If money didn’t matter, I’d build a life centered around purpose, impact, and love doing the things that bring me joy and draw me closer to God’s plan for me.

I see myself as a medical surgeon, using my hands to bring healing and hope to others. There’s a sacred kind of fulfilment in helping someone get a second chance at life  it’s ministry in its own way. Alongside that, I’d be a photographer and videographer, capturing stories, emotions, and memories that speak even louder than words. Through the lens, I’d freeze beauty, pain, and victory, the rawness of human experience.

I’d own a restaurant, a warm and cozy space filled with flavour, laughter, and creativity. I’d learn to cook foreign dishes, not just for skill’s sake but to connect cultures and hearts through food. Cooking, to me, feels like another way of showing and sharing love.

At the same time, I’d embrace my creative and expressive side, becoming a media influencer, spoken word artist, and motivational speaker. I want to use my voice and platform to inspire, to heal, and to remind people  especially women that purpose, faith, and confidence can coexist beautifully.

My heart also beats for service. I’d start an NGO focused on sickle cell awareness, women’s health, and medical outreaches, reaching communities with care, education, and hope. I’d stand as a women’s affairs influencer and feminist, advocating for strength, equality, and grace, showing that women can lead with both power and compassion.

I also see myself as a reproductive health counsellor, helping people understand their bodies, choices, and worth from a place of wisdom and faith. And someday, I’d love to walk beside my husband in ministry  as a pastor’s wife who supports, teaches, and loves people deeply.

If money didn’t matter, I’d simply live to heal, to teach, to create, to serve, and to love  all in a way that glorifies God and changes lives.

Right now, I am building quietly
between pages of anatomy notes, furthering in MBBS
and prayers whispered over my sleepless nights.

I am learning the language of bones and destiny,
where the heart means so much more than muscles and nerves,
and my soul studies hard, too.

The world calls it final year,
but I call it becoming:
becoming the woman who survived deadlines and discomfort,
who found grace in fatigue,
who dreamed of healing not just bodies,
but lives.

There’s a soft fire in me
a steady rhythm between purpose, passion, and preparation,
and though the journey is loud with exams and endings,
I walk it with the calm of one
who knows that God writes better conclusions
than fear ever could.

For some reasons most people don’t know that silence is my favourite form of expression. I might seem social or outspoken, but I draw my real strength from quiet moments, the kind where thoughts unfold like pages in a private journal. It’s in that stillness that my creativity lives, where I write, reflect, and rebuild. Beneath everything I show the world, there’s a part of me that treasures depth over noise, meaning over moments, and peace over popularity.

Some days I melt into stillness,
like sunlight stretched across the floor
no rush, no race,
just breath and being, nothing more

The world can wait, I tell my self.The list can fade to gray,
for even clocks grow tired too,
of ticking life away.

But somewhere in the hush, I hear
a whisper, soft, unkind,
Shouldn’t i be doing more?
It murmurs in my mind.

Yet peace is not a crime to feel,
nor slowness such a sin;
perhaps my soul must learn to rest
to find its strength again.

So I’d let the hours drift like clouds,
unmeasured, calm, unplanned
for a moment of rest is not the loss of time,
but time held in my hands.