On Oats, Box of Chocolates and Gino Pepper.

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I grew up, as many do, in the company of women—strong, wise, and mysterious beings. There was my mother, my sister, my aunt, and, as if to add a touch of masculine frivolity, my uncle. It was a world where emotions ran rampant, and logic appeared only when beckoned, like a guest at a party who’s always late but indispensable.

My mother, of course, did the heavy lifting in the thinking department. But to call her a mere logician would be like calling the sea damp. No, she was more than logic, she was a whirlwind of reason and feeling. She knew when to let a tear slip for a broken heart and when to sharpen her wits for the negotiation of household budgets. She had that rare gift of being both a bleeding heart and a sharp sword, a paradox Nietzsche would surely tip his hat to, before promptly challenging it.

But my aunt, ah, my aunt was the mathematician in the family. A creature of formulas and fractions, she could divide a pie with surgical precision, but she could just as easily tear or flare up during a soap opera. She wore her heart on her sleeve alongside a slide rule and a calculator, of course. You see, in her, the apparent opposition between mathematics and emotion found a home. It was as though numbers and tears danced together on the same stage, each step perfectly timed, each note ringing true. Chesterton might say she was proof that the most rational things are sometimes the most absurd.

My uncle was the minstrel of this odd court, always spinning records of Jesse King and Lágbájá, because, after all, some things simply cannot be reduced to numbers or decisions. Promiscuity and rebellion did not let him breedt. He was not very demure, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, women found him cutesy. I’d simply say he’s not the one you go to for the best decisions.

Then there was my sister. She was my sister—that much is obvious—but she was also my first real introduction to authority that came wrapped in uncertainty. She was young, too young to have all the answers, but when the adults left us alone, she made the decisions. She became, for a time, both lawgiver and judge, a role I would describe as the "comedy of authority." There we were, two children, pretending to be wise, when in truth, wisdom was something we borrowed from the adults like an oversized coat. It didn’t quite fit, but we wore it anyway.

As I grew older, the coat began to fit a little better, and I started making decisions on my own. But I knew my limits. Oh, how I knew them. A famous person once said, "The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese." Well, they’ve also been rather silent on the subject of how terrifying it is to choose, until you do it enough times that it becomes second nature. At first, I left the decisions beyond my capacity to my mother. She was logic in the same way that a river is water—steady, sure, but capable of overwhelming force when needed. This myth of male logic and female emotion is a false dichotomy, one that is clinged to because it’s easier than confronting the chaos and beauty of human complexity. it’s too neat, too simple. The truth is far more wonderfully messy.

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Logic and emotions has always been one of those curious paradoxes(I like paradoxes), like trying to bake a cake with algebra. One might argue that logic is the katana of rational thought while emotions are the gooey cake batter of the human experience. The problem? Life constantly forces us to mix them together, like tomato paste and ata gúngún, whether we’re ready or not. But here’s the punchline: without emotion, logic is sterile and robotic; without logic, emotions are like a toddler in a candy store—wild, impulsive, and sticky. Yes, exactly like gino pepper.

So how do we reconcile the two? Should we? Let's say it’s a bit like putting socks on a rooster or like trying to make Jollof rice without gino tomato jollof, it’s difficult, but not impossible. Emotions and logic seem like they should be at odds, but the truth is, they're more like an old married couple. They bicker constantly, but they need each other to get through the day. So, let’s sit down with this strange pair and have a laugh at their expense, all while uncovering the strange but harmonious relationship they share. Picture this: You’re in a grocery store, staring at a shelf full of cereal boxes. One side of your brain—the logical, responsible side—is saying, “Buy the healthy fruit flakes or oats, they’ll lower your cholesterol.” The other side—the emotional, fun-loving one—is saying, “Get the sugary, chocolate-covered, marshmallow-stuffed monstrosity because it will bring back childhood memories!” What do you do? Probably what most of us(I) do—grab both, then argue with yourself all the way to the checkout.

This is a typical example of the marriage between logic and emotion, and research backs this up. Michel Pham (2007) talks about how emotions don’t necessarily undermine logic; they just pull it aside occasionally and whisper, "But what if we had a little fun instead?" Emotions act as the gut-feeling shortcut to decision-making. Sure, they can lead us astray, but they also save us from spending 45 minutes deciding between laundry detergents. Emotions, like a good sidekick, are there to cut through the fog of indecision. Logic, on the other hand, is like the long-winded boss who insists on running the numbers. Both are necessary, but neither is quite complete without the other. Now, sometimes emotions can be like an overly enthusiastic sports fan—they’ll cheer you on, but they can also distract you. Take confirmation bias, for instance. You’re emotionally invested in believing something, so you only listen to the people who agree with you. "See, everyone knows pineapples belong on pizza!" (This is, of course, emotionally charged nonsense, but the logic might just be too far gone at this point.)

