It’s not for a trip. Not for an emergency fund. Not for something I plan to buy later. I just… save. Every time I get money, I put some aside like it’s automatic. Like it’s what I’m supposed to do.

Sometimes I’ll catch myself scrolling through something I like — a bag, skincare, even food — and I’ll think, “I could get this.” But then I don’t. Not because I’m scared to see my balance go down, not because I think I’ll regret it. I just… don’t.

It’s strange, because I don’t feel proud about it either. It’s not a financial win. It’s just a habit I can’t explain. Maybe it’s comfort. Maybe it’s control. Or maybe I’m just used to holding on to things, even money, without knowing what for.

I keep saving, even when I’m not sure what I’m saving toward. Maybe one day it’ll make sense. Or maybe it won’t. But for now, I just like knowing it’s there, not as a plan, just as part of me.

Maybe it’s less about the money, and more about wanting to feel safe, even if I don’t know what from.

The post I Keep Saving, But I Don’t Even Know Why appeared first on Queen moremi.

Solo dates aren’t about being lonely. They’re about being intentional. It’s giving yourself the same effort you’d give to someone else: planning, showing up, and enjoying your own company. Honestly, I used to think it would feel weird walking into a restaurant alone. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised, if I can’t enjoy being with me, who else will?

Think about it — when you’re with friends, you compromise. When you’re on a romantic date, you’re mindful of the other person. But on a solo date? It’s all about you. You pick the restaurant you’ve been eyeing. You go see that movie no one else wanted to watch. You sit in a café with your book, order your favourite drink, and people-watch to your heart’s content.

The best part? Solo dates build confidence. Walking into a restaurant alone might feel awkward at first, but after a while, it becomes empowering. You realise you don’t need company to feel complete or to have a good time.

And let’s not lie, everyday life can be chaotic, work deadlines, family drama, traffic, everything pulling for our attention. Sometimes the most peaceful thing you can do is take yourself out, slow down, and treat yourself like the main character.

 I’ll be honest with you, I’ve been feeling awkward about it too, but I’ve decided I’m going to try it. So let this be your motivation as much as it’s mine.

So sis, if you’ve never tried it before, here’s your sign. Book that table for one. Dress up for yourself. Take that walk. Buy yourself flowers. Because at the end of the day, learning to enjoy your own company is one of the most attractive, powerful things you can do.

The post Solo Dates: Why Every Woman Should Try It at Least Once appeared first on Queen moremi.

Adulting under your parents’ roof in Nigeria is a special kind of balancing act. You’re grown, but not really. You have freedom, but not quite. It’s soft life-adjacent, with a side of stress.

Working remotely? Blessing.
Working remotely in a Nigerian home? War.
They still don’t get it. You could be on a call with a client and hear:
“Pause that thing you’re doing and help me find my glasses.”

Boundaries? Thin.
Privacy? LOL.
Quiet? Where?

And let’s not even talk about the errands. If you don’t run to buy Maggi, you don’t love your family. The way they’ll monitor your movement like you’re 16 again:
“Where are you going?”
“With whom?”
“When will you come back?”
“Did they not kidnap someone in that area last week?”

It’s exhausting. You’re old enough to pay bills, but not old enough to come back after 9 pm without getting a side-eye and a “Hope you know this is not your husband’s house.”

Beyond the errands and interruptions, though, it takes a real emotional toll. Living with Nigerian parents in your 20s — especially when you’re trying to build a career or just find space to breathe — can feel like being stuck between two lives. You’re trying to grow, but you’re in a space that doesn’t fully see you as grown. You’re constantly navigating that blurry line between respect and rest, between being helpful and just being available.

So what helps?

Honestly, not much, but here are a few things that might:
Take a walk. Even if it’s just to the end of the street and back.
Have an ally, a sibling or a friend who gets it.
Speak up when you can, even if it doesn’t always change anything
Pray. Journal. Watch a show in peace. Whatever keeps you sane.

Because in the middle of all the wahala — the curfews, the chores, the mental gymnastics of trying to explain your job for the fifth time — there’s also this:

You don’t pay rent.
You don’t worry about NEPA bills.
There’s food.
Like, actual food, not Indomie and vibes.
Some days, that soft rice and stew waiting in the kitchen is enough to calm the madness.

Living with Nigerian parents in your 20s is both privilege and pressure.
You’re grateful, deeply. But you’re also tired.
Tired of being the family tech support, tired of explaining that “I’m not jobless, I just work on my laptop,” and tired of constantly switching between “adult” and “child” depending on the day.

