About the Author

Stella Chin Akoma is a Nigerian author, recording artist, scriptwriter, filmmaker, speaker, and creative visionary. A graduate of Theatre Arts from the University of Port Harcourt, she expresses her thoughts and experiences through books, music, film, and storytelling.

Her writing is deeply reflective, exploring themes of life, faith, love, loss, purpose, mortality, and the temporary nature of human existence. Her philosophy of “The Sojourner” reflects her belief that we are travelers through this world, and that life is more than the things we accumulate or the recognition we receive.

Stella is the owner and current leader of P-Matrix Global Entertainment, a creative company founded by her late husband, Patriot Chibe Akoma. Since assuming ownership, she has continued to carry the company's vision forward while expanding its creative possibilities across music, film, publishing, broadcasting, and digital media.

Through her work, Stella seeks not merely to entertain, but to make people pause, reflect, question, and see life differently.

Stella Chin Akoma
The Sojourner 🌿
Author • Recording Artist • Scriptwriter • Filmmaker • Speaker

THE ART OF PASSING THROUGH

What If We Are All Just Passing Through?

Opening Note

There are questions we ask because we want answers.

And then there are questions we ask because they change us.

What if we are all just passing through?

What if this life, with all its noise, ambitions, disappointments, celebrations, possessions, titles, relationships and struggles, is not the final destination we have imagined it to be?

What if we are travelers?

What if everything we call mine is only temporarily placed in our hands?

The house.

The money.

The position.

The applause.

The beauty.

The influence.

Even the people we love.

We hold them for a while, sometimes believing they belong to us forever. Then life reminds us, often painfully, that nothing here comes with a permanent guarantee.

We arrive without possessions.

We spend our years gathering them.

And eventually, we leave without them.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy is not that everything passes.

Perhaps it is that we spend so much of our lives trying to make temporary things permanent.

We build as though we will never leave.

We accumulate as though we will never release.

We compete as though the race has no finish line.

We hold grudges as though we have unlimited tomorrows.

We postpone love.

We postpone forgiveness.

We postpone purpose.

We postpone living.

And then one day, without asking our permission, life whispers:

It is time to move on.

This book was born from that whisper.

It is not a book about death alone.

It is a book about life.

It is about looking at life differently because we finally understand that it is temporary.

It is about the strange human habit of becoming deeply attached to things we were never promised we could keep.

It is about the houses we build, the names we chase, the wealth we accumulate, the recognition we desire, the relationships we treasure, and the identities we create.

But most of all, it is about the question beneath all those questions:

If we are only passing through, then how should we live while we are here?

Perhaps that is the question worth answering.

CHAPTER ONE

The Day I Began to See Life Differently

There are moments that divide a person's life into before and after.

Before that moment, you see the world one way.

After it, the same world can look completely different.

The streets have not changed.

The sky is still above you.

People still wake up every morning, rush to work, make plans, buy things, fall in love, argue, laugh, build houses, attend celebrations and worry about tomorrow.

Yet something inside you has shifted.

You begin to notice what you once overlooked.

You begin to question what you once accepted.

You begin to understand that life is not as permanent as it feels when you are young.

For many of us, life teaches this lesson gradually.

For others, it comes suddenly.

A phone call.

A diagnosis.

A funeral.

An empty chair.

A goodbye that was never supposed to be the last goodbye.

A photograph that suddenly becomes more valuable than the person who once stood behind it.

Loss has a strange way of rearranging the furniture of the mind.

It makes you look at familiar things differently.

A house can suddenly feel like a temporary shelter.

A wedding photograph can become a reminder that even beautiful moments have an ending.

A birthday can become a meditation on time.

A graveyard can become a classroom.

And silence can become a teacher.

I have learned that sometimes it takes losing something to understand how temporary everything has always been.

We often behave as though tomorrow is an agreement life has signed with us.

We make plans for next year.

We talk about retirement.

We plan the house we will build.

The businesses we will establish.

The countries we will visit.

The children we will raise.

The things we will buy.

The places we will go.

There is nothing wrong with planning.

Planning is part of living.

But somewhere between planning for tomorrow and preparing for the future, we can forget that tomorrow is never truly ours.

