Postcard on November

Memories and nostalgia.

Photo source: Pinterest

I am standing by my window, staring at rooftops, observing the way the sun paints them a warm yellow. Soon, the dust will start to settle, and the roofs will turn a perpetual brown. The two trees in my line of view sway from side to side as if engaged in a chaotic tango. My eyes mist with longing.

November always arrives with nostalgia. The air feels thicker somehow, as if mixed with memories. The faint scent of smoke from a nearby fire floats through the open window, taking me back to moments I had nearly forgotten—tiny fragments of laughter, old songs, friends whose names I remember but whose faces I struggle to picture, loved ones long gone…

For some reason, memories always feel heavier in November. They settle around me, a quiet reminder of everything that has come and gone. As the sun starts to fall, I realize that no matter how much we try to hold on, time has a way of slipping through our fingers, like sand.

Year after year, November arrives to remind me that life moves, dust settles, trees sway in rhythms that are never quite the same. Moments can’t be bottled, nor should they be. There is just as much beauty in letting go as there is in holding on.

Hmmm.

I’m always heavy in November. Maybe it’s because, as a child, this was the time we’d start preparing to visit the village—a long, usually eventful trip to see relatives and friends we hadn’t seen all year.

I remember the way my dad’s laughter would echo from under the big cashew tree at the center of our ancestral home, and the way his cheeks would dip into soft dimples. My mum would be somewhere nearby, chatting with a relative or simply resting, easing off the accumulated stress of the year. We children would be playing, or just watching, taking it all in.

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” — Dr. Seuss

Hmmm.

I’m always heavy in November. It reminds me of all I’ve lost, of all I will never witness again. But somehow, it also reminds me of all I’ve gained, of the people and experiences that have filled the empty spaces. It’s a harsh reminder to keep moving forward. Writing this newsletter to you feels like my way of trying to do just that. Just trying to be here, right now.

Maybe I’ll be over my November nostalgia by the time the next newsletter is due, and write on a different theme for a change. I almost didn’t send this one, but who knows? Maybe there’s someone else like me, struggling to let go in this season. I hope this reminds you that it’s okay to part with the past, and I hope you’ll treat yourself with grace as you do.

Took this photo last week. Yellow is such a flirty colour.

My prayer for you—for us—this week is that we find ease in our battles, that we find the strength to let go and let God. As Apostle Paul prayed, “May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard our hearts in perfect peace.”

With loads and loads of love,

Odinakachi Nwonu