I’m just a boy that wants to be famous.

Maybe validated too.

hey. i didn’t write last week — not to you at least, but i wrote to myself. a lot. surprisingly, i also read a lot — sometimes about nothing, sometimes about the things i didn’t want to talk about or think about. that’s the unique part about feelings: so distinct, so real, so strong, and so existing. when i think about my feelings, i sometimes see them as independent. almost like it’s not me — it’s different, almost like it’s so different that sometimes it could control me.

i think i left a part of me in senegal. the better part too. and as i say that, it’s scary — scary that i believe i try to erase a part of me. a part that cares. a part of me that is kind even when no one else is. i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my last few newsletters have been a bit missing because, for the first time, i’ve had to edit my truth. i’ve had to be smart — to complain but not complain too much. i’ve had to be skillful when i need not be, and had to show you i’m a good writer while doing it. but do i really care? in my last 30 seconds, would i sit and say, “was i a fucking good writer?” you know what? probably, yeah. but also, i don’t give a fuck. not so much.

you know, there’s actual studies that prove the 30 seconds is real. that someway — somehow — just before we die, we have 30 seconds. 30 seconds for a playback of our life. 30 seconds to do it all over. this time we’re not in control. 30 seconds and that’s it.

the night of my birthday, i thought of what to write to you and, you know, i thought about how to even write it. i wrote so much on my flight to senegal that all i had to do was copy it and send it to you. but i couldn’t. it didn’t feel like i was meant to. something always came up somehow, someway. and maybe it’s because it wanted to lead me to this point — the night after priscy’s wedding, in my small, cramped apartment in lagos. maybe, someway, somehow, the senegal story didn’t want to be told — not yet. this had to be told first.

i’m just a boy that wants to be famous.

i want you to read it again. yes, read it again. if possible, don’t read it in your head — say it. hold the words and feel them as i did when i said them. i wonder if it hurt when you had to say it. i wonder if it gave you chills around your arms like it did mine. i wonder if it was hard, if you had to pause between “wants” and “to be,” because it was just too hard. too hard to finish, too hard to survive saying it. but at the end of the day, my love — i am, in fact, just a boy that wants to be famous. i never knew adulthood would be this hard. stressful? yes. but hard… no. the older i’ve grown, i’ve had to deal with so much emotions. so many emotions i didn’t think i knew how to feel. emotions i didn’t even know existed. i’ve recently read about ambivalence: the ability to love and hate someone at the same time. i’ve also fallen in and out of love with friends. i’ve been tired, angry, hurt, happy — all of it together and sometimes at the same time.

i think i’ve always stayed around the wrong friends too long because, convenience is always easier than change. i’d rather be with a friend that makes me feel i’m not good enough than not be with anyone. why? because at least they talk to me in the morning and afternoon, if i’m lucky maybe at night. at least they like me, even though it’s sometimes. other times it’s because they are “cool.” that’s it. (pls, i haven’t done this last one since i was like 19 sha) but at the end of the day, i’m just a boy that wants to be famous. it’s not really cool to say things like this. it’s not cool to want fame. it’s expected to fall on your lap — otherwise it’s not cool. when topics like this arise on tables in social groups, apparently “influencers become cringe.” And, i’ve been around people who laughed at influencers knowing fully well i was an influencer. and you know what’s worse? i laughed too. because, just like i said, sometimes i stay too long. i stay too long until i physically cannot anymore.

i never thought i had an “introduction” into fame, because, i never thought of myself as famous — until someone said the reason i’m famous is because of the group i used to be in some years back. and whilst that’s probably nothing, i stopped in my tracks .that day and wondered — is that all i am? how many people more thought that? that i was just an extra face in those dancing videos? it wasn’t what he said, but how he said it — such a way to reduce me, to perfectly encapsulate me into nothing. he was specific when he said the name of the group, ensuring to pronounce the two “G’s,” almost like he wanted to remind me that i was nothing and no one — just someone who became famous from others. and that day, i went silent. i had no words. because sometimes, when people tell you things, you swallow them hook, line, and sinker. sometimes, the easiest pill to swallow is the tougher one — the one your mind has been tricking you to accept. that night, i wouldn’t look in the mirror. i didn’t want to see the face of a disappointment.

i believed him for a while. i believed i really didn’t have use — not on social media at least. i was simply someone who wasn’t either that famous nor famous by himself. that was how he couched it — so perfect to embarrass me. so well. and I thought how could hate ever be so easy?

i lived in benin most of my life, but somewhere around when i turned 17, i moved to my aunt’s house. i never officially moved — not to my parents at least — but i stayed there on most days. it was in lagos and i could easily go to the rowdy market called “yaba.” because i was somehow different in my first few years, i would overpronounce the first “a” — almost like yaaba. the bus conductors would always give a half smile before following it with a hot “omo igbo.” and for the not-so-tolerating words, they’d follow it with more swift yoruba — swift enough to make the whole bus laugh. it usually ended in “jati jati,” but sometimes it didn’t end. sometimes they laughed at my pronunciation till we got to the funny market. but i only ever went there to buy clothes or make clothes. i’ve always loved dressing up. i’m not sure when we started the group, but i’m sure i began to overextend myself on the first day — maybe because i had the lowest followers. maybe because it was a funny time in my life and i had no home. i overextended myself for everyone there — always there for everyone at the same time, mostly all the time. in a way, they became my home. on some days I didn’t really like that home, not very much at least. sometimes, i think my relationship with “fame” is weird.

today i posted a video and someone replied saying how unoriginal i am, and all i am is a copy copy. i was simply having fun and thought to post that — i didn’t know anyone else had done it. i took down the post not because of the hate comment. rather, because i thought they were right. in that moment, i was genuinely being myself — but a huge chunk of “self” is everything, from content you watch to jokes you hear. i took it down because i don’t even know myself, and most nights it feels like i do — like i’m certain.

i’ve overextended for so many people in my life. a part of me sometimes feels that’s the only reason they’re there sometimes — because i keep performing. for most of the people i had to do this for, i stopped speaking to them. it became so tiring.

to be honest, i try a lot of stuff with my content — new stuff, old stuff. i don’t really know what it is my content is. maybe i’m easily inspired. maybe the hater was right and i’m an unoriginal copycat. but at the end of the day, i’m just a boy that wants to be famous — so he can move out of this crappy house where he hates his facility manager. so he can get himself a better car, buy an expensive perfume or a pretty watch. i’m just a boy that wants to live life. why is that so wrong?

i don’t like how i feel. not today. today, i think that comment hurt me. comments usually don’t, but i think today, this one did. maybe that’s what senegal did. i just want to be and get better and grow more.

i’m young. i’m going to make mistakes. let me

Yesterday my friend married the love of her life - and I’ve been so happy since last night. My beautiful girl, my Priscilla - I will love you forever.

Two nights before I turned 23 my friend called me that I had a ‘special package’ at the gate it was a birthday gift from you, the one I love the most - my tobabies. On the night I didn’t feel good enough in Senegal. I thought to myself even if you’re nothing - you’re nothing with a birthday gift. To Yvonne, Adewunmi, Larry, Oreoluwa, Rejoice, Oluwatobiloba - thank you, I love you forever.