I warn you. This is likely to be perceived as a lengthy, explicit, incoherent post about my twisted narcissistic tendencies. Adequately embellished with swear words. Please do not report me to Medium. They suspended my account before. But if you do, bite my middle finger off. Chew and swallow it. Because I do not give a fuck.
I feel sorry for celebrities.
I feel sorry for celebrities. All the time. Nigerian musicians, for instance. How much money do they make, really? What does this industry give them? CDs are pirated, Naijaloaded rips in real time, streaming quotas are shit, COSON is too far up it’s own ass. Everyone wants money — promoters, distributors, fucking OAPs! And when some label decides to sign them, they want 80/20 and exclusive rights to everything.
You cannot blame label owners though. Music business is risky. And disposable money is hard to come by, except you are a Yahoo Boy (this is why you cannot separate them from the industry). You do not know if the artist will blow. And for the first years, you have to reinvest most of the profits back into business. The usual justification for big risk is big returns, you see. So if you pick one impoverished Daniel from the streets and make him a superstar, you damn right want to make your money back. He was not Kiss until he met you! He will not be Kiss after! Seize that name! *Insert GIF of that white woman pointing and crying*
If you are not performing at concerts, you are broke. Everywhere in the world, musicians are usually cash-strapped. Your faves have day jobs, side hustles. Dr. Sid says he was broke and depressed last year. Yo, Mavin was having a tough time until that Venture Capitalist intervened. Rema came in at the right time. Johnny Drille still has a side. Chocolate City runs a restaurant. Ajebutter works at Cisco. Shaydee took a “break” for his “health”. You get? Unless you are Teni (the most ubiquitous act of the year) or somebody higher, you have not escaped poverty. And no, Davido does not have 30 billion. Do not be a clown. Keep your day job, kids.
Sigh, I deviate. Why do I feel sorry for Nigerian artistes? Because they lack a fundamental human right — the right to be “broke”. Artistes cannot be seen to be broke. The music industry thrives on glitter. All the time, you want to seem like you are “balling”. So you hire outfits, you take loans to throw parties, you steal photos in private jets, you owe the clubs, you claim mansions. Meanwhile you may be truly broke. People talk big about fake people. Yo, everyone in that industry is fake. Once you are speaking about money that you are not making, you are fake. But you need to be fake to survive. When you are a star, you are not a person but an object. People do not want you to be ordinary, regular. You are a representation of their most glittery desires and even though their lives may be pathetically gloomy, yours cannot be. They will not let you. It is a truly devastating situation.
So here is the moral lesson kid —do not be a star. Bask in your ordinariness!
Catch me!
You may be moving past Opebi, Lagos only to see this nigga wearing a slacked shirt and joggers. His hair looks pitiably uncombed. He has Minimie chin chin in his right hand. He is pouring it into his mouth as if it is bottled water. If that nigga looks like me, he probably is.
You may be driving through VGC only to see this nigga at the gate, arguing with security. Mans got hot so he is hanging his tie and blazer on his left hand, an Ankara bag on the other. He was too lazy to renew his ID so now he is trying to bluff his way through with some expired paper pass. If that nigga looks like me, he probably is.
Yup, that is me. If you holla, I will smile and wave back. Awww how are you? I will not be embarrassed. My reputation is not hinged on these things. I do not give a fuck.
Broke in peace.
I do not give a fuck. I can be broke in peace. I usually am. Pride does not trap me. If I do not have the money, I do not. I do not feel responsible for anyone’s expenses. I do not feel the need to prove myself. “Broke” is not an insult to me. I just finished Uni, I have Law School next year, I am intern. Am I supposed to be more? So that I can impress you?
I splurge though. I do not think I bought any clothing this year. But data, and Uber and shortbread. Damn. I do impulsive, dumb stuff too. If I feel too tired to stay home, I might pay for a weekend in some hotel. I saved all that money last year only to spend it in the first half of this year. Close your mouth. It is my money. I do not give a fuck.
Baby, please!
I do not care much about being a “man” — whatever rigid nonsense that means to you. Once I hear “it is the guy’s job to…”, I hit snooze. No, I will not make all the plans and chase after you. I do not become excited when it is hard, I give up. If you waste my time, I will never show up again. I do not get bitter, I get quiet and distant. I am not trying to get all the babes. Too many people and I disappear. Too much drama and I’m off.
The sex is great but it is not mandatory. No, I am not going to reassure and validate you as if it is some chore. Vulnerability has no gender. Vulnerability multiplied by entitlement equals zero. Shoot your shots properly. Carry your L with grace, I will not ease your burden. You will meet me halfway or you will stay home. I do not give a fuck.
I am a mess too!
