by Eketi Edima Ette

Except for that Nnwanna that used my heart to play kalo kalo, I’ve been blessed with good exes.
They are people I’m happy to do business with, call every now and we’re still good friends.

Some exes are from hell, no doubt about that. Those one you do all in your power to repress memories of them; those ones that walk towards you on the street and you quickly cross the road…

Remember Sweet Egovin? If you didn’t read about him, read it here.

Did I tell you that he called me recently?
Yes, the guy, he don’t have conchest. Sorry, conscience. After doing me konkosa in my heart, he still had the guts to call me.

“Hello, who is this?” I asked when I answered the call.

Because his type, when they’ve finish dealing with you and you recover, you block their numbers, block their address, block their face, block their destiny in the past and future, wherever your paths may cross.

But it’s like I forgot to block the destiny, because he found my number and called.

“It’s me, your Sweet Egovin,” he cheerfully replied.

Me, I pretended I didn’t know who he was.

“Which Egovin?” I asked.

“Ah, ah….babe, how many Egovins do you know?”

“Oh, it’s you. How did you get my number?”

He got it from a friend of mine, he was in town, he wanted us to meet.

I used to dream of that day. I dreamt of how he’d meet me at some public function and we’d be introduced by the host and I’d walk past him like he was a nobody.
I dreamed of how he’d call me and I’d spend at least a minute on the phone telling him his life story, accompanied by thick, deep Ibibio curses.

I dreamed of how I’d be in a hospital and they’d wheel him in from an accident or some emergency. He would need blood urgently and only my blood type would work. His family would beg for me to donate blood and I’d hiss and walk away and probably let him die.

I wanted revenge so badly, I could taste it.

But that day, I didn’t do either.
I merely said, “I’ll look through my calendar and let you know when I’ll be free. Bye.”

I knew I wasn’t ever going to see him.
Not because I was still angry, bitter or harbouring some leftover affection or love.

I wasn’t going to see him because I was finally free.
Up until that moment I heard his voice again after many years, I wasn’t so sure I’d truly forgiven him.
Not even when I wrote about it and laughed hard at the experience.

But that day, I knew for sure.
I’d truly let him go. I even cringed at my earlier vengeful thoughts, especially that hospital scenario.
I wasn’t interested in re-establishing contact or being friends.
But I was at peace, knowing I harboured no ill will.

Grudges are heavy. Bitterness is deadweight. Revenge is a one way street, one that most often than not, leaves you empty.

I think horrible exes should be people we talk about, shudder, give thanks and laugh about how we dodged the bullet.
Not people we fantasize over, how much harm we can do them or wish them.

I’ve seen women and men sit around denigrating their exes, cursing and wishing them all sorts of evil. To what end, I usually ask? Because, such gatherings are rarely, if ever, therapeutic. They only stir up bad feelings and at the end of the day, you go home feeling worse.

Forgive them for you, so you can set your heart free. Don’t let them occupy space in your head and heart rent-free, churning the inky blackness of hate and bitterness everywhere.

When you’ve healed, shake your head and laugh. At your stupidity…we’re all entitled to bouts of it every now and then.
Laugh at your naivety — your human, it’s allowed.
Be happy that you loved — there are many who lack the capacity to do so.
Smile at the lessons you learned. Experience is a good teacher.
Share the story if you wish, so others can learn and laugh too.

But most of all, move on.
Never forget that. Move onwards and upwards

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Op–ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija

Eketi Edima Ette is a writer. She can be reached on Twitter @Ketimay