Tomorrow is a possibility.

Today is the gift.

And life is the journey between the two.

Perhaps this is why we should learn to live with open hands.

Not careless hands.

Not empty hands.

Open hands.

Hands that can receive without believing they own.

Hands that can love without believing they possess.

Hands that can build without believing they will live forever inside what they build.

Hands that can release when the season changes.

Because everything has a season.

People.

Places.

Opportunities.

Youth.

Beauty.

Strength.

Success.

Even sorrow.

Nothing remains exactly as it was.

We change.

The people around us change.

The world changes.

And eventually, we leave.

That truth can sound frightening.

But perhaps it can also be liberating.

Because if everything is temporary, then perhaps we do not need to spend our entire lives trying to control everything.

Perhaps we can simply learn how to journey well.

CHAPTER TWO

We Arrived With Nothing

Think about the beginning.

Before your name meant anything to anyone, you were simply alive.

You arrived without a bank account.

Without a house.

Without a title.

Without followers.

Without a reputation.

Without certificates.

Without achievements.

Without possessions.

You did not arrive carrying the things you would later spend your life fighting to obtain.

You arrived empty-handed.

And yet, somehow, we quickly learned to measure ourselves by what we could gather.

As children, we were asked what we wanted to become.

As teenagers, we were encouraged to succeed.

As adults, we were expected to acquire.

A good education.

A good job.

A good house.

A good car.

A good marriage.

A good reputation.

A successful business.

A comfortable life.

None of these things are wrong.

The problem begins when temporary possessions become permanent definitions of our worth.

We start saying:

I am my career.

I am my wealth.

I am my house.

I am my position.

I am my achievements.

And then life reminds us:

You are a human being before you are anything you have accumulated.

What would remain of you if everything you owned disappeared tomorrow?

Who would you be if nobody knew your title?

Who would you be if the applause stopped?

Who would you be if your name was no longer mentioned in rooms you once dominated?

These are uncomfortable questions.

But uncomfortable questions often lead us toward honest answers.

Perhaps our greatest possession is not what we own.

Perhaps it is who we become while passing through.

CHAPTER THREE

The Illusion of Ownership

We say:

My house.

My car.

My company.

My money.

My land.

My success.

My children.

My life.

There is something fascinating about the word my.

It creates the feeling of possession.

But does it really mean permanence?

A person can spend thirty years building a house and lose it in a moment.

A person can spend decades accumulating wealth and leave it behind in a single breath.

A person can build a respected name and discover that another generation eventually stops mentioning it.

Even the body we call mine changes without asking us.

The child becomes an adult.

The young face develops lines.

The strong body becomes weaker.

The black hair becomes grey.

The energetic steps become slower.

And one day, the body itself becomes something we must surrender.

So what exactly do we own?

Perhaps we are not owners as much as stewards.

Perhaps life places certain things in our hands for a season and watches what we do with them.

Your money may be in your hands today.

Your influence may be in your hands today.

Your family may be in your hands today.

Your opportunity may be in your hands today.

Your voice may be in your hands today.

But having something does not mean possessing it forever.

It may simply mean you have been entrusted with it for now.

And perhaps that changes everything.

If I understand that I am a steward, I become less arrogant about what I have.

I become more grateful.

More responsible.

More generous.

More willing to release.

Because I understand that the question is not:

How much did I possess?

But:

What did I do with what passed through my hands?

CHAPTER FOUR

The Things We Chase

Human beings are always chasing something.

Money.

Success.

Recognition.

Love.

Beauty.

Security.

Power.

Influence.

Acceptance.

Sometimes we chase things because we need them.

Sometimes we chase them because society taught us that we should want them.

And sometimes we chase them because we are afraid of being ordinary.

We look around and measure our lives against the lives of others.

Someone bought a house.

We want one.

Someone bought a better car.

We want one.

Someone became famous.

We want recognition.

Someone travelled.

We want to travel.

Someone built a business.

We want a bigger business.

Someone has thousands of followers.

We want millions.

The finish line keeps moving.

And the strange thing about chasing temporary things is that they rarely tell us when enough is enough.

You reach one level and immediately begin looking at the next.

You achieve one dream and create another.

You buy one thing and desire another.

