Dealt.

“His mother wanted a break. You know, it’s hectic. She’s a single mother. She just bought a house. It’s a lot taking care of a kid on your own. She thought maybe it would be a good experience for him to come live with Uncle Olasegun for the summer. As soon as she suggested it, I was like: ‘I want to do this.’ And here’s the reason: she did the exact same thing for me. We lost our mom when we were kids. I was really young at the time,  like three. Whitney was twelve or thirteen. She and my other sister ended up taking care of me: cooked for me, took me to school, made sure I had a shower, brushed my teeth. Back then I thought she was annoying, because of my ignorance. But now it’s crazy for me to think about. It must have been such a burden. She’d be hanging out with her friends, and I was always there. So I’m just trying to pay it forward. I picked him up from the airport last night. I have no idea how the summer is going to go. I like to cook, so I’ll cook for him. Maybe we’ll paint a little in the evenings. I’m going to teach him some kickboxing on the terrace; hopefully that’ll tire him out so that I can get some work done. I’d love to be a father one day when I find the right woman. So it’s going to be a good test for me. I’m just hoping he has fun. And when he goes back home, he tells his mother all about the amazing summer he had with his uncle.”

“It felt like freedom, maybe; but I was spiraling. There was a hurricane in my head: certain addictions, and impulsive decisions that could affect me for the rest of my life. Other people would see it, and they’d say: ‘He’s so fun.’ But nobody was looking at me, really. They’d never have noticed if I was hurting myself, or if I slipped away. I got good at floating around and giving people what they want, just enough positivity, so I could get through the moment and leave a good impression. But I can’t do that with her. When I think a certain thing, she reacts. She wants to know more. And when I feel a certain way, she feels it too. Nobody’s cared like she cared, you know? I feel seen. I feel found. Like there’s something outside of me. Like somebody touched my face. Sometimes when I’m sleeping, she’ll do this thing. She’ll reach over and touch my face. She’ll just hold onto it. And that’s the image that keeps coming into my head, when I try to describe her. She touched my face.”

Whitney Houston’s Passport