“Unlearning isn’t forgetting; it’s remembering differently.”

 

I used to say something in ignorance: “I hate curiosity, because curiosity kills the cat.” But curiosity didn’t kill the cat – it gave her nine lives. I just didn’t know that back then.

 

And when people reminded me that cats have nine lives, I’d quickly reply: “I’m not interested in losing even one.” What an ignorant statement. If I ever told you that in those younger years, abeg no vex — I’ve grown from that.

At the time, I thought curiosity was dangerous — an invitation to stress myself unnecessarily. Lagos was already stressful. Life was already stressful. So why add more wahala by being curious? Why volunteer to complicate my life with amebo and extra learning?

 

Reading was already a struggle because of dyslexia, so after law school, I made a vow: no more stress. If I couldn’t learn it on the job or through everyday life, I didn’t want it. What I already knew was enough. Or so I thought.

 

Now I see how wrong that was. Life is too full to be lived on repeat. Why keep doing the same thing over and over again when there are new ways waiting?

Learning is not just survival — it’s how you taste life.

And unlearning? That’s how you make space for the new taste.

For years, people around me prided themselves on knowing every shortcut by heart — no GPS, no Google Maps, just instinct and danfo wisdom. I admired it, but for me, it was impossible. Dyslexia never allowed me to trust directions. I was the friend who would call you for directions to your own house — the same house I had visited the day before.

 

I thought it meant I was disadvantaged for life. Until Google Maps came along. Suddenly, my “weakness” wasn’t weakness anymore — it was just a different way of navigating.

 

Even today, I still need to pretend to write with my right hand just to know left from right. Born and bred in Lagos, yet I still use Google Maps everywhere. People laugh, I laugh too. Lagos roads, or any road, may not be my strength. But resourcefulness? That one, I’ve mastered.

That’s what unlearning feels like. It’s letting go of the shame of “not knowing” and embracing the tools that make life fuller and easier.

 

We love to celebrate learning — degrees, certificates, LinkedIn courses. We add and add until our shelves are heavy. But unlearning? That’s harder. It feels like loss. It feels like betrayal of the old ways. Yet it is freedom.

 

Learning fills your cup.

Unlearning empties it — so you have space for what’s next. Both are survival tools. Both are luxury silk.

My generation grew up believing endurance was success. Work late. Delay joy. Save it for “later” — after the house, after the children’s school fees, after retirement. But sometimes, “later” never comes. And when it does, joy feels like an afterthought.

 

Unlearning doesn’t mean despising the old. It means holding it with gratitude and still saying: “It’s time to release.” Because sometimes the things you’ve held onto all your life turn out to be indoctrination — hand-me-down scripts from parents, teachers, society.

 

Think about it:

  • We unlearn that curiosity is dangerous. It’s actually the doorway to discovery.
  • We unlearn that keeping quiet equals wisdom. Sometimes, silence is the chain.
  • We unlearn that staying in one career path equals loyalty. Sometimes, it equals stagnation.
  • We unlearn that Lagos chaos is only suffering. Sometimes, it’s theatre, comedy, even connection.
  • We unlearn that rest is laziness. Sometimes, it’s wisdom
  • We unlearn that forgiveness is weakness. Sometimes, it’s power.
  • We unlearn that joy must be delayed. Sometimes it must be claimed now.

Unlearning isn’t weakness. It’s strength. It’s the humility to admit that yesterday’s answers might be today’s chains.

 

For me, unlearning often shows up in the softest ways. Like when I get home after a long Lagos day and open the door to my room. The first thing that greets me is my TINUKE Luxury Reed Diffuser from WhiffWonders — fast becoming my favourite fragrance. It’s already there, waiting, shifting the air before I even drop my bag.

 

And then, I reach for my TINUKE Room + Linen fragrance. I spritz it on my duvet covers, my curtains, even the sheets. One mist, and the air shifts again. The heaviness of the day dissolves — the conversations, the pressures, even the things I didn’t get right.

That’s what unlearning feels like. Clearing out what no longer serves, making space for something softer. A reset. TINUKE doesn’t just scent the room. It rewrites the air, like unlearning rewrites the self.

 

It isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about freshening the present, so you can finally breathe again because some scents fade into the room.

But Tinuke? Tinuke becomes the room.

 

The truth is this: life is not just about what we add.

It’s also about what we release. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is not to learn one more thing — but to unlearn one old thing.

 

Because space — in your mind, your heart, your life — that is the real luxury silk.

 

Unlearning is not forgetting. It’s remembering differently.

 

Ada Obiajunwa
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Ada Obiajunwa writes from Lagos about the big truths tucked inside ordinary moments — friendship, self-discovery, and the quiet revolutions of everyday life. She believes in the power of presence, good banter, and decoding the unsaid. Through her fragrance studio, WhiffWonders, she also crafts scents that weave memory and emotion into experiences that feel like home.