19.

...and dangerous?

May 23, 2024

12:56am

This is the third time I’m starting this piece. I just don't know how to start, or where to start from. A crippling uncertainty has settled on me like a bank of fog in the past few days. Every morning, I struggle to get out of bed because my chest feels heavy.

My eyes are itchy, and they hurt. It could be because I'm not getting enough sleep, or because of the weight of unshed tears they carry. My eyes well up, but the tears do not drop. I tell myself I'm not sad, just tired. I had a long Wednesday.

Birthdays are for reflection, so I'm doing just that– reflecting.

7 years ago, I was 12 and I so badly wanted to be a teenager. 13 came with a lot of excitement for me. Now that I think about it, I don't really understand why. Maybe because I would finally get to join the teenager’s class in church?

I’ve had my fair share of Ls in this life, or maybe even more than my fair share. In the early years of my life, I had a minor accident and I got an injury on my tongue. I don't remember much about this incident because it's been so long. The memory is fuzzy, but I still remember with blinding clarity how blood oozed out of my mouth, and how the people around me were thrown into a frenzy as they tried to stem the flow of crimson water.

This accident will leave me with more than a scar on my tongue. It would leave me with a lisp.

Years later, I'm ten, and I'm starting secondary school in a girls’ boarding school. Before boarding school, I was very sheltered, the ultimate ‘omo-get-inside’. I didn't even know something was wrong with the way I speak. I would be rudely awakened by how mean kids can be at that age.

Whilst I was no pushover, I was a soft, gentle and shy girl. I was also naïve. I was the easiest person to pick on. I will spare you the gruesome details, besides it's a little bit distressing to write about.

The experience would toughen all my tender edges, and make me even more reticent than I already was. Speak less to avoid getting laughed at. I would crawl into myself and quietly build prayers for my demise.

This is soo wrong, but it's a good one and I love a good joke. Everyone loves a good joke until the joke’s on them.

2:53am.

I'm fourteen, and I witness the severing of a union. A kind of death, and the sense of loss feels like a punch to my gut. I ache all over and bat away tears before any one can see them. I start to think I’m just an unlucky child. Grief creep underneath my skin, and I express it through anger. It was easier to be angry than to be sad.

3:30pm.

I feel like the center of the freaking universe. I usually don't like attention, and I avoid it. But today, I have decided to bask in it. I meannn, everyone is giving me extra attention today. My mummy has called me twice the number of times she calls me everyday, and that's a lott. The melancholy that wrapped itself around me during the early hours of today dissipated when I got my first credit alert. I recommend money, guysss!

I'm 19, and I want to live. I want to live. I want to live. I want to put more effort into this life thing. I don’t want uncertainty to stop me from trying. Being an overachieving Nigerian is the absolute ghetto. At this point, I’m oscillating between an acute fear of being ordinary and an intense fear of failure. But the real failure is in not trying. So I'm going to permit myself to fail, and also embrace the embarrassment that comes with putting out slouchy and vulnerable art.

4:23pm.

I love my friends, and I don’t how to show them. I want to write cheesy letters to them, and watch their eyes dance while they read it. But I hold back because I don't want it to seem like I’m doing too much. I'm 19 and I want to be unapologetic in the way I love my friends. I want to fill the world with my love for them.

Days ago, a lady stopped me on the road to tell me that Jesus loves me. Yes, I was losing sight of the insane, reckless love that God has for me. I found it romantic, I almost cried.

In retrospect, I have sooo many things to be grateful for. I never would have made it without God. I have stopped thinking I’m an unlucky child. Now I think I’m loved. Recklessly and insanely loved.

5:13pm.

I'm grateful for the little things— my mummy's Egusi soup, the soft folds and curves of my body, sound and the tingly feelings that music sparks in me, the tenderness of the thing that tethers me to this world(my heart), books and the escape they offer.

I'm grateful for the big things— my parents; their tender loving and patience, my friends; the ones that randomly check on me, who will do anything for me. The ones that send me opportunities to apply for because they think I can do it, who constantly feed my ego with their belief in me. The ones that give me the warmest hugs and whisper soft words into my ears. The ones I argue with just for the fun of it. Thank you.

I'm also grateful for my cars, house, the unbelievable amount of dollars sitting pretty in my bank account.