How many times have I told you? I am just like you. I am a clown. I do not have the future figured out. I make the mistakes you make. Well, some of them. The difference between us is that I always have a plan. I have fantastic goals to achieve. I may not achieve my goals, I never achieve all my goals. But I do well enough. I fall back to the sky because I aim for the heavens. You do not aim for shit and you cannot control yourself. The difference between us is obsessive planning and a little discipline.
I just want to drink some Vodka and stagger to Wizkid’s Joro. I want to have house parties every week. But studying hard and getting visibility will help me escape poverty. I am not doing what I want to, I am doing what I have to. If there was a less stressful way to achieve the Nigerian dream I would take it. I seem made for this corporate shit — the fine talk and blazers — but deep down I do not give a fuck.
I do not matter.
I read some anonymous messages last night and just laughed. People do not know me. I am aware of my ordinariness. I do not think that I am special. I am a snub? You think that I see myself so highly and you, so lowly? I am obnoxious? I am oblivious, that’s it. I am emotionally unintelligent. I never wish to hurt anyone but I do, mistakenly. I am working on that.
But why does it matter that I snubbed you? Why do you care? Who am I? And who are you to not be snubbed? I sleep and wake in DMs too, I beg for help. People are busy so I get it. Really. If anyone snubbed me I would not consider it a reflection of my worth. I might not notice in the first place. It would not bother me much. Why? I do not give a fuck.
No, I shall not be your mentor.
Yes I am talking about it again. I was happy to be second best graduating student. I never wanted to be first. I did not even want a rating. Why? To be first is to be pressured. I never want to be in a position where people expect some marked achievement from me. It happens though and it bothers me. I sometimes look through my LinkedIn and laugh. These people must think that I have sense. People talk to me about Law School as if anything is promised. I will finish with whatever Sir, fuck off.
All the time, I say no to “mentorship”. Young people call themselves “mentor”, “life coach” and it absolutely kills me. Maybe it is irrational thinking. But I think—I am a mess too. What have I done right? Do you really want to be me? I do not like for people to watch me closely. At least, I do not want to feel like you are watching closely. I do not want to feel self-conscious —to feel that I cannot fall or fail. That I cannot make a joke or be a joke. I do not want your opinions to matter. Oh they do not. I do not ask the Nigerian question —what would people say?
I am not consistent at anything. I cannot be a thing for too long. After activity, I must reflect. My extrovert needs my introvert to survive. After some bout of impressiveness, I must implode. If everything seems to be going according to plan, I will intentionally distort something to feel safe. If people are taking me too seriously, I will do something overtly silly. If too many articles are prim and moral, I will write this one to blow it all up.
My commitment to diversity will confuse you. You will want to me talk about academic success everyday and instead I may go on about sex appeal or Burna Boy. And you have no right to expect. I keep my windows open for change. I may go back on everything that I am. Except my commitment to excellence and integrity. I may evolve. I may abandon my dogma and turn my life inside out. And I may never do these things. But I must keep my windows open.
Do not wear your crown. It is a trap!
I have met young people who wear crowns that they do not even have. You hold a position or you run a business so you want “respect”. There are people you cannot “roll” with. You want a title, a citation, an entourage. You, my friend, are a clown. The point here is —even if you have a crown, do not wear it. You are young. Do not take yourself too seriously, it is a trap. Growing up is always a trap. Do not portray yourself as elite, most of the time you cannot keep up. Down-to-earth people win all the time. Hinge your reputation on integrity and excellence, not objects of socio-economic status.
Shame? LOL.
All the time, I am confident. I cannot be silenced or blackmailed. There is nothing about me that I consider truly embarrassing. Is it as basic as my terrible dancing? I will not stop. Is it as serious as the many rejections and failures? I will not stop. I carry my Ls with dignity.
If there is some insecurity, I will expose it immediately. I do not do shit that I cannot defend. You do not have my gist. If it is true, then everybody knows it. I live a movie. Transparent walls shit. I fail, I move on. I mess things up, I fix them and move on.
Yo we all have skeletons. I am willing to talk about mine. Be very afraid — there is nothing personal that I cannot write about. If shit is impressive you must hear about it because I am a show-off and I do not worry about envy. If it is complicated, I will explain. If it is disappointing, I will apologize. I will move past it. And if I do not wish to talk about it, I will not.
I, Narcissus.
I do not talk about self-love and other hackneyed stuff. Why the fuck would I not love myself? I am all I have. These thin legs, these slender hands, this big head and these tiny eyes? I do not have spare parts. I do not have a spare brain. This brain remembers themes but not names, this brain can criticize a thesis but cannot tell the way to work. If you only love the good things about yourself, then you do not love yourself. I have many imperfections. I choose me because I choose my problems and shortcomings. I choose my suffering.
