Nothing but adulthood

Ekabosowo Takon
3 min readDec 20, 2023


Photo credit : me, One Sunday Afternoon.

This morning as I walked around my room, I realized that I missed my mother’s Akamu, the one that she made by herself every other Saturday as we waited in anticipation to eat it with akara.

Then I remembered that the last proper conversation I had with my dad was about investments, whatever happened to the small denominations he rewarded us whenever we executed our chores properly. What happened to the little conversations my 6-year-old self had with him about how my day in school went?

Now most of my conversations with my mother surround getting married and being serious about it. What happened to conversations about her teenage years, and all the things she enjoyed about being a teenager? What happened to discussions around “Bible stories” or my hometown?

When did all the familiarity disappear? What would I do when I have to birth to a child and take care of a house all by myself? When going to my parent’s house will be “visitation”.

Where did all the sweetness go? The one that prompted my dad to buy us toys, take us out on Children’s days, and for dinners to mark achievements in our lives?

Why do I have to pay my bills myself? What has adulthood done to my parent’s warmth towards me?

Take me back to the day, many years ago, when the Mr Biggs meat pie was so hot yet delicious, that my dad stained his shirt trying to eat it — or the first day of my extra lessons classes when my dad bought me “TFC’s crispy Chicken” — right before I swore in my heart that it was the best chicken I had ever eaten.

Would the days when I dived from the bunk bed in the girl’s room or sang personally composed songs with my brother ever be seen again? Or the mornings & evenings I fought over who will sit in the front passenger’s seat with my brother Or the Sunday evenings that I listened to my dad’s favorite radio show — just to hear the theme song or the days we watched ants in our backyard make their way across the soil or the Sundays when my mother implored all her children’s hands to make her special coconut rice ever come back?

I yearned so much to be an adult when I was a child, something that happened in between being upset at my parents, and being lied to that an orange tree would grow in my stomach if I swallowed orange seeds.

Now? Now I miss childhood so much, I know I can’t go back, but I wish I could record all the moments that gave me joy and store them in a CD — to watch whenever I can.

I hope I never lose that childlike part of me — the one that could play with Lego blocks all day and ride my tricycle around the house all evening.

I hope that I’ll be able to make many more memories even as an adult that’ll make my heart skip when I’m old and gray. Memories that’ll surpass the test of time even when I’m no longer here on this earth.

Here’s to making memories that count 🍺.

Till next time,

Love always,

E 💕.



Ekabosowo Takon

Who knows if I’d ever write a book again — to me this is my memoir. A legacy sort of , a compilation of my life in a sense.