You receive applause and become afraid that the applause might stop.

And slowly, without noticing, you can become exhausted from trying to prove that your life matters.

But what if it already does?

What if your value was never dependent on how much you could accumulate?

What if your life was never supposed to be a competition?

What if the purpose of your journey is not to arrive with the most possessions, the highest title or the loudest applause?

What if the purpose is simply to become who you were meant to become?

CHAPTER FIVE

The House We Cannot Stay In

We spend years building homes.

We decorate them.

Protect them.

Expand them.

Clean them.

Fill them with memories.

We call them ours.

And for a while, they are.

But eventually, we leave.

Sometimes we leave because we choose to.

Sometimes because circumstances force us.

And eventually, one day, we leave this earthly house entirely.

This does not make our homes meaningless.

Quite the opposite.

It makes them precious.

Because temporary things can still be beautiful.

A sunset lasts only minutes, yet nobody calls it worthless.

A song ends, yet we listen.

A flower blooms for a season, yet we admire it.

A child's childhood passes quickly, yet we treasure every moment.

Perhaps permanence is not required for something to have meaning.

Maybe some of the most beautiful things in life are beautiful precisely because they do not last forever.

This is one of the great paradoxes of existence:

Knowing that something will end does not make it meaningless.

It can make us appreciate it more.

CHAPTER SIX

People Are Passing Through Too

Perhaps the hardest part of understanding impermanence is accepting that people are temporary.

We meet people and begin to imagine forever.

We love them.

We make memories.

We make plans.

We build lives around them.

And because love is powerful, we sometimes forget that every human being is also on a journey.

Nobody belongs to us forever.

Not our parents.

Not our children.

Not our spouses.

Not our friends.

Not even ourselves.

We are all travelers moving through time.

Some people walk with us for decades.

Some for years.

Some for months.

Some for only a moment.

Yet a person's length of stay does not determine the depth of their impact.

Some people enter our lives briefly and change us forever.

Others remain for years and teach us lessons we did not know we needed.

Perhaps this is why love should never be postponed.

If someone matters to you, tell them.

If you are grateful, say it.

If you are sorry, apologize.

If you love someone, let them know.

Because one of the greatest tragedies of life is discovering that the words you planned to say tomorrow have become words you can no longer say.

We assume we have time.

Until we don't.

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Tomorrow Is No Longer Promised

Tomorrow is one of the greatest assumptions of humanity.

We say:

"I will do it tomorrow."

"I will call tomorrow."

"I will visit tomorrow."

"I will forgive tomorrow."

"I will start tomorrow."

"I will tell them how much they mean to me tomorrow."

But tomorrow has never belonged to us.

It is simply a word we use to describe a future we hope to see.

There is wisdom in making plans.

But there is also wisdom in understanding that plans must remain humble before time.

Life can change between breakfast and bedtime.

A person can wake up healthy and go to sleep fighting for their life.

A family can laugh together in the morning and gather around a hospital bed at night.

A person can leave home expecting to return and never return.

This is not meant to make us live in fear.

It is meant to make us live awake.

There is a difference.

Fear says:

Something terrible may happen.

Wisdom says:

Since life is uncertain, I will not waste what I have today.

Perhaps living fully does not mean doing everything.

Perhaps it means being present for what matters.

Look at the people you love.

Listen when they speak.

Hold them a little longer.

Say the words.

Do the good thing.

Forgive where you can.

Give where you can.

Love while you can.

Because one day, "while you can" will become "when you could."

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Things That Will Not Follow Us

Imagine standing at the end of your life.

Not tomorrow.

Not next year.

The actual end.

What will matter then?

Will you wish you had worked more?

Will you wish you had accumulated more?

Will you wish you had defeated more people?

Will you wish you had won more arguments?

Will you wish you had been more admired?

Perhaps some things will matter.

But perhaps many things that consumed us will suddenly appear very small.

The car will remain behind.

The house will remain behind.

The office will remain behind.

The bank account will remain behind.

The clothes will remain behind.

The awards will remain behind.

The titles will remain behind.

The followers will remain behind.

Everything material eventually stops traveling with us.

So why do we spend so much of our lives trying to become rich in things that cannot make the journey with us?

