Growing up, I found it strange when someone who was ill would say, “my enemy is ill.” It always felt like an odd way of speaking, as though they were shifting the sickness onto someone else. I remember wondering if the words made her feel less ill, or if they changed anything at all. At that time, it was only curiosity. I did not see any depth in it.

With time, I have come to understand. Words are not just sounds or letters. They carry weight, they shape thought, and they carve space in our minds. To say “my enemy is ill” is not to deny the sickness but to refuse it power. It is to create distance between the self and the affliction, a small but meaningful act of resistance. The body may be touched, but the soul insists on its freedom.

There is wisdom in shaping words in ways that nurture, nourish, protect, and provide. Language is one of the first gifts we are given, and often one of the most overlooked tools we possess. The words you choose can either wound or heal, weaken or strengthen. A person who learns to shape their speech wisely builds a form of shelter around themselves. It is not superstition. It is survival.

What I once dismissed as strange, I now see as strength. In a world where we cannot always control what happens to us, we can control how we name it. And in that naming, we either surrender or stand.

— Osasu Oviawe