Empathy is underrated - the series

This is a long read but it's totally worth your time. I intend to write every Friday and I'm starting with Tunde's story (Empathy is underrated the series) so kindly turn on notifications. I also would like to hear what you so please comment and share. Thank you!

My name is Tunde.
I grew up in Lagos in a quiet environment with my parents and my 3 siblings. My parents were illiterates but worked very hard to make us comfortable. What they both wanted was for all of us to get educated and then get good jobs so we could make money and take care of them. This they wanted for all of us especially me their only son.
Starting from primary school, having good grades for me were how I could make my parents feel satisfied, it was my way to make them feel their hard work wasn't a waste. It was how I proved myself to them being the only thing I could control at the time.
My parents didn't come for visiting days and the rest but they were always around for prize giving day as I having worked really hard would go home with a lot of prizes and my dad always had his proud father moment.
This continued for a long time up until I wrote Jamb to gain admission to a good university. My Jamb score came out less than 200. This was exactly where it all began.
My dad was disappointed and although it hurt me that  I won't get to go to the university with my mates, it was my dad's disappointment that hurt me the most. I decided I would give the exam my all and study Law just like I and my dad wanted, this way I would redeem myself....I failed.
I had to write UTME again and it came out well, I gained admission to study Mass communication instead of Law. My parents wanted a lawyer but they still let me go although it had become obvious that I was letting them down. My plan of redemption then became to come out with a First Class, this I knew would certainly redeem me.
I got into school and it was quite obvious I was a bright chap and so I became the class rep, it was extra pressure but I liked it.
My dad being illiterate didn't know how things operate but he was familiar with such terms as "carry over" and "First Class" so each time he called he always asked about these things. I had been careful to avoid any carryovers but I was far from a first class, it stared in my face...yet again, I had failed.

I somehow managed to forge ahead despite all until mid way into my final semester I saw results of the previous semester and realized I had failed two courses, this ultimately translated into an extra year. I had managed after each failure but this one took the control out of my hands. My next plan of redemption had been to come out of school and get a job so somehow I could help my parents but now I couldn't even come out at the time expected. I really was hurt but I didn't loose it until my dad called to ask me when I would be done with school so he could hand to me the training of my last sister. The same me who couldn't even make things work for myself... I had failed, yet again.
With each one of these failures I had stopped having control over the one thing I had control over, the one thing thought which I made my parents happy. It was obvious, even in making them happy I had failed.

I had to retake these two courses but I had started to loose all of confidence. My dad would call saying all sorts, telling me perhaps I am not as intelligent as he thought. My sisters would call telling me all of things they could not wait for me to buy for them when I stopped school. There were people in school who would ask the weirdest questions, "Brother Tunde, you've not graduated ni? Shey it's medicine you're studying ni?
The only thing I had control over had been taken away. I was depressed and it seemed with each passing day I took a step further in depression.

I studied for the exams, I knew I had no other option but to pass it this time around. After the exams, I got home to realize that my mum had gotten very ill. All of the family's finances was being used for her treatment and it was so bad my sisters' fees couldn't be paid.

I had to do something. I sent out my CV and eventually got an interview. It was that day it happened.

I had done very well at the interview but I was told feet preferred someone with a little more experience. I walked a long while that day and cried in helplessness. I got home to news that the results have been released. I check online only to discover I had failed, yet again.

I didn't even cry again, I couldn't. Headed for the bathroom with the only sniper in the house in my hand.


In our clamour for how senseless acts should be done away with, we shouldn't throw away our empathy as we never truly know all sides to the story. Calling the dead names would not bring them back but what we say about the conditions of the dead to the face of those alive who face the same conditions really matters.


If you're depressed please reach out... You matter too.