NOT SO ALONE AFTER ALL (or… maybe I was 🤔)

 I’ll start from the sweet part so you don’t immediately run away from this epistle I’m about to drop on you.

First things first.

You guys absolutely killed it with the prompt submissions! We received 14 stories in total, which is a solid turnout considering our size. And honestly? I was impressed. Like, jaw-dropping impressed. You people surprised me in ways I didn’t expect. The effort, the creativity, the spice—all of it showed me that we truly can be that big, beautiful YWW family that always shows up for one another. The turnout gave me a huge boost of trust and confidence in us.

But you know what they say: “Good things don’t last forever.” 😭

Now, I never want to believe that about us… but you guys, you planted a dangerous little seed of doubt inside me this past Sunday.

Let me explain.

We had been reminded all week about our Game Night. I mean, it wasn’t a casual “by the way” reminder—it was constant. Morning, night, random times in-between—you were told. I even begged for your attendance, telling you how much it would mean to me. Because honestly? I was dying to finally have something juicy to write about on our blog.

Do you know the last time we had an event covered there? FOUR. MONTHS. AGO.

Imagine my excitement when Game Night came around. I was already picturing the article in my head—“YWW’s Epic Game Night: Laughter, Chaos, and Friendship Unleashed.” I was smiling like somebody who just got accepted into Hogwarts. 🧙🏾‍♀️

And then… reality slapped me.

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Two whole hours. Yes, you read that correctly. TWO HOURS of waiting for at least 10 people to show up. You know how many finally appeared? Eight.

Eight. Out of 47 members.

I nearly cried.

And the funny part? I wasn’t even asking for the whole 47. I wasn’t asking for a revival service where all of us would show up speaking in tongues. No. Just ten. One tiny little ten. Ten faithfuls. But alas, the fates said, “Nope. You get eight.”

Eight is good, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t enough to push Game Night forward, and so my beautiful article idea, my shiny blog feature, my moment of joy—all gone. 💔

To make matters worse, now we’re on lockdown. Nobody can even chat each other. It’s like we’ve been scattered into exile. I’m just here staring at the group like a widow in mourning. 😭

So tell me—HOW! COULD! YOU!?

You crushed my writer dreams. You popped my opportunity. You left me hanging with nothing but pain, unfulfilled excitement, and the memory of my two hours wasted in hope. Do you know how long two hours is? That’s the length of an entire Nollywood movie where the witch finally confesses she buried her best friend’s placenta. That’s what you wasted for me.

But don’t worry, I’ll forgive you… if you do one thing.

👉 Drop a comment. Right here. Now.

Either:

1. Confess your excuse for not attending. (Even if the excuse is “I was kidnapped by my fridge” or “NEPA took light and my spirit followed.”)

2. Or just apologize sincerely.

Because if I don’t hear from you guys, I might tell Aunty Omah to extend the lockdown or I might just write another epistle. And trust me, it will be 3x longer and 5x more dramatic. You’ve been warned.

So—are you ready to make peace with me? 😏