy New Year, world! 🎉

Yes, it’s January 2nd, 2026, and no, this isn’t another “new year, new me” post. I’ve already done my little motivational speech on December 31st. Today feels different — today feels like the calm after the fireworks, a moment to breathe, reflect, and look straight at the path ahead.

I’ll be honest: my feelings are all over the place. 2025 was… well, let’s just say it was a masterclass in patience, lessons, and God’s timing. I rewrote my NSC last year thinking, “Yeah, I got this!” and then my results came back… let’s just say I got schooled by reality. That was rough. I considered giving up on university entirely, but life had other plans — and by the grace of God, 2026 is my year to finally go to college. Funding approval is pending, but faith is loud, and hope is louder.

I’ve applied to colleges I never thought I’d like. I got accepted, and there’s one last decision I’m waiting for next week — fingers, toes, and everything crossed.🤞🏿I feel so happy and blessed that I’ll finally be able to pursue higher education, earn a degree, and open doors to more opportunities. Because, let’s be real, in 2025, job applications were not having me.

 One year and two months, three interviews, zero results — if it wasn’t distance, it was experience; if it wasn’t experience, it was my own human error (thank you, wrong CV!). 🙁

But I’m not letting that stop me. Not this year.

2026 is also about me becoming more adult-ish. That means getting my driver’s license, socializing more (I know, shocking!), and meeting the love of my life.🤭🤏🏿 Solitude has its perks, but too much isolation makes you feel like life’s moving without you — like you’re that one person still figuring out TikTok trends in 2020 while everyone else is in 2026. 😂

College won’t be like high school. No one will call your parents if you skip class or miss an assignment. It’s up to me, and honestly, that’s terrifying and exciting all at once. I’ll need discipline, focus, and self-motivation. But hey, I like a good challenge. 🤷🏾

Also, I get excited about the little things — like buying stationery. It’s silly, maybe, but it brings out that inner child who still dreams big and loves learning. It’s a reminder that no matter how old we get, some joy is timeless.

And here’s a thought I want to share with everyone reading this, no matter your age, race, culture, or religion: life doesn’t always hand you what you want, but it does give you what you need. I almost pursued humanities at a private institution last year. I loved it, I was passionate, but after research, I realized it might not have been the best path to sustainability and stability. God had my back — sometimes, what feels like a setback is actually a divine reroute.

So, here’s to 2026:

• To chasing dreams with eyes wide open and feet on the ground.

• To learning from mistakes without letting them define us.

• To balancing faith, fun, and hustle.

• To the small joys that make life sweeter, even when things get hard.

And if nothing else, here’s the mic-drop moment: we’ve got one life, one shot, and one chance to show ourselves what we’re capable of — so why not make this year count? 🎤✨

Let’s go, 2026. We see you. We’re ready.

© 2025 The Dreamer’s Pause. All rights reserved.

This Is Not a ‘New Year, New Me’ Post

31 December: Between Hope and Reality

Today is the 31st.

The very last day of 2025.

Who knows what happens next?

Maybe God keeps us alive.

Maybe others won’t make it into the new year.

Maybe good things will happen.

Maybe painful things will happen.

Some of us will get accepted into the colleges we prayed for.

Some will finally receive funding or sponsorship.

Some will get married, have children, land a good job, buy a car, or finally have a place to call home.

And for others—it won’t look like that at all.

Some will lose their homes.

Some will still be unemployed.

Some will be turning 40 with no partner, no kids, no clear direction.

Some will feel alone, disconnected from family, friends, or even themselves.

That’s the uncomfortable truth about life:

the new year does not arrive equally for everyone.

And every year—every single year—we hear the same motivational speeches.

“No more borrowing in 2026.”

“No more debt.”

“No more toxic relationships.”

“No more bad boyfriends, bad girlfriends, scandals, drama.”

“I’m marrying rich and right this year.”

We’ve been hearing this since 2019. Some of us since 2015.

Some of us even said these exact words in 2022… and here we are.

Still borrowing.

Still owing.

Still explaining why “this time it’s different.”

It’s almost funny—if it wasn’t so painfully familiar.

Let’s be honest:

most of us didn’t suddenly change because the calendar did.

The date changed. The habits didn’t.

The year upgraded. The behavior stayed on the same version.

That’s why I won’t stand here and give you advice like I figured life out. I don’t know what to tell you that you haven’t already heard from bloggers, podcasters, influencers, pastors, motivational speakers, and that one aunt on WhatsApp.

So I won’t lie to you.

Don’t trust yourself too much.

That’s why we’re told to trust in God and not lean on our own understanding. Because motivation fades. Promises break. Discipline slips.

Faith without action doesn’t move anything.

As for the “power of the tongue”… I’m questioning it.

I’ve noticed how fast negative words seem to come true, while positive ones sometimes feel like they only exist to comfort us mentally. Maybe saying things isn’t enough. Maybe doing matters more than declaring.

So as the new year comes in, reflection should already be done.

If you waited until today—you’re late.

December was for reflection. January is for movement.

Let’s change—but not loudly.