Are you still here? Okay, let’s talk about the strange idea that emotions can be rational. I know, it sounds like calling a cat logical, but bear with me. Emotions can, in fact, be rational—if you squint at them the right way. K. Scherer (2011) argues that emotions can be rational if they’re adaptive, meaning they make sense given the circumstances. So, when you leap three feet into the air because you saw a spider the size of a peanut, that’s not irrational, it’s your emotional brain ensuring you stay alive to eat another day. Think about fear for a moment. Sure, fear of public speaking might feel irrational when you’re imagining everyone in the audience judging you for your wrinkled shirt. But fear is simply doing its job, which is to keep you from embarrassing yourself. Of course, sometimes fear doesn’t get the memo and overreacts. It’s like when your dog barks at the vacuum cleaner—it means well, but you wonder if it’s maybe not quite following the situation properly.

The truth is, emotions are often trying to help us. Love, for instance, is what keeps us glued to people who annoy us with their loud chewing or weird obsessions with reality shows. Logically, these people might drive you up the wall. Emotionally, however, you stay because love is just a more persistent and irrational decision-making tool. And maybe it’s better that way. If we all acted on logic alone, we’d never date, let alone get married. “You have a 63% chance of snoring, and statistically, you’ll eat the last biscuit. So, no thank you.”

Ah, contradictions—the delicious chaos that arises when logic and emotions sit at the same table, ordering entirely different meals. The famed duo, Kahneman and Tversky, illustrated this beautifully with their studies on decision-making. Turns out, we’re not the Spock-like creatures we wish to be. We don't make purely rational decisions; we make them with a dash of regret, a sprinkle of hope, and a massive dollop of relief when it all turns out alright. Take loss aversion, for example. You’re more afraid of losing $20 than you are excited about gaining $20. Logically, it’s the same amount of money, but emotionally, the two scenarios couldn’t be more different. Emotions, it seems, are terrible accountants. If emotions ran the economy, we’d all be hoarding our pennies under our mattresses for fear that the vending machine might one day eat our currency bills without spitting out the Mcvities.

Mixed emotions are another contradiction worth laughing at. Imagine deciding whether to go to your high school reunion. Logic says no—it’s a long drive, you haven’t kept in touch, and do you really need to hear about someone’s real estate success? But emotions? Ah, they’re mischievous here. One minute, nostalgia says, "Go! Reconnect!" while anxiety pops in with, "What if they ask about your job?" In this emotionally tangled web, you realize that logic doesn’t stand a chance. You’re going, and you’re bringing food to make up for the last-minute panic.

So where does all this leave us? Are we doomed to forever waffle between our heads and our hearts like a broken seesaw? Not exactly. The truth is, logic and emotions are more like peanut butter and jelly, suya and mayonnaise—strange bedfellows, but together, they’re a classic combination. Now, this isn’t to say that you should always trust your gut feelings (especially not when it’s telling you to eat èbà at 3 AM), but ignoring them entirely would be just as foolish. To add to the twist—my mother wasn’t a robot, and logic, as I’ve come to understand, isn’t the cold, sterile thing we often imagine it to be. Logic is not the opposite of emotion; no, the two are more like old friends or old married couple, like we asserted earlier, who argue constantly but can’t live without each other. Emotion gives logic a soul. Logic, in turn, gives emotions a road map. Imagine if Spock (logic) and Captain Kirk (emotion) were in charge of your life. You’d get where you need to go, but with a little thrill along the way. Balance, after all, is the name of the game.

Remember the boy caught in the rain. Logic tells him to seek shelter; emotion tells him to stand still and enjoy the beauty of the storm, maybe dread it. He dreads it because he needed to move, but he cannot. The truth, as always, lies somewhere in between. Sometimes you run for cover; sometimes you let yourself get drenched. To live only by logic is to miss the joy of the unexpected. To live only by emotion is to court disaster. The key is to know when to lead, and when to follow.

And so, I learned. I learned that there are times to think and times to feel, but most of all, there are times when you must do both. Sometimes it’s a step forward, sometimes it’s a collaboration between the heart and the mind—a duet, performed on the tightrope of existence. It’s not always pretty, and it’s rarely easy, but it is, in the end, the only way to truly live. And now it appears I have become a product of this peculiar symphony of logic and emotion. A boy who grew up watching his mother balance empathy with reason, his aunt mix high expression with mathematics, and his uncle play music that made no sense but felt absolutely right. I’ve come to realize that life, like the boy trapped by the rain, my childhood, is not about choosing between logic and emotion. It’s about knowing that sometimes you need both, and sometimes you need neither. It’s about learning when to wear the coat of wisdom and when to dance in the rain.

And as Nietzsche would add, “One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star.” The show must simply go on.