essay [i]
“SELL HIM. SELL HIM. SELL HIM. SELL HIM. SELL HIM. SELL HIM. Francesco de' Pazzi did not stab harder in I478 when he had Giuliano on the cathedral floor, when in his frenzy he stabbed himself through the thigh.” — Thomas Harris, Hannibal.
many years ago, when there was still limca and obasanjo was collecting bribes to sell licenses to mtn, my mother birthed me to my father’s wholehearted approval and [generally assumed] happiness. since then i have been. i have aged and grown, in addition to other things, a [fledgling] beard, a normal sized [and fully functional] penis, an amazing taste and generally beautifully well. for this i cannot appreciate them enough. my parents have done superhuman things to make me the person i am today, to afford me and my siblings the opportunities we have today and nothing could ever make me forget that.
for me, however, trying is something i do, not in the sense of “hardwork", none of that nonsense, cause that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy. i try too hard to be. creating an idea of yomi for yomi to live up to somehow. i don’t think it’s entirely wrong though. i am hardly ever wrong, if at all. part of this is making yomi feel like he does not 🚫 need outward validation. zero, none, bye-bye and goodnight. all yomi needs is yomi and he will be fine and ultimately alright of he just shakes his head and listens to some [fantastic] HYPE! music playlist he curated. part of this is alienating people before they alienate him. part of this is not bothering with personal relationships. part of this is not celebrating birthdays.
i mostly hold to that because I have a stinky memory and cba to remember birthdays of people that would not expect a wish from me [you see what i’m saying?] or even bother to wish return it in time. so i flipped off the world and decided to forgo all of that jazz and hide under pseudo-nihilist theory; plastering a smile, throwing my thumbs up and saying, “it doesn’t matter. i could have just as well been born yesterday.”
follow me here. i still think it’s true, yeah, but this particular period i [shockingly, very] found myself looking forward to a date on the calendar! i cannot point to a tangible reason why i decided that well, i would like to be congratulated on this day this year haha. only thing i can think of is perhaps a [growing] innate need to be worshiped, validated, seen, appreciated. maybe, maybe.
as a result, however, of running away from people no one remembered, save a few. i am most grateful to them. to wema & gtb, they really came out on top, you know. nairaland too, despite deleting my account in the ass end of 2015. then i got wonderful calls from family nuclear and a few extended [some of which surprised your boy]. the woman of my dreams [in 2017] called me too which happened to be a massive boost, thank fuck. wonder how this essay would have looked without that phone call. her voice coming out of that speaker was like cold sachet water poured out on your bald head [i would know] after a long trek on a hot day. [note: i did call her yesterday so her calling me today may just be courtesy, fulfilling a duty. or did she mean it? 🧐 will i ever find out?]
there is no point to this essay, really. it just is. i have prefaced it with a quote that just came to my head before i started writing from a book i absolutely adore and a picture from one of the best albums i have ever listened to. i am doing this because i can, because i want to.
today was a bit shit but not altogether shit. my friends reached out and told me to have a good one. i drank a bit of alcohol and a banana smoothie too, homemade! i am grateful for all the people around me. they irritate me, annoy and amuse me but i appreciate them in various ways. i am not having a great life but, you know, i am just 22.
i am not great at writing so i hope this does not end up on anybody’s digest!
