I Wish I Had Met You Sooner

I've never told you this before: I wish I had met you earlier in life.

Not because there was anything wrong with the timing we got.

I just mean it in the way you mean it when something good happens to you late, and part of you grieve all the years you didn't have it yet.

For a long time, I didn't really believe in sisterhood, especially the kind people describe in captions and speeches. Life gives you enough disappointments, enough moments where trust doesn't pay off the way you hoped, and eventually you just stop expecting that kind of connection. You lower the bar quietly, without telling anyone you've done it.

Then I met Mosun.

If I'm honest, I didn't think much of you at first. You were the new girl with a Procurement request, and I was Supply Chain, and that was the whole equation. I remember thinking, simply, she seems like a good person. That's it. That was my entire assessment of Mosunmola Mare in October 2024.

But the more I got to know you, the more I realized there was so much underneath that first impression. Your resilience. Your brilliance. Your generosity. Your ability to walk into a room and decide, on the spot, that you were going to make something good happen in it. What started as "she seems nice" slowly became real admiration for the woman you actually are.

I genuinely can't remember who spoke to who first.

I think it was you. But I remember exactly when you stopped being "that colleague" and became my friend, and it wasn't the yoghurt. Everyone who knows us claims it’s the yoghurt.

It was actually the Christmas gift.

It sounds small when I say it out loud. But it was the first time in my life a friend had ever given me a Christmas present. Not family out of obligation. A friend, out of nothing but wanting to. It wasn't the gift itself, it was the thought and the intentionality, the fact that you sat somewhere and decided I was worth that kind of care. That's when I knew you weren't just a colleague. You were mine.

Work brought us together properly during the Discovery Series activations, constant back-and-forth, both of us trying to find ways to drive costs down while still pulling off something great.

It sounds unglamorous when I put it that way, but that's the thing about real partnership: it rarely announces itself as a big moment. It just quietly builds trust, negotiation by negotiation, vendor call by vendor call, until one day you look up and realize you'd choose to work with this person even if you didn't have to.

But the moment I understood this was bigger than work happened somewhere else entirely.

I'd had an issue, and I was ready to let it go. I had talked myself into "it's not worth the stress, just move on."

You refused to let me settle for less than I deserved. You called me day and night, relentlessly, in the most loving way a person can be relentless and walked me through scenario after scenario until I finally understood why I needed to stand my ground.

Looking back, I honestly don't think I’d have taken that action without you pushing me. Your belief in me is what gave me the courage to keep going. I'll always be grateful for that phone call, and the ten after it.

And there's a moment I don't think you know I still carry. You shared something with me in May 2026, and for the first time I saw a side of you that was completely unguarded, completely vulnerable. In that moment, all I wanted was to help, whatever it took, however far outside my comfort zone it stretched. I just wanted you to know you didn't have to go through it alone. I meant every bit of that, and I still do.

Now let me tell you the fun part, because we are not always this serious.

We were at a Chinese restaurant with a group of friends, and then one person was making a whole fuss about the prices, and without saying a word, Mosun and I exchanged that familiar look. In that moment, we silently agreed that we were not about to let anyone stand between us and a good meal. We went ahead and placed our orders while everyone else was still deliberating. The rest of the table was in disbelief. "Wait, how did you two even order?" Some things don't need to be discussed. That's us.

People at work think you're serious. Buttoned up, all business, always "on." What they don't see is that you're just a baby girl determined to fund and enjoy her own enjoyment ministry. You work hard, you stay focused, you handle your responsibilities, but you also believe, deeply, that life isn't meant to be all work and no joy. Behind the serious exterior is someone who loves fun and will make the most of every ordinary moment. I've learned that from you. Genuinely. Enjoyment is non-negotiable now; you taught me that.

You also taught me to take the bull by the horns. To be visible. To own what I've built instead of shrinking it down to make other people comfortable. I am incredibly proud whenever I see you post your work on LinkedIn. Watching you do that has made me more confident about being loud about my own career.

If you resigned tomorrow, I'd miss your enjoyment spirit first. Then your unwavering support. Then, honestly, all the hot office gist because you've made work lighter, funnier, and far more meaningful just by being in it.

But you're not resigning. So, here's what's actually happening: our Oríkì spa date in August is non-negotiable, and Jara Beach is coming right after it.

I wish I had met you earlier in life. But I'm not going to spend today mourning the years before you I'm going to spend it grateful for everyone since.

Happy International Friendship Day, Mosun. Thank you for teaching me what sisterhood actually feels like.

With love,

Aramide