I do not give a fuck. I am the center of my own universe. I hear that we spend 90% of our time thinking about others. I think this is incorrect in my case. I think about myself, my plans and my theories. Ain’t nobody thinking about you. I theorize, speculate and conceptualize my own shit.
People and vibes.
However, I respect people and I wish them the best. I care about people so I write these didactic things. I care about inspiring others and explaining the seemingly complex stuff. The motif is clarity, I must share clarity. I want to change the world, I want to give myself to it. This does not mean that I fuck with everyone, I do not.
I do not judge people by their wealth, attractiveness or “class”. I judge people by their ethics. You are canceled when you are decidedly mediocre or dishonest. I pride myself in excellence, enthusiasm and integrity. Yes, I will look down on your pathetic ass if you do not want to learn, if you do things anyhow, if you cheat, steal or lie. I will not rate you. I may snub you. You have one life and some light to shine, do better!
I place values above loyalty. There are rules and standards. I subtly force my friends to live by them. If you fuck up, I will leave your back. I do not defend nonsense. You will not cause me to lose my identity. I will influence you instead.
I protect my space. I am admittedly sensitive. There is online content that I never view —posts that I never read and videos that I never watch. If anyone is anything short of good vibes, I unfollow them. If the app fosters hate and intellectual laziness, I deactivate it.
If a contact puts up intolerable content — stupid, baseless or hateful stuff, I mute them. If I am not comfortable with a person viewing my content, I exempt them. If a contact responds hatefully to something I put up, I block them. I do not speak about it, I just do it. I do not give a fuck. Bitch, this is my space! When people offend me in a way that makes seeing them intolerable, I delete their phone numbers. I do these things promptly and with a smile on my face. No, social media cannot make me sad.
Commitments do not trap me. I never walk into things that I cannot walk away from. I walk away pretty easily. If it affects something more important or it has become useless, I walk away. I do not attach sentiments to things. Once it is time, I will quit. Once there is a good offer, I will sell it. Things must serve purpose. Psst I am not talking about relationships!
Unapologetically a nerd.
I do not give a fuck. So I am unapologetically a nerd. I care about the things I care about.
I care about school and grades. No one can convince me that it is cool to not care. I care about knowledge and futuristic things. I sit up and listen. I appreciate excellence. I rate my industry players higher than celebrities. I read webpages and write on international taxation. I care about the economy and policy making.
I rewatch the Marvel movies. I analyze camera angles and the plausibility of storylines. I listen to new afrobeat. I adore MI. I break tracks into drums and chords. I know the solfa notation of everything I hear. I follow the music business, I trace the money. I support Man City. I watch the matches and I follow the players.
But I also do not give a fuck. So I am not overly sentimental about these things. If I have something more important to do, I will skip the match. I will not see the movie if the ticket prices are too high. I will not pay for some concert only to stand and shout throughout the night.
I am thoroughly feminist. I will cut your misogyny down as soon as I see it. Male arrogance is nothing to me. My views are my views, my style is my style. I am the majority. I do not care about popular or mainstream.
My religious beliefs are not staunch. There is a God but everyone claims an exclusive path to him. And everyone else is supposed to burn in Hell. Okay.
Damn it, I am happy!
I never speak about this too. Happy people do not need to say that they are happy. I am happy. I laugh and dance on my own. I am happy, not because I celebrate my achievements but because I make peace with my shortcomings. I recognize that I am a mess compared to where I should be, but I am a boss compared to where I used to be. And I compare myself with myself, not with some other person whose story I do not know.
I do not think happiness is in forcing a smile and refusing to think about your problems. Or in buying stuff you do not need. Or in seeking validation from others. Happiness is in staying in your lane, enjoying the process and pleasing yourself. And you cannot please yourself if you are not proud of yourself. To be proud of yourself you have to set personal goals and smash them. Then you need good love/friendship. Then you have to give yourself to people somehow, you have to help!
Happiness is in fixing the things you can fix and learning to live with the things that you cannot fix. People will talk, maybe their words will become currency. Happiness is in reducing your fucks —protecting your space and fortifying your mindset.
Happiness is in true humility. Humility is not bowing your head and giving all glory to God. No, humility is in learning and accepting faults.
And while you remain your unapologetic self, do not wear your crown. You do not need to. Self-esteem is entirely internal. External validation is a trap. You are worthy if you find yourself worthy. You do not need to be perceived as senior, rich or successful. You are young. Enjoy your simple life.
But I am just 23. What do I know? Who am I to write about happiness? Maybe I am right about these theories, maybe I am wrong…
Guess what?
Guess!
