How can I describe myself to you?

I think a lot, favours urban fantasy books.

I’m fond of chocolates.

I want to write because I have the urge to excel in one medium of translation and expression of life. I can’t be satisfied with the colossal job of merely living.
-Sylvia Plath

Why subscribe?

We are, as a species, made of stories.
Even in sleep, our minds spin tales. They teach, haunt, and reshape us, long after the telling ends.

My childhood nights were stitched together this way. When the power failed (a ritual in Nigeria), we’d drift into the moonlit yard. My father’s voice would conjure the tortoise: cunning enough to trick a squirrel, greedy enough to shatter his own shell. We laughed, unaware these stories were carving grooves into our bones. Years later, I still hear the cracks of that shell—a parable about ambition, consequence, and the lies we tell ourselves to feel invincible.

Stories aren't just how we pass time; they're how we pass knowledge. They're the technology we developed before writing, before agriculture, before we had names for the stars. They persist because they work, because information wrapped in narrative embeds itself deeper than facts alone ever could.

This newsletter is my invitation to gather under that same metaphorical moon. Each issue offers stories drawn from real lives, people I've known, moments I've witnessed, reflections on how we navigate this bewildering existence. Sometimes I'm the tortoise, sometimes I'm my father, sometimes I'm still that child absorbing lessons I won't fully understand until years have passed.

I’m not here to lecture. I’m here to notice with you, to dissect why that barista’s small talk leaves you oddly moved, or how a stranger’s laughter on the subway mirrors your grandmother’s.

Subscribe if:

  • You’ve ever replayed a conversation like a folk tale, mining it for hidden meaning

  • You crave writing that treats ordinary lives as sacred texts

  • You want to feel less alone in your contradictions

We’ll pass wisdom like my father’s tortoise—broken, enduring, and more human than any hero.

Thank You,
Doja.

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Stories, reflections, and everything in between—straight from Doja.

People

Dedicated to everyone who wonders if I'm writing about them. I am.