Let’s do better—but not blindly.

Let’s grow—in actions, not just words.

A Personal Note

In 2026, I’m committed to improving my blogging life—expanding it, refining it, and taking it seriously across more social media platforms.

If you’re reading this and you support what I do, please comment.

Even one word. Even a sentence.

I see the views from different countries, but the silence is discouraging.

You can also support me by following or subscribing—there is a follow button on the site. Scroll past the ads and you’ll see it. It’s bright. It says “Followers.”

Faith plus action.

That’s the energy we’re taking into the new year.

Happy New Year in advance.

Let’s hope for better—and do better.

Black Americans, Stop Spreading Ignorance About Nigeria: Trump Isn’t Killing Us, ISIS Is

How One Tweet Exposed the Cruelty of Ignorance Toward Nigeria’s Dead”**

I saw the tweet.

“Trump is killing Black people on Christmas Day.”

And I won’t lie — it made my chest tight.

Not the kind of tightness that passes. The kind that sits there. Burning. Heavy. Personal.

Because while you were typing that sentence — casually, confidently, ignorantly — people in northern Nigeria were hiding, fleeing, mourning, or burying the dead.

And you reduced all of that to a lazy American race slogan.

That is what hurt me.

That is what angered me.

That is what I cannot ignore.

This Is Not Shock. This Is Pattern

I am not surprised.

Because it is always the same pattern on social media — especially Twitter.

Not all Black Americans. I will repeat that clearly.

But the loud ones who refuse to think beyond America.

Every global crisis becomes:

• white vs black

• America vs the world

• racism vs racism

Even when racism is not the central issue.

Nigeria is not your extension of U.S. racial trauma.

Nigeria is not your metaphor.

Nigeria is not your prop.

Nigeria is bleeding.

What Actually Happened — Since Facts Suddenly Matter

In late December 2025, reports confirmed that U.S. forces carried out targeted strikes against ISIS‑linked militants operating in northern Nigeria, following intelligence about extremist camps and planned attacks.

These were not random civilians. These were armed Muslim extremist networks — the same networks that for years have carried out:

• kidnappings of schoolchildren and • families

• public executions

• church burnings

• murder of pastors

• raids on villages

• forced displacement

• ransom videos posted online

Groups aligned with Boko Haram and ISIS ideology have openly filmed themselves:

• holding kidnapped victims

• displaying ransom/stolen money

• celebrating killings

• promising to strike again

This is not rumor.

This is not propaganda.

This is their own footage.

And yet — after all this — some of you saw the word Trump and stopped thinking.

How Did You Make This About Yourself So Fast?

That is the question I cannot shake.

How do you live:

• with clean water

• with safety

• with schools

• with police protection

• with freedom of movement

• with freedom of worship

and still feel entitled to speak over people who don’t?

People in northern Nigeria:

• can’t send their children to school

• can’t go to church safely

• can’t farm without fear

• can’t sleep without listening for gunshots

And you — safe, distant, untouched — tweet as if you are the authority.

That is not activism.

That is privileged noise mixed with illogical sense.

Calling It “Christian Genocide Propaganda” Is a Pathetic excuse of a Human 

Let me say this plainly, because it needs to be said:

If you have watched:

• raw videos of kidnappings

• churches destroyed

• families executed

• pastors killed

• Muslim terrorists chanting "Allah Akubar" slogans while shooting

and you still say “this is propaganda” —

then something is deeply wrong with you.

This violence is not staged dear. This suffering is not exaggerated. And dismissing it because it doesn’t fit your narrative is cruel.

Shame on you!

And Yes — African Leadership Has Failed Too

Nigeria’s leadership has failed its people. African leaders have been quiet. Regional solidarity has been weak.

That truth does not cancel the other truth: When help comes — even imperfect help — people who are desperate will cling to it.

You don’t get to judge that desperation from a place of comfort.

What Hurt Me Most

What hurt me most was not the tweet itself.

It was the ease with which suffering was dismissed. The confidence of ignorance. The refusal to listen to Nigerians. The audacity to speak louder than those living it.

And no — I will not wish Nigeria’s reality on you. I am not that cruel.

But I will say this:

If you cannot research, if you cannot listen, if you cannot pause before outraging —

then sometimes silence is the most ethical option.

This Is a Pause — Not a Plea

This is not me begging you to agree. This is me demanding that you think.

Nigeria is not your culture war. Nigeria is not your Twitter battlefield. Nigeria is a country of real people who deserve to be seen as more than a slogan.

Pause.

Think.

Research.

Then speak.

— The girl behind The Dreamer’s Pause ⏯️

© 2025 The Dreamer’s Pause. All rights reserved.

English Is Not Your Ancestral Language — Stop Acting Like It Is

YOUR ENGLISH ACCENT IS NOT A MEASURE OF YOUR INTELLIGENCE — RELAX.

(Yes, I said it.)

Let’s stop pretending this is not a thing.

In South Africa, the moment you open your mouth and speak English, you’ve already been placed in a box. Not gently. Aggressively. With labels.

