Come On. Get Over It. - by Oluwaseun Balogun

"Come on... get over it." ... Say it again. No. Say it again. Louder. Maybe if you say it loud enough... it'll erase four years. Maybe it'll give me back the nights I never slept. Maybe it'll return every prayer that came back unopened. Maybe it'll rebuild the version of me that died trying. Go on. Say it again. "Get over it." Do you know what you're asking me to bury? You're asking me to bury a life I hadn't even lived yet. You're asking me to bury the boy who believed hard work could outrun heartbreak. The boy who thought talent was enough. The boy who kept saying, "Just one more year." "Just one more chance." "Just one more try." Do you know how many tomorrows I survived... because I believed today wasn't the end? Do you? No. You don't. Because while the world was sleeping... I was negotiating with failure. Every night. Every single night. I wasn't afraid of hard work. God knows I wasn't. I gave it everything. My sleep. My youth. My joy. My peace. I gave birthdays. I gave friendships. I gave laughter. I gave pieces of myself... until there was barely enough of me left to recognize. And when the dust settled... Do you know what was waiting for me? Certificates. Awards. Applause. Smiles. Photographs. A room full of people celebrating a version of me... that couldn't afford to celebrate himself. I remember holding another award... and feeling... nothing. Nothing. Because trophies don't hug you when you're breaking. Certificates don't answer the phone at two in the morning. Recognition doesn't pay back four years of becoming a ghost inside your own life. People saw the applause. They never saw the collapse. They saw me standing. Nobody noticed I was falling. Brick. By brick. By brick. Until one day... I couldn't even recognize the ruins. And then... someone looked me in the eyes... and with all the ease in the world said, "Come on. Get over it." Get over what? The dream? No... Dreams don't hurt. It's watching the dream die... while you're still alive to witness it. It's attending the funeral of the person you thought you were going to become... and realizing you're the only one mourning. Tell me... How do you get over a future? How do you grieve someone... who never got the chance to exist? Tell me. I'll wait. ... Because I have been waiting. For four years. Waiting for life to make sense. Waiting for effort to become reward. Waiting for God to answer. Waiting for morning to feel different from the night before. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Until waiting became who I was. So no. Don't ask me to get over it. Sit with me in it. Look at what it cost. Look at who it took. Look at what it left behind. Then... if you can still find the courage to say those four words— look me in the eyes... and tell me... "Come on. Get over it."

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