WE’RE ALL ALONE IN THIS TOGETHER
Hello Everyone, my name is Funke, and I don’t know what I’m doing here.
Everything in this god-forsaken city of Lagos is just low-budget. From the governor all the way down to this harmattan. No way I’ve been robbing and stockpiling sweatshirts and hoodies all year round from various men only for Lagos to give me Made in China Harmattan.
I left my room this morning in a sick-ass hoodie and jeans because the air hinted at a dry, cool day, only for 10 o clock to knack, and it’s looking like someone imported sun from the Sahara desert.
On God, if I have to tell one more person I’m wearing a hoodie in this heat because I got scammed by the weather one more time, I might snap. Kilode!!!! Tinuke, ask me that question again, ask me again I dare you, see if I don’t tell your boyfriend you’re cheating on him with Bode in Maths Edu mtcheww rubbish.
While we’re telling Tinuke to keep her mouth shut, please can someone help me talk to Instagram content creators too abeg!!!
I’m genuinely sick and tired of this endless stream of self-affirmatory poetry and quotes that keep flowing through my timeline. All that positivity, self-love, and emotional independence is beautiful and all, but it almost feels it’s like being forced down my throat.
I read that I should learn to be comfortable in my skin, that I’m still a work in progress, that I shouldn’t judge myself too harshly, that I deserve love, and I’m beautiful.
The thing is, I already know all these things. Dekunle_speaks, you finding more articulate and creative ways to tell it to me won’t change a damn thing. I can read the words, but I can’t bloody will myself into believing it or acting like it.
It only makes me feel worse because the after-taste of the Thirty-second positivity kool-aid is bitter as hell; I start to question myself; maybe there’s something wrong with me for not feeling great for not feeling hella self-confident.
Dear Writer, Dear Poet; Dear upcoming Oprah, Dear aspiring Tony Robbins; I hail o. I bring you this message from we the Association of Lonely Clueless Lazy Nigerian Youths (ALCLNY), your humble target audience.
When we read your stuff, we don’t just want to feel good, we want to feel seen. If you don’t mind, we humbly request that you switch up the story just a little bit.
Tell us about grief, tell us about pain, tell us about suffering. We know that Pheonix’s rise from their ashes, but how about you write about the excruciating hurt Involved in the burning.
I know I’m enough, but can you write about feeling lonely at 1 am and having only the demons in your under your bed for company. I know I’m beautiful and perfect the way I am, but can you write about the feeling of staring in the mirror and hating the reflection you see.
I know I deserved to be loved and treated right, but can you write about the feeling of missing your exes even though they hurt you badly. Can you write about the craving for validation and acceptance from people you hate and hating yourself for craving it.
Is not every time “there’s light at the end of the tunnel” sometimes, what people really need, is to know is that other people are struggling in their own various tunnels too. That there’s someone somewhere, who understands, at least partially, their grey reality. That they’re not alone in their guilt, self resentment, and shame. Sometimes what people need is basically the knowledge that even though we’re alone in this;
WE’RE ALL ALONE IN THIS TOGETHER.
My name is Funke, and if you haven’t figured it out yet, Dave is my future husband.
Originally published at http://saferoom940581175.wordpress.com on January 14, 2022.
