Before you start reading this; yes, this is an essay I wrote for my English class (and yes, I got a 100 on it). BUT, I advise you to read this with an open heart; I may be a clown but I am a very smart one. What I’m trying to say is to read this with a light heart, I may have been a bit extra because I needed the A in the class so enjoy :)
Everyone can tell; well everyone who knows me can tell. I find it hard talking about anything without bringing it home; without sharing secrets I wish I had the capacity to keep.
I am that Nigerian girl that cannot stop talking about her country; the girl that’s constantly reminded of where she comes from just by closing her eyes and it’s not just my color that’s different but also my blood. I bleed different, I cry different, I feel different. My nightmares are different, my success is different and my pain is unexplainable.
I carry my identity like my life depends on it because truly, it does. It’s who I am, I didn’t choose it, but it’s all I have.
I come from a country ruled by misogynists, a country where I am silenced in a room filled with the opposite gender; where I am addressed with disrespect because I am not of the male gender.
A country where I am part of the 8% that is privileged enough to live a very comfortable life; sometimes too comfortable. The Nigerian Citizen that lives in the city and goes to private school while other girls my age either get an arranged marriage or hired as a maid. I carry the invincible crown of wealth and opportunities while they carry thorns on their head as they live through agony and torture.
I wish I could apologize; apologize for the life I was given and maybe even trade. We could switch lives and I could live the life that was maybe made for me.
Every day I ask if I use this role properly; if I make the most of the situation I was given. I ask if I make them proud.
There is a quote I live by. It says ‘Fantasy mirrors desire. Imagination reshapes it’ – Mason Cooley.
I am not an avid reader but when I do read, it is always a fiction novel. You might ask why?
It’s because I live in a reality that causes damage to my being, a reality that sometimes makes me look down on myself, so I need a form of escape. I need a portal that allows me to change my worldview and my thoughts; a fantasy I take as my reality.
I read books that have happy endings because that is something I wish for myself. I read books that perform the impossible because they give me the urge to use my voice in times of injustice. I read books that fight till the very end because they give me hope. I read books with an open mind because there are no limits in a utopia. Fiction books breed the fantasy I choose to disappear into. That fantasy mirrors my desire for change in my world giving my imagination permission to reshape and implement non-fictitious solutions.
The cycle has no ending.
My writing is raw. I try to sugarcoat and change it, but I can’t. It’s like a drug. I need my reader to see things the way they are or else I won’t be satisfied. I won’t be cured.
My identity makes me write about my reality because I constantly live in a fantasy. My Experiences bring me back to the real world and help me use my imagination to transform thinking when it comes to solving issues.
My Identity defines me, my experiences guide me, and my writing displays the true me.
THE END.
Yes, I might have run out of content to write because it’s finals week; forgive me, BUT I personally think this is a pretty good piece if I do say so myself. I’ve been watching a lot of Netflix and Youtube in the past week and ‘It’s Okay Not To Be Okay’ has me hooked; you should watch it.
(This is me trying to lighten the mood because the essay is a bit peculiar isn’t it?).
Anyways have a great week and a beautiful and LOVELY Christmas.
Yours,
Fayo xoxo
#THISISTHE5THWEEKIMSAYINGENDSARSANDNOTHINGHASHAPPENED