A Mosaic of Everyone I Have Ever Loved
My wandering feet led me to take an evening walk around Canary Wharf yesterday. I passed several skyscrapers that had office spaces in them. It was a typical end of the week, with people hustling to complete their weekly work deliverables. Seeing those offices struck something in me at that moment.
Sonder is described as the profound feeling of realizing that everyone, including strangers passing in the street, has a life as complex as one’s own, which they are constantly living despite one’s personal lack of awareness of it. It is the realization of the fact that people are living lives the same way you do.
Everyone in those offices I could see had an entire life equally as enjoyable as mine, things that made them laugh and cry, fears and challenges, their pasts and present, people they loved and those they cared about. Yet, there is the possibility that I might never get to meet them.
The other day, on the Northern Line train, I sat across a black British guy who reminded me of someone I knew from Nigeria. The physical similarities were so striking he must have wondered why I wouldn’t stop staring. I caught bits of his conversation with his friend about “how he had done a lot” for a woman who wasn’t reciprocating his efforts. I’d probably never see him again, but that simple interaction left an impression on my mind. When he got off at his train stop, I wondered if the whole experience would have changed if I had said hello?
Changing the course of a story, an event, or a whole person’s life takes a simple action. It is brilliant and scary at the same thing. Your whole life is based on one fundamental thing happening first — the union of your parents’ chromosomes. Suppose one of your parents had not been present at the place or event they had met. In that case, you might still exist as a soul but in a different body, family, and life.
The place and circumstances of your birth can change the whole trajectory of your life, whether you’re a commoner or perhaps born into royalty. Other factors could be whether you have access to formal education or not, the things you were exposed to, and how you were raised as a child. As an adult, the interconnectedness we experience shapes us as individuals.
Recently, I stumbled upon a profound post about how you pick up little habits and phrases from the people you love. It suggests that every interaction we have with another person, no matter how brief or insignificant it may seem, leaves a lasting imprint on our being, shaping our thoughts, behaviours, and overall identity. We become a reflection of them, even when they are no longer in our lives — being a mosaic of everyone you’ve ever loved.
To be loved is to be changed.
It makes sense that hearts are broken when these people leave. You’ve shared bits of yourself with them, and the bits they’ve shared with you have stuck with you. Just as a mosaic is composed of countless individual pieces, each unique in colour and texture, each person we encounter brings with them a piece of their own mosaic, adding their unique perspectives, experiences, and emotions to our own.
Mosaic (noun): A surface decoration made by inlaying small pieces of variously coloured material to form pictures or patterns.
Love in the general context is not limited to just the relationship dynamic. I think of it in meaningful interactions one has had. My disposition towards love is that it should be overwhelming, a genuine extension of yourself. Love is having someone that feels like home. Choosing to love someone is regarding them how you view yourself — a want to see them happy, be around them, and better their lives. Love is a feeling, a choice, a decision.
When we love, we open ourselves to the possibility of being seen, understood, and cherished. In that moment of profound connection, we are changed, our perceptions altered, and our perspectives broadened. These tiny interactions and pieces of loving and being loved come together to form parts of us that we carry. The changes can be positive or negative; we can’t decide which one is. Still, there’s the hope that we can try our best to make something beautiful of those interactions.
My father’s practicality has found its way into my daily routine — I fold clothes meticulously, a habit inherited, a legacy that whispers efficiency. The love for music and whistling tunes in the mornings, a simple joy traced back to his lightheartedness, is now a melody of comfort in my own repertoire. My first knowledge of using Photoshop was gained from watching him design graphics.
From Mum’s work-brought books and Dad’s curated library, my love for reading bloomed. Her effortless style, a fusion of T-shirts and trousers, influenced my casual dress sense. Snickers and Bounty became my go-to chocolates, mirrored from Mum’s unwavering obsession. The sense of independence stemmed from the struggle of never feeling wholly understood.
Reality did not match what Harlequin and Bloom marketed in the books when I learned about romance. My unique spaghetti recipe, a legacy from a past love, bears testimony to how affection can flavour even the simplest of dishes. I fell in love more with Emeli Sande because she was the favourite singer of someone I dated. Saying “I love you” in a whimsical tone because it used to amuse an ex, now a melodic reminder of diverse expressions of care. Wande Coal’s Again reminds me of driving through Herbert Macaulay Way on Sunday nights. The Script’s Break Even navigated me through my darkest heartaches. Ed Sheeran’s Love in Slow Motion radiates warmth, a reminder of the love that enveloped me through its melody.
The beach holds a special place in my heart, a sanctuary teeming with cherished memories. The Harry Potter movies, a cherished bond I share with siblings and friends, evoke a unique kinship. One Direction’s tunes, etched in my playlist, gained an enduring place due to my sister’s infectious love for them. I still write in an italicized form because Fisayo Fato from junior secondary school taught me how to write his notes for him. I think of Chidinma when I get faux locs done because it was her favourite hairstyle in the university. Williams reminds me of the beauty of late-night walks along Tedder Hall. He told me once never to doubt my smartness — it is one of the kindest things ever said to me.
I appreciate podcasts better because Mo produces interesting audio stories. Davido’s music holds a special place, a shared favourite with Folabi and me. My treasured jewellery pieces bear the essence of Tobi’s heartfelt gifts. “No wahala,” a phrase I picked up from Nenye, now weaves into my everyday lexicon. Zainab’s guidance illuminated the art of embracing femininity authentically. Dipo made me relearn the importance of hugs. Brunches became something to anticipate because of Lily and the girls. Aderinsola taught me to capture memories to look back at. Tamilore’s infectious laughter draws out my own, echoing a liberated and joyous spirit.
All these seemingly simple things have formed parts of me. In their words, in the nuances of shared laughter and the echoes of moments, it is both humbling and empowering. We are not merely a sum of our experiences, but forever indebted to the people and connections that have woven their threads into the fabric of our being. I am a mosaic of everyone I have loved, even for a heartbeat.
December 9. 3:37 am.