When Home Was a Person💜

The Art of Being 20-Something🙂

Please listen while you read 🙏🏼💜

The funny thing about losing a friend in your twenties is that nobody sends flowers.

Nobody checks in.

Nobody says, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Because technically… nobody died.

So you’re expected to move on like nothing happened.

But something did die.

A version of your life.

A version of you.

The hardest part wasn’t even losing Eniola.

It was realizing Eniola was the person I would’ve called to cry about losing Eniola.

Do you know how sick that is?

Life has a wicked sense of humour.

For weeks, I’d pick up my phone whenever something happened.

A funny tweet.

Office gossip.

Family drama.

A random memory.

I’d think, I have to tell Eniola.

Then I’d remember.

Oh.

Right.

We’re strangers now.

There’s a special kind of silence that follows that realization.

The kind where you stare at your phone for a few seconds before locking it again.

I don’t think people talk enough about friendship heartbreak.

Romantic heartbreak has an entire industry behind it.

Sad playlists.

Relationship podcasts.

Breakup quotes.

Ice cream.

Friends who say things like, “You’re too good for him.”

Friendship heartbreak?

You just continue praying rain doesn’t spoil your light 💔

Nobody even buys you shawarma.

What made mine worse was discovering that Tito had never really been in my corner.

You know those people who clap for you just loudly enough that nobody notices they’re hoping you fail?

Those ones.

Looking back, the signs were probably there.

I just mistook politeness for loyalty.

I’m not angry anymore. Mostly because anger requires energy, and adulthood has already borrowed all of mine.

I’m just… disappointed.Not even in Tito. In myself. How did I not see it?

But then again, maybe that’s the thing about people who pretend well.

If everyone could spot them immediately, they wouldn’t last very long.

What nobody prepares you for is the loneliness that comes after.

Especially when you work remotely.People hear “I work from home” and imagine soft life. Pajamas,Netflix during lunch. No traffic. No shouting conductor asking for your change.

And yes, those things are nice. But nobody tells you that some days the only voice you’ll hear is, “Can everyone see my screen?”

You close your laptop at 8p.m., and that’s it.

No colleague asking if you want to grab dinner. No “Let’s gist before we go home.”No accidental friendships forming over terrible office coffee.

Just you. Your room. And the thoughts you’ve been postponing all day.

It makes grief louder.

Because there isn’t enough noise to drown it.I think that’s what I’ve struggled with the most. Not that I don’t have people.

I do. But losing the friend who knew everything creates a vacancy nobody can immediately fill.

There’s nobody I can call without first explaining the backstory. Nobody who already knows why a particular date makes me sad. Nobody who understands why one song can ruin my entire evening. Sometimes I don’t even want advice.

I just want someone who remembers the previous episode.

Someone who doesn’t need the recap.

Growing up is strange.

You spend years collecting people.

Then one day you realize you’re collecting memories instead.

Some people leave because life happens.

Some leave because they were never meant to stay.

Some were never really for you in the first place.

I don’t know which one hurts more.

These days, I’m learning to sit with the silence.

To resist reaching for a phone that no longer feels like home.

To believe that losing one friendship doesn’t mean I’ll never find another.

I still miss having that one person.

The one who knew my stories before I told them.The one who understood my pauses.

The one who could hear “Are you busy?” and immediately know something was wrong.

Maybe that’s the real heartbreak of your twenties.Not that people leave.It’s that when they do, you suddenly realize how few places in the world still feel like home.And then you have to become one for yourself. I’m still learning how.