NEXT VICTIM

Coming from the same country doesn’t make you my friend.

It doesn’t make you family.

It doesn’t make you close.

It just means we boarded different flights with the same passport.

I treated her like a big sister, no, let’s be honest, like a mother. I listened, I nodded, I sat there quietly while she seasoned other women’s names like stew, one insult at a time. And the funny thing? I knew. Oh, I knew. When someone is that comfortable tearing others apart, it’s only a matter of time before you’re added to the menu. I just didn’t know when my name would be served.

Spoiler alert: it was coming. 😂

There we were, at a party.

Music loud.

Food good.

Laughter real.

Greek-themed gowns everywhere, flowing, dramatic, giving Olympus realness. Women glowing, dancing, eating like they deserved joy. And me? I was present. Happy. Free. Unbothered.

Or so I thought.

Because while we were dancing and living, she was sitting. Not resting. Not enjoying. Sitting and strategizing. Plotting. Calculating. Like a woman who can’t breathe unless someone else is choking. And yes, she finally did it. The nastiest things. About me. About my character. My intentions. My existence. And just to spice it up, she dragged another woman into her mess. Because misery loves company, but gossip needs witnesses.

And honestly? I laughed.

Not because it didn’t hurt, but because it was predictable. When people can’t compete, they campaign. When they can’t rise, they dig holes and hope you fall in. When they see light they don’t have, they try to switch off the power.

But here’s the thing, I don’t fight people like that.

I don’t argue.

I don’t confront.

I don’t scream.

Why would I?

She’s almost 50. I mean… should I wrestle with someone who could have conceived me? 😂 Be serious. I’m not fighting generational bitterness. I’m not debating with unhealed timelines. I’m not explaining myself to someone whose hobby is collecting victims like souvenirs from every country she’s worked in.

We all left home.

We all crossed borders.

We all came to a foreign land to build something, careers, futures, dignity.

But some people don’t build.

They hunt.

They’re not looking for growth; they’re looking for their next victim, their next story, their next name to chew on when life gets quiet. Because silence forces reflection, and reflection scares people like that.

So I did the most disrespectful thing you can do to someone who wants your downfall.

I ignored her.

I didn’t cut communication dramatically.

I didn’t announce boundaries with speeches.

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

I forgot her existence.

Buried the memories.

Deleted the noise.

Head high. Back straight. Life moving forward.

Because peace is loud when you don’t owe anyone chaos. And nothing confuses bitter people more than realising you’re thriving without mentioning their name.

So let her sit.

Let her talk.

Let her plan.

I’ll be dancing.

Eating.

Living.

Unbothered. 💅🏽

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

BENEATH THE QUIET HOURS

Image
1.THE SILENCE THAT RAISED ME I was born in the early 1990s, into a home defined by routine, responsibility, and a quiet, unspoken resilience. Life followed patterns that rarely changed. School mornings were short and efficient. We came home for lunch, and in the afternoons, we went back to the house again, long, quiet stretches of time where the world seemed to pause. Both of my parents worked full-time. My mother returned each evening carrying fatigue that spoke volumes without saying a word tiredness rooted in love, in sacrifice, in survival. My father’s presence was firmer, more distant, mostly reserved for weekends. His love was strict, measured, something we learned to recognize rather than feel openly. We were a large family, but never all in one place. My sister and our second-born brother stayed with our grandmother. Our eldest brother had already moved on to high school, stepping into a future we could only imagine from afar. At home, it was just me and our third-born br...
Read more

MY TURN

This chapter of my life is called MY TURN. Not because I suddenly became selfish, but because I have been selfless for too long. I gave until my hands were empty, loved until my chest was tired, stayed in places that were shrinking my spirit just to prove I was loyal. Now I choose me, not loudly, not for applause, but intentionally, I’m choosing my growth, even when it makes people uncomfortable. I’m choosing my peace, even when it looks like distance, choosing my healing, even when others prefer me broken because broken people are easier to control. For years, I was the “understanding one.”, the one who made excuses for disrespect, one who stayed silent to keep the room comfortable, who carried other people’s pain while bleeding quietly in corners, the one who showed up for everyone, even when nobody showed up for me, and look at me now, still standing, Still breathing, Still here, but this time, I’m standing differently. My back is straighter, My boundaries are louder than my mouth, ...
Read more