I shared a writing dream with a bosom friend.

A secondary school friend.

We didn’t dream of becoming the future Chinua Achebes or the sorts.

We dreamt of expressing ourselves, entertaining our audience, and making subtle but potent impacts.

Those were our dreams.

We started off as readers. Voracious readers. Read over a hundred books in Secondary school.

Things were good. My friend wanted to be a lawyer and writer while I wanted to be a writer and engineer.

Then life happened.

Man drafts Plans, God drafts destinies.

Four years after graduation, I have begun my writing journey.

Been writing for three years now, expressing myself, entertaining my audience and making subtle but potent impacts.

But, sadly, my friend hasn't been writing.

Not that he can't write. He, he just can't write.

Health challenges. Life Challenges. Family Brouhaha. Financial ups and downs.

Always facing one big challenge or the other, incapacitating him from sacrificing the intentionality writing requires.

Lately, I've been avoiding my friend.

When I see him, I feel guilty. As though, I have moved on and left him behind. That's betrayal.

My friend sees me everyday and I see the glitters in his eyes. How is he able to keep a clear head despite all challenges? I don't know.

I admire his strong spirit, his tenacity.

This is not what I intended to write today. But when I opened my DOC, my hands moved on their accords.

And I wrote this piece.

Yes, man drafts Plans and God drafts destinies.

Dear friend, I still believe it's our destines to be writers.