Perhaps the answer is not that possessions are evil.

The answer is that possessions are limited.

They can serve us.

But they cannot define eternity.

They can make life comfortable.

But they cannot make life permanent.

They can create convenience.

But they cannot purchase another breath when our appointed journey is complete.

And perhaps that is why the wise person learns to hold possessions lightly.

Enjoy them.

Use them.

Share them.

Be grateful for them.

But do not worship them.

Because everything you own is something you will eventually leave behind.

CHAPTER NINE

What Will Remain?

If everything passes, then what remains?

This question is more important than it first appears.

If money passes, what remains?

If beauty fades, what remains?

If titles disappear, what remains?

If buildings crumble, what remains?

If our names eventually become unfamiliar to generations that never knew us, what remains?

Perhaps the answer is found in what we leave inside people.

A kind word.

A life changed.

A child raised with love.

A person encouraged when they were ready to give up.

A song that gave someone hope.

A book that awakened someone's thinking.

A stranger helped at the right moment.

A wound we chose not to inflict.

A forgiveness we offered.

A life lived with meaning.

Maybe these are the footprints of a traveler.

Not the things we carried.

But the things we left behind.

There are people who will never know your bank balance but will remember your kindness.

There are people who will never see your house but will remember that you gave them somewhere to feel safe.

There are people who will forget your title but remember that you listened.

Perhaps the true measure of a life is not how much space we occupied.

Perhaps it is how much light we left behind.

CHAPTER TEN

We Are All Passing Through

Perhaps this is the truth we spend our entire lives trying not to face:

We are all passing through.

The rich are passing through.

The poor are passing through.

The famous are passing through.

The unknown are passing through.

The powerful are passing through.

The forgotten are passing through.

The young are passing through.

The old are passing through.

Every generation arrives, builds, struggles, celebrates, mourns, dreams and eventually gives way to another.

Look at history.

People once believed their empires would last forever.

They did not.

People built monuments believing their names would never disappear.

Many have.

People accumulated fortunes believing they had secured their future.

They could not secure tomorrow.

Everything we see is moving.

Everything is changing.

Everything is passing.

And perhaps we should not be frightened by that truth.

Perhaps we should allow it to teach us.

If we are passing through, then we should not live as though the temporary is eternal.

We should stop sacrificing our peace for things that will eventually disappear.

We should stop destroying relationships over possessions.

We should stop losing our souls trying to impress people.

We should stop postponing the important things.

We should stop measuring the worth of a life only by what can be seen.

And we should begin asking a different question:

Since I am passing through, what kind of traveler do I want to be?

Do I want to pass through angry?

Do I want to pass through bitter?

Do I want to pass through constantly competing?

Do I want to pass through collecting everything and appreciating nothing?

Or do I want to pass through awake?

Grateful.

Loving.

Purposeful.

Forgiving.

Generous.

Faithful.

Present.

Perhaps the goal is not to stay.

Perhaps the goal is to journey well.

And perhaps one day, when we look back at everything we chased, everything we lost, everything we gained and everything we thought we could not live without, we will finally understand:

We were never meant to keep it all.

We were only passing through.

Closing Reflection

Before you close this chapter, stop for a moment.

Look around you.

Look at the room.

Look at the people.

Look at the things you worked so hard to acquire.

Then ask yourself quietly:

What if none of this is permanent?

Not as a question of despair.

As a question of freedom.

If the house is temporary, enjoy it without worshipping it.

If the money is temporary, use it wisely.

If the position is temporary, serve while you have it.

If the relationship is precious, cherish it.

If the opportunity is here today, do not assume it will always be.

If you have something good in your hands, be grateful.

And if something has already left your hands, perhaps learn to release it.

Because we are travelers.

And travelers cannot carry everything.

There comes a time when every traveler must continue the journey.

Perhaps the wisdom of life is learning what to carry, what to cherish, what to give away, and what to leave behind.

We are all passing through.

The question is not whether we will leave.

The question is:

What will we do with the time we have before we do?

In this evocative philosophical work, Stella Chin Akoma invites readers to pause and consider our shared human pilgrimage. Through poetic wisdom and tender vulnerability, the book offers a compassionate guide for healing.