Your accent can tell people:

• which province you’re from

• which school you went to

• which university you attend (or attended)

• your race

• your class

• sometimes even the suburb you live in

And let’s not lie — a lot of the time, those assumptions are accurate. And that’s social reality.

But here’s where the madness begins.

English became a weapon, not a language 🔪

Somehow, English — a language not indigenous to Africa — has turned into a measuring stick Africans use to judge each other.

Bad accent? Mocked.

Different pronunciation? Laughed at.

Foreign rhythm? Twitter entertainment.

And the wildest part?

Most of the people doing the mocking do not have English as their mother tongue either.

Read that again. Slowly.

Acting like English is your ancestral inheritance 😭

You’d swear English was passed down through African bloodlines the way surnames are.

As if:

• English did not arrive here through colonialism

• English was not taught in classrooms, not kitchens

• English was not learned, adapted, survived

Yet some of us defend our version of English like we were born in Buckingham Palace.

Suddenly, everyone’s a pronunciation police officer 🚨

Suddenly, everyone’s an Oxford graduate.

Please.🙄

Meanwhile… in actual English-speaking countries 🌍

Let’s be very honest.

White English speakers do not all sound the same. They do not understand each other easily. They struggle too.

• Americans struggle with Scottish English

• Brits struggle with Irish English

• Australians confuse Americans

• Jamaicans confuse almost everybody (with love 😭)

Accents clash. Misunderstandings happen. People ask, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

What usually doesn’t happen? 👉 Public humiliation. 👉 Intelligence-shaming. 👉 Turning accent into character assassination.

But somehow, in Africa, we do it with confidence.

Yes, some accents are hard to understand. So what?

Let’s not lie for the sake of being politically correct.

Some accents are difficult. Some pronunciations are confusing. Some English will make you pause and ask yourself if your ears are okay.

That is normal.

That does not mean:

• the speaker is stupid ❌

• the speaker is uneducated ❌

• the speaker’s English is “wrong” ❌

It means your ear is not trained to that rhythm yet. FULL STOP!

The part we don’t like to admit 🪞

When Africans mock other Africans’ English, it’s rarely about clarity.

It’s about:

• insecurity

• internalised hierarchy

• proximity to whiteness

• sounding “better” than the next person

English becomes a badge. An accent becomes currency. And cruelty becomes entertainment.

That’s not confidence. That’s fear dressed up as superiority.

Let’s say this plainly

“Accent is not a measure of intelligence. It is a record of history.”

And this one needs to be framed:

Pretending one African accent is ‘correct’ while others are laughable is dishonest and harmful.

Because English was never meant to sound the same everywhere. If it did, it wouldn’t be a global language.

© 2025 The Dreamer’s Pause. All rights reserved.

Crying on Camera While Your Mother Dies: How Did We Get Here?

Grieving or Performing? The Wild, Outrageous Reality of Social Media Mourning

Sometimes, the world manages to astonish you—not with beauty, but with sheer audacity.

Recently, a video circulated online that left me both horrified and deeply unsettled. It showed a young woman, older than me, standing just outside a hospital room. Her mother had just passed away inside. The scene should have been quiet, heavy, intimate. Yet, instead of retreating into private grief, she pulled out her phone. On Snapchat, she picked a filter, pressed record, and screamed her lungs out while holding the camera. She cried, shouted, and displayed raw emotion—yes—but for the world to watch.

Think about that for a moment. The rawness of losing your mother—the woman who carried you, nourished you, loved you unconditionally. And yet, in that moment, there’s the presence of mind, or maybe the sheer nerve, to record it, perform it, and publish it. It’s bewildering. Where does that energy come from? Who taught grief to pose for a camera?

This is not an isolated incident. Several months ago, another story circulated— an influencer, a woman helping people in her community noticed a heavily pregnant woman in distress on the street. Exhausted, vulnerable, and in desperate need of care, the woman was supported by her, helped to hospitals, and finally admitted. Tragically, her twins were stillborn. Witnessing this profound grief and loss firsthand, the helper—again— immediately opened her camera, recorded herself crying, and posted it online. In real time.

And it doesn’t end there. I know someone personally, a young man whose aunt passed away. He grieved, sincerely, as most of us do. But walking down the street, with tears streaming, he decided the world needed to see his mourning. Press record. Monologue. Tears. Posted on his status. Like the sidewalk was his stage. It’s confusing. It’s exhausting. And it raises the same question: why?

We have officially entered the era of performative grief. Funerals are vlogs. Mourning has become a content niche. The sacred, private, deeply personal experience of loss is being transformed into a spectacle for views, likes, and engagement.

Let me be clear: grief itself is natural. Crying is healthy. Sharing pain is human. But recording and broadcasting it while the wound is still fresh? Seeking attention, approval, or validation in that moment? That is not grief. That is performance. And normalizing it is dangerous—not for the deceased, but for the living.

Grief deserves respect. Loss deserves dignity. And the dead—especially our own loved ones—deserve privacy. Some things are sacred. Some things should never be a trend.

© 2025 The Dreamer’s Pause. All rights reserved.