And no, I didn’t promise you.
I’m supposed to do the usual formalities and ask how you are and stuff, but I don’t really know the answer to that question for myself, so I don’t want to put you through the stress of finding your answer.
I’m just gonna dive right into things if that’s cool with y’all.
I am a 19-year-old Nigerian while the President of our country, Muhammadu Buhari, is 77 years old, but the chances that he clocks 100 are higher than my chances of clocking 25, not because I have any terminal illness but because I am a young Nigerian living in Nigeria.
There’s already been a lot of information on SARS and what the problem is, so I’ll just plug some of it at the bottom of this post. I’d rather not explain shit myself because the idea makes me more than sad. Please, understand.
Anyhoo, I’m here because, as the title says, I promised.
No, I didn’t promise you. I didn’t promise my mom or my friend or a loyal reader.
I promised myself. And I promised posterity. So, here I am.
I’m sad. Overwhelmed.
Honestly, I feel like I should have began documentation since my day started, but I’m really lazy. Plus, typical me likes to leave shit for the last minute because in those moments, my need for perfection disappears. In those moments, I really just want to get shit done before the deadline.
I say I should have started writing at the start of the day because I believe in the honesty of how I feel as I feel it. I hope this makes sense because I don’t really know a better way to put it.
After spending the day watching movies – and a lot of procrastination on when I should start working – I already gave up on writing here today. I was feeling significantly better after boycotting Twitter for a few hours. Away from the anger, the sadness, the disappointment, I was…well…happy, I guess. Till something changed that.
I won’t say what happened that got me feeling sad again because it had me doing some introspection. Her reaction made me question my self-righteousness. The possibility that I’ve been a hypocrite won’t let me explain what happened, especially since I know I can’t explain without sprinkling a little…maybe a lot…of judgment. How dare I condemn myself in someone else but not in me. That’s not fair, is it?
I don’t know where to go from here. My brain’s bringing up so much, but I know my main focus should be the fact that I was lucky to witness a revolution in my generation, especially one that has been called lots of names, most of which don’t have meanings that stray too far from ’lazy’ and ’good-for-nothing’. Way to prove them wrong, guys! I’m proud of us.
God, I forgot how therapeutic this is – writing for myself and not money or a prize or recognition. Just writing because it’s how I cry when I don’t have tears. I feel a lot better right now.
Speaking of tears, I had a bit of a breakdown a few days ago. It was badddd! No, I’m not exaggerating. I cried for a while. No triggers – at least none that I recognised. Thank Sky Daddy for Ire. On days like that, I wish I had someone to thank for bringing Ire into my life. I could say it was coincidence, but BBC’s Sherlock and Mycroft said:
And what do we say about coincidences? The Universe is rarely so lazy.
So, I guess: ’Thank you, the universe’ (in Sokka’s voice).
Side note about the BBC’s Sherlock reference:
Anyhoo, starting tomorrow(?), I will report here before I report to Twitter. Or WhatsApp. Or wherever else, really.
My attention span is really shitty, so I’ll try to make things short. Can’t be putting people through pain I wouldn’t willingly go through myself. You get?
My brothers have turned on the TV. They’re watching Tom & Jerry, so it’s all so loud and chaotic. I can’t really write well in loud and chaotic. I mean, I get the perfect ideas in those moments. But I find it hard to really put them down.
I guess it makes sense then, that the protests inspire me so much to write, yet I can’t seem to write. The air – it’s loud and chaotic. The silence of our leaders is loud and chaotic. So, despite how much I want to write, I can’t seem to do it properly.
I digress. Then again, is it really digression when I promised to report everything I feel? Oh well.
Point is, I have to go, but before I do, here’s the SARS info, as promised
Here’s a website created by Nigerians for Nigerians to share their experiences with SARS. After going through all of this, I hope you see why I didn’t want to talk about shit myself.
What I will hammer on, however, is the fact that #SARSMUSTEND
Sooner, rather than later.