Forgotten Dairies
My Birthday Question: Who Is He Who Speaks And It Comes To Pass? -By Isaac Asabor
My story stands as evidence that no setback is final unless you accept it as final. And so, on this birthday, my answer to the question is clear and definitive: no circumstance, no challenge, and no human verdict have the authority to write the final chapter of your life. The future belongs to those who keep moving forward, keep believing, and keep rising after every fall.
If there is any day to ask life’s deepest questions and reflect on the journey that has shaped one’s existence, it is a birthday. Birthdays are more than anniversaries of age; they are milestones that invite gratitude, introspection, and renewed purpose. It is against this backdrop that I ask a question today, not out of doubt, but out of amazement: “Who is he who speaks and it comes to pass?”
In simpler terms, who can declare the end of a person’s story? Who can confidently say that illness will destroy a life, that unemployment will erase a future that poverty will define a destiny, or that rejection will determine a person’s worth? Experience has taught me that no human being possesses such authority.
On this birthday, I answer that question with my own life story. Let me take you back to January 2011. I was working as a Personal Assistant to a prominent Nigerian. One morning, while having breakfast in my office, I suddenly noticed that my mouth had twisted to one side. My hands and entire body began shaking. Severe dizziness followed, and I felt as though I would collapse at any moment. I was rushed to a private hospital in Ikoyi. The diagnosis was partial stroke. From there, my treatment continued at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH).
For many people, such a diagnosis would have marked the beginning of the end. It would have been easy for observers to conclude that my productive years were over. Yet life would soon teach me a lesson that remains with me today: circumstances do not have the final say.
As I struggled with my health, another devastating blow followed. I lost my job. The challenges did not stop there. Years later, I found myself unable to pay my rent. A quit notice arrived, and eventually I was evicted. The combined weight of illness, unemployment, and financial hardship took a visible toll on me. I became painfully thin and physically worn out so much so that some friends and neighbours behave as if they don’t know me, particularly when they saw me outside my neighbourhood. In fact, some friends and former colleagues distanced themselves. Others looked at me with pity. A few silently concluded that I was finished.
But difficult seasons have a way of revealing the people who truly matter. My wife stood by me. My children remained steadfast. My relatives rallied around me. My late mother-in-law, whose memory I continue to cherish, offered unwavering support. While my children temporarily squatted with friends, my wife and I found refuge with relatives. They saw me at my weakest. They witnessed my struggles firsthand. Yet they never abandoned me.
Looking back today, I realize that resilience is rarely a solo achievement. Behind every comeback story are people who refuse to give up on you when giving up appears easiest. There were moments when the future seemed uncertain. There were days when opportunities appeared non-existent. There were nights when hope felt distant. Yet somehow, each setback became a stepping stone rather than a stumbling block.
While taking on odd jobs to survive, someone noticed my communication skills and my academic background in Mass Communication. That observation opened an unexpected door into journalism. I began as a reporter with News Direct, albeit briefly. Later, I moved to the now-defunct National Mirror. Today, by God’s grace and through perseverance, I work with Daily Independent.
The transformation remains remarkable even to me. From a man battling the effects of a stroke to a journalist whose words reach thousands. From a person many had written off to someone contributing meaningfully to public discourse. From a tenant unable to pay rent to a man standing firmly on his feet again.
My journey has taught me that life’s darkest chapters are often misunderstood. When we are in the middle of a crisis, we assume we are witnessing the end of the story. In reality, we may simply be reading a difficult chapter before a better one begins.
Too often, people surrender because they mistake temporary setbacks for permanent realities. They accept the verdict of circumstances and stop believing in the possibility of change. Yet history is filled with individuals who rose from sickness, failure, rejection, poverty, and disappointment to achieve extraordinary things. The difference was not that they never fell. The difference was that they refused to remain where they fell.
As I celebrate another birthday today, my message is for anyone facing a difficult season. If you have lost your job, do not assume your career is over. If your health is under attack, do not conclude that your best days are behind you. If people have abandoned you, do not measure your worth by their absence. If life has knocked you down repeatedly, do not mistake your current position for your final destination.
The most important lesson from my journey is simple: never allow temporary circumstances to become permanent conclusions. Today, I am not celebrating merely because I have added another year to my age. I am celebrating because I am living proof that adversity is not destiny. Illness did not define me. Unemployment did not destroy me. Poverty did not bury me. Rejection did not stop me.
My story stands as evidence that no setback is final unless you accept it as final. And so, on this birthday, my answer to the question is clear and definitive: no circumstance, no challenge, and no human verdict have the authority to write the final chapter of your life. The future belongs to those who keep moving forward, keep believing, and keep rising after every fall.
That is the lesson of my journey. That is the reason for my gratitude. And that is why, today, I celebrate not merely survival, but triumph.