The Years Move Faster Than You Think
Inspired by Mr Isk Odemwingie – mentor, close associate, and a man who understands the weight of time and the power of intentional living.
Aging is the most democratic law of existence.
No throne has ever negotiated with it. No beauty has ever seduced it. No wealth has ever bribed it. No intelligence has ever escaped it.
From the silent villages of forgotten men to the glittering cities of emperors and kings, every human being walks steadily toward the same horizon called old age.
Yet we live strangely—as though time belongs to us permanently, as though tomorrow signed a covenant promising to arrive forever.
To Starboy & Dearest Anu: The Years Move Faster Than You Think
Let me tell you something that you will not fully understand until you are older—but I pray you hear it now, while the years are still generous with you.
Life is astonishingly brief.
It only appears long because memory stretches moments into stories.
Yesterday, you were learning to walk. Today, you are running across football pitches and sitting exams. Tomorrow—though it feels impossibly far away—you will be where I am now. Looking back. Wondering where the time went.
Yesterday you were ten, standing at the doorway of wonder, looking at the world with innocent eyes.
Then twenty will arrive with ambition and fire. Thirty will come with responsibility, and fourth….
And eventually the trembling realisation that the body which once ran like a river has become slow like a sacred old tree weathered by seasons.
The tragedy of life is not merely that we grow old. It is that we grow old while still trying to understand what life truly means.
The Silence of Time
Time moves with terrifying silence.
It does not announce its departure with trumpets. It leaves quietly.
One day disappears into another until years become shadows behind us.
A child becomes a father before he understands his own father.
A young girl becomes a grandmother before she fully understands the fragility of beauty.
Human beings spend the first half of life believing they have endless time, and the second half wondering where the time went.
This is why I write to you. This is why I take time off work. This is why I am intentional about your growth and have difficult conversations and set boundaries you sometimes resent.
Because I know something you are still learning:
time is not a guarantee. It is a gift. And gifts must be used wisely.
Here is a hard truth, TurtleDoves. One that I want you to hear clearly:
The world owes you nothing.
Not success. Not comfort. Not a smooth path. Not a fair fight.
You have been given support. You have been given a stable home. You have been given parents who show up, who sacrifice, who invest in you. But none of that is owed to you. It is given to you.
And the difference between those who succeed and those who drift is often this: those who succeed understand that opportunity has an expiry date.
Your window is open now. The support is here now. The time to build is now.
But windows close. Support fades. Time moves on.
Focus is not just a word on a card. It is the discipline of making the most of the window while it is still open.
The Discipline of Work
I want you to understand something about work.
Not just schoolwork. Not just football training. But work as a principle.
Your mum and I have built our life on work. Not shortcuts. Not entitlement. Work. Consistent, daily, unglamorous, focused work. The kind that no one sees until the results arrive.
This is what I am trying to teach you. Not because I want you to be busy. Because I want you to be ready.
The world will not wait for you to get your act together. It will move on. It will give opportunities to those who are prepared. And those who are not prepared will watch from the sidelines, wondering what happened.
Focus. Work. Discipline. These are not punishments. They are preparation.
When Children Grow and Leave
There is another mystery that unfolds before the aging eyes of parents: children grow and slowly leave.
The little hands once held tightly while crossing the road eventually wave goodbye at airports, universities, marriages, and distant cities.
Some children grow to honour the sacrifices made for them. They remember the sleepless nights, the hidden tears, the unpaid dreams their parents buried so they themselves could rise.
Others, unfortunately, grow into forgetfulness.
They enjoy the shade of trees they never planted and fail to appreciate the silent suffering that protected them from hunger, shame, and hardship.
To my TurtleDoves: I am not writing this to guilt you. I am writing this to remind you—and myself—that we must not live only for our children alone.
Human goodness must extend beyond bloodlines. A meaningful life is built not merely by raising sons and daughters, but by helping humanity itself.
Sometimes strangers become more grateful than relatives. Sometimes those we helped casually remember us longer than those we sacrificed everything for.
Therefore kindness must never become a transaction expecting applause. It must become a philosophy of existence.
The Sacrifice of Love
Love is not a feeling. It is a decision.
It is a decision to show up when it is inconvenient. To give when it costs you. To stay when it would be easier to leave.
The sacrifice I make for you— the time off work, the difficult conversations, the boundaries you sometimes resent—these are not because I owe you anything. They are because I love you.
Love is sacrifice. And sacrifice is the language of intentional parenting.
But here is what I need you to understand: you must learn to sacrifice too.
Not for me. For yourself. For your future. For the people you will one day be responsible for. For the legacy you will one day leave.
The habits you build now are the sacrifices you make for the person you are becoming.
Choosing to study when you would rather scroll. Choosing to train when you would rather rest. Choosing to be kind when you would rather lash out. Choosing to focus, when the world is full of distractions.
These are small sacrifices. But they are building something significant.
A Closing Word for Part I
To my TurtleDoves, years are moving. The window is open. The support is here.
Do not waste it.
To parents reading this: our time is also limited. Our water is also being sipped. Let us use it well—not just for our children, but for the legacy we will leave behind.
And to Isk: thank you for the reminder. Thank you for the wisdom.
