Synopsis
There was a time when so many things mattered. I was always eager to know, always eager to learn.
I remember the child I used to be, curious to a fault. The child who wanted to understand everything. If I came across a word I didn’t know, I would write it down on a scrap of paper to look it up later, or I would repeat it again and again until it stuck, until it became familiar. Learning wasn’t a task back then; it was part of who I was. Curiosity lived in my bones.
But today, the person I have become saw a word and felt… nothing.
No urgency. No pull. No hunger to understand. I didn’t even bother to find its meaning, even though a dictionary lives comfortably on my phone, just a few taps away. I had lost the zeal, and worse, I didn’t seem to care that I had lost it.
Today, I came across an unfamiliar word.
Like so many others, I overlooked it. The new me has made this a habit: less concern, less bother. I moved on as if it didn’t matter, as if not knowing had become normal.
Still unconcerned, I walked into the bathroom. It wasn’t until I poured water over my head that something shifted. The cold rushed down my face like a sudden awakening, stirring something buried beneath the surface. I stood still. Maybe the saying is true: “Our subconscious speaks loudest in quiet places, like the bathroom, where we go not just to wash away dirt but to confront what lingers underneath.”
“Synopsis,” I whispered.
Yes, the word I came across earlier was “synopsis.”
What does it mean?
What does it do?
Where can it be used?
The word sounded familiar, like something I once knew but had misplaced along the way. I couldn’t remember where I had heard it or what it truly meant. But what struck me most wasn’t my ignorance; it was my comfort with it. I had grown used to not knowing. Used to not caring. And quietly, that had become a habit.
A memory surfaced.
Oluoma had called me a few years back. She was preparing for an exam and needed clarification on some terms. She trusted me enough to ask. I told her I would get back to her. I didn’t. She called again, gently reminding me. And still, I postponed it. I kept pushing it aside until she eventually stopped calling, not because she no longer needed the answer, but because she got tired.
I can’t even remember the last time I had a conversation that wasn’t tied to money.
A conversation about something random.
A conversation that didn’t need a purpose or a return.
Just a free, open exchange of thoughts.
So much has happened in my life, so many changes, and I didn’t even notice…
On my journey into adulthood and independence, somewhere along the way, I became free of knowing and free of wanting to know. I detached myself from curiosity, from thought, and from the very things that once made me human and special. I began to see the world as a trade-by-barter system: I must always get something in return for whatever I offer.
Maybe it’s because of the people I’ve met.
Maybe it’s because of how I’ve been treated.
But somewhere in the process, I stopped being me.
How things change with time.
How my search for peace pushed me to avoid so many things.
How unconcerned I became, even with learning.
Yes, we all crave peace of mind. But in the process, we sometimes lose so much without realizing it: people, places, behaviors, and even the little things that make us special.
Like being the friend who can get a call during a game show because everyone is sure you’ll have the answer.
Like being the person whose words bring comfort without trying.
Like being someone whose presence alone brings joy.
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Like being the one who notices when someone needs a smile and gives it freely.
Like being a shoulder people lean on without hesitation.
Like being the light in a room, even when the world feels heavy.
Like being remembered not for what you achieve, but for how you make others feel.
These things seem small. But they are the threads that hold us together, the proof that we matter to someone.
We distance ourselves from people, from places, and from things, and we don’t even notice. Just like how I started with not noticing new words, then things, then people, then the world at large.
For me, it might have started with overlooking a word. But it has been four years since someone called me to ask for my opinion, to hear my thoughts, or to simply include me. I told myself I had found peace. Maybe I did. But at what cost? Was it worth it?
Four years.
48 months.
1,461 days.
23,055 minutes.
1,318,695 seconds of slowly not caring about others.
That is a lot of time.
And yet, here I am, standing in the cold water, remembering.
This is the story of how long it took me to realize what I had lost.
But here’s the truth I’ve learned: it’s never too late.
Never too late to notice.
Never too late to care.
It’s never too late to speak, to act, to reach out, to offer your hand, your heart, your time.
Because in the end, the world doesn’t remember how much we knew; it remembers how much we gave.
When was the last time someone told you:
I know you’ve got my back.
I know I can count on you.
Thanks for being a friend.
You make a difference in my day.
You always know how to make me smile.
You inspire me without even trying.
You see me, even when no one else does.
I didn’t give up because of you!
And now ask yourself: when was the last time you made someone feel that way?
Today is another day.
Another chance to care.
Another chance to be the person someone needs.
Because the truth is simple: the moments we give, the words we share, the smiles we offer… they are the legacy we leave behind!