Still, you stay.
Because in between the noise and the drama, there’s love.
And savings.
And suya at night if daddy’s in a good mood.

So if you’re still living with your parents, just know:
You’re not alone.
You’re not crazy.
And you will eventually move out.

But until then — may your Wi-Fi stay strong, your curfew stay loose, and your name not be called when you’re on a client call.

The post Living with Nigerian Parents in Your 20s: A Survival Story appeared first on Queen moremi.

I wanted it. Not just because everyone else seemed to have it, but because I truly wanted that kind of connection with God. But the more I wanted it, the more I felt like something was wrong with me because it wasn’t “happening.”

I started asking questions in my head that I was too scared to ask out loud: Am I doing something wrong? Do I not have the Holy Spirit? Is my Christianity incomplete? Why does this feel like a spiritual popularity contest?

Somewhere along the line, speaking in tongues became a badge. Like proof you’d “arrived” spiritually. And if you didn’t speak in tongues? People wouldn’t say it, but you could feel it — like your faith was less powerful, your relationship with God less deep.

And then there’s the whole teaching people how to do it — “repeat after me,” “don’t think about it.” Honestly? That made it worse. It started to feel like a performance. And I didn’t want to fake an encounter just to belong.

It took me a while to realize this: tongues are not a test of spirituality.
You don’t earn them. You’re not more Christian because you speak in tongues, and you’re not less Christian because you don’t.

The Bible does talk about speaking in tongues as one of the manifestations of the Spirit. It’s not about proving anything. It’s not a badge of honor or a sign that you’ve “arrived.” It’s not a skill you master in Bible boot camp.

Speaking in tongues can be a beautiful part of your walk with God, but it’s not the ultimate mark of closeness with Him. A real relationship with Jesus is.

When it did happen for me, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even dramatic. I wasn’t in a revival or surrounded by fire. I was in my room. Quiet. Sincere. It just… happened. Slowly. Naturally. And not because someone pressured me, but because I was open, and God met me there.

So if you’re reading this and feeling like you’re missing something, hear me:
You’re not broken. You’re not behind.
You’re not less of a Christian. You’re not spiritually deaf.
The Holy Spirit isn’t ignoring you, and He absolutely lives in you, whether or not your mouth moves in syllables you don’t understand.

Speaking in tongues is beautiful. But it’s not the point. Jesus is. And a real relationship with Him? That’s already the most powerful thing you can carry.

The post Speaking in Tongues: Am I Less Spiritual If I Don’t? appeared first on Queen moremi.

Because tell me why I’m waking up at 4:30 a.m. to resume work by 8 a.m. and still getting there late. The traffic is ridiculous. Places that should take 45 minutes somehow turn into two or three hours. The bad roads, the noise, the air — half the time you’re inhaling dust and generator fumes. And don’t get me started on transportation. I genuinely wish there were more BRTs so we don’t have to queue forever or squeeze into those other buses that honestly should be banned or at least properly regulated.

Then there’s rent. I live in Ikorodu, and I’ve been trying to get a place outside, somewhere closer to work. But the stress? The prices? Self-cons being listed for around a million naira, and then almost paying double because of agent and agreement fees. I know Lagos is a “megacity” and all, but sometimes it feels like the chaos has no off button.

I didn’t use to think I could live anywhere else until NYSC took me to Cross River. I spent a day in Calabar, and please, I was ready to relocate immediately. The difference was so clear. The roads were smooth, the buses were clean, and everywhere felt peaceful. Shops were closing by 8 p.m. — imagine that happening in Lagos! The self-con I stayed in was so spacious, so nice, and when I heard the price, my jaw dropped. That same money in Lagos wouldn’t even get me halfway through house hunting.

And maybe not every state is perfect, but that one day in Calabar convinced me that life can actually be gentler somewhere else. Even one of my former roommates who went to Port Harcourt for a few months said they had 24-hour light where she stayed. I had to laugh because, honestly, it’s been days since we’ve even had light in my house. She’s already planning to move back there after school.

I know Lagos has its perks — there’s energy, opportunity, connection — but sometimes I catch myself wondering if this city still fits me. Maybe it’s just the stress talking. Maybe it’s the rent. Or maybe, deep down, I’m just craving somewhere calmer, where I can breathe without the constant rush.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay in Lagos. Maybe I’ll move to another state. Maybe even out of the country someday. But lately, I can’t shake the thought that I might be outgrowing Lagos — not because it’s bad, but because I’m changing. Maybe I’m just tired.

Do you ever feel that way too?

The post Maybe I’m Just Tired or Maybe I’m Outgrowing Lagos appeared first on Queen moremi.