That was how I met her at the bank.

She had come to open an account with the bank.

I had gone to sort out a few issues with the foreign online payments using my debit card.

She had asked to use my pen to fill the form she was to submit. I gladly obliged her.

I began to steal looks at her while she filled the form.

Her eyes, as hazel as they were, were fit only for angels in human form.

Her lips parted in a form of ecstasy anytime she spoke.

Her legs were straight, objects of envy by any model.

She was a perfect package that made me always remember Pastor Glover’s teachings about God’s workshop of goodness.

As she filled her form, we made small talk, mostly centered around the questions on the form.

Among the answers I helped to provide, I also extracted her phone number, especially the one she said she used for WhatsApp chats.

That evening, we chatted on WhatsApp into the wee hours of the morning.

Our chats snowballed into several outings to the eateries in Port Harcourt. Then to Genesis Cinemas. Then to home visits. Then to the cushions on my sofa in my one-bedroom apartment.

Finally, we made sure we left imprints on the bed sheets in my bedroom, entanglements of legs and arms and sweats that sang symphonies that would have added to Beethoven’s artistry.

For several months, our weekends were spent locked in kisses, arms, and embraces.

I was madly in love with Linda. I was 25. She was 22, freshly graduated from Covenant University, waiting for call-up.

We had audacious dreams.

Each day I felt so strong that my fantasies would be fulfilled with her by my side – a visit to the Eiffel Tower, sleeping in the ice hotels of the Scandinavia, a stroll into Borobudur (the largest Buddha temple in the world), gambles in the casinos of Las Vegas, and sleeping in the topmost suite of the Al Burj.

Ours was a whirlwind romance of thirteen months till one fateful night.

Just as we had kicked it off on WhatsApp, she ended it on WhatsApp.

She said she wanted to do a review of her life and didn’t need me in it anymore.

I felt it was one of her jokes, but after three months of saying the same thing, it became clear as the back of my hand.

It didn’t make sense to me. Her explanation of a life review didn’t make sense. It never made sense.

I grieved like one who had lost a loved relation. I grieved for a year, hoping she’d come back to me, like the way we hope a dead relative jerks back to life before the coffin is closed and ready for burial.

It didn’t all make sense, but Linda’s ‘rejection’ taught me a lesson in senselessness.

So, when I sat across Remi who said she had been ‘dumped’ by Kunle, I shared my own struggle with senselessness.

Ever since, I’ve used that lesson.

It doesn’t make sense that a publisher rejected me because I was African.

It doesn’t make sense that a prospect haggles and haggles over your product fees, sends you a promissory note to keep it, but goes ahead to sign up with someone else.

It doesn’t make sense that people boo you for daring to rise and showcase the light of your gifting.

It doesn’t make sense that a rich dude will ask you for the taste of your vagina because you ask him to open an account and deposit a few millions into your bank’s vault.

It doesn’t make sense that your family members don’t believe in the authenticity of your dreams.

A lot of things just don’t make sense.

I shared with Remi my own resolves.

I share that with you today because many things may not make sense to you as you engage with humans.

Just two things. I learnt to do one and embraced the other as a belief.

One, learn how to turn the epilogue of tragedy into a prologue of comedy.

Secondly, understand that the flickering flames of success are birthed in the crucibles of rejection.

I do hope you use the lessons.