May was a dark month for me. My mental space was running at -5% for most of the time. I was anxious. Broke to the core and desperately waiting to be paid for a service I rendered. I was almost used for free legal services in the name of “you’re my person now.”
On other days, I memorized lines for job interview sessions. I practised before my mirror. Who are you? What are your interests? etc. I don’t know why I didn’t just skip this phase.
Ironically, I fear I may land a job soon. One that would involve taking 5 buses to my workplace. It feels like suffering to me. I feel sad about that in advance. Would I like the routine? Would I find it a bore? Will my dreams die? Will the spark in my eyes burn out?
I passed a bridge one morning and fancied the idea of jumping into the water. It would be a struggle. A bone-chilling cold, watery struggle. I imagined social media bubble when it hears of it. Oh, she had such a promising future. But she always looked happy. She would have spoken to someone and not given up. I quickly silenced the thought.
This life I am living isn’t the one I imagined. I expected more from it. I worked so hard in law school with the hopes that I’d make a good grade, then land my dream job or even be granted an audience with the Governor. I dream crazy stuff, I know.
I hung expectations on the results of my efforts from school and never thought about unemployment. I heard about the labour market. Something that sounded like a prayer Nigerians coined, may the labour market favour you. I took it for rhymes. Favour. Labour. But like every other thing, it is best experienced (or best avoided) rather than said.
It is that phase where your parents are done with you, yet you are not fully on your feet. That gap stage between crawling and standing. The unspoken fears and question marks shadowing your mind.
I wondered where I got it wrong. I examined the lives of others I knew when they were young (while I was a kid) Their lives seemed all bright and promising. Then, they reach a point where their lives seemed to dim. They plateau and stay stuck doing a job routine they hate and can’t seem to help themselves out of it. I wondered why I ever thought they didn’t do enough. Now I understand better. Life’s disappointment can crush a bright spirit sometimes. We literally need to put up a fight to birth dreams. To be resilient and break forth, hopefully.
I expected more from life at this stage. I thought it owed me some blessings for my academic prowess. After the glories of finishing with a first class, I was back again at the lower rung of the ladder. Life is funny. One moment you feel on top of the world. Another, you’re reminded that you’re a speck of dust.
Life owes me nothing, I’ve come to accept. It doesn’t guarantee a smooth path but God’s words guarantee that a superior presence will always be with me. I’m sure you’ve heard that bad things happen to good people all the time. Life can be that unfair, leaves you with unanswered questions, like a mystery code. But as a believer in Christ, I hear His voice speak to me when I cry to Him. I cried and prayed a lot and it was a sweet, sweet moment of vulnerability.
In my dark days, I tried applying to get gigs on Upwork but was rejected there too. I tried applying for a fee waiver for a course on Coursera but that too, fell through. I tried consuming some content on Medium but it seemed like everyone was having a rosy month except me. How sad. While everyone’s life on social media seemed to have sunshine, mine had thunder, storms and lightning. A heavy downpour went on while I stood alone, wet from the rain.
On Hope and Faith
Two non-tangible things. Frail and shadowy yet sparkling bright and powerful. My belief was weak but it was there anyways.
I felt lost in the world and didn’t know I felt that way until I spoke to T. He advised I consistently write with traditional paper and pen for seven days. He advised I write rough thoughts about seven things I loved. One thing for one day. Anything! There were no strict rules. I loved the idea. I embraced it. I loved how random an exercise it is and makes me connect to my core. So far, it has brightened my mental space and renewed the strength of my hope.
On Friendships and Difficult Conversations
I saw my family come through for me. My sister and BIL would persuade me to talk even when I didn’t feel like it. My BIL even sang for me while I cried over a video call, one day. I have found out that I dislike being that vulnerable around people. I guess there’s a reason they are called family. It’s a good thing to be loved. It’s an extra feeling to be reminded of that love.
Most of the time, I hid from my world. My friends cared but were careful not to cross boundaries or hurt. So they just ask carefully how are yous.
Why do we find it difficult to hold tough conversations? So, to avoid asking a tough question, we repeatedly ask, how are you?
That unmarried friend who is past 30 and defined as a failure by societal standards, we avoid the topic of love and family. For the friend grieving, we avoid the subject, we don’t know what to say and fear we would say the wrong thing. For the friend who repeated a class, we are careful not to ask, to avoid hurting. For the unemployed friend, we tread carefully, mind our business and talk about other things including the new/old Nigerian anthem. The unemployed on the other hand, avoid the conversation too.
I recall when the Bar Finals results were released. People seemed to talk in whispers and coded words, ensuring they never discussed their results. I wonder why we find it difficult to be vulnerable. Is it shame? I don’t know. I am guilty of these too. I avoid the conversations and stick to the shallow and convenient, I’m fine. A fine sheen spread over the turmoil. This lack of depth and vulnerability creates a rising wall in friendships. A chasm only brave loved ones can dive into.
I suspect a few colleagues would want to know if I’ve been employed. I may be wrong but I suspect. Maybe they care. Maybe it’s to satisfy that innate amebo in us. I say this because I see the notifications from LinkedIn that XYZ viewed your profile and I wonder what they are looking for. Why not ask the question? They may read this and not clap, my incognito audience, I prefer to call them. I wondered if to share this experience. But it is my story. Whether I accept it or not.
On Thoughts and Internal Dialogues
May was a gentle flow of routines. Waking. Exercising. Praying. Sometimes prayers came before exercise. May got me stuck in my head. May had those dark thoughts scream at me. I’ll call them the lies of the devil which I’m now mindful of.
70% of the time, you speak to yourself, so be mindful of the thoughts you nurture. Screen them. Are they true? Are they honourable? Are they in tandem with the creator’s will for you? Or are they a fallout of the dark tunnel you’re in,,when the light seems far off? Or the horizon, hazy. Be on guard about the conversations that go on in your head. Your thoughts are more important than you realise.
On Arts and Creativity
Last month, I connected with another fabulous Medium Writer. Together, we will be working towards a goal for our Medium community which will be announced here. Let’s anticipate that😉
That being said, one would expect me to have written a book (as an unemployed) I mean, I had free time. Oh, not that easy. A free time mixed with anxious thoughts isn’t all that wholesome and the creative juices got the memo. They ran dry. I think anxiety and creativity don’t go together (I could be wrong though)
However, I consumed more books than ever. I read and slept off reading. I read Aiwanose Odafen’s Tomorrow I Become a Woman. I loved Bisi Adjapon’s Daughter in Exile. As a lover of cities and cultures, I enjoyed the tales of the illegal US migrant who once lived in Ghana and Senegal. I disliked Chinwe Unigwe’s Middle Daughter for many reasons outlined in this criticism. By the way, I’ve never criticised any work of art. That would be the first. I fear I lack the power to criticize another’s creative process. I mean, I understand the work put in to make art but I now embrace objective criticism.
I was over the moon excited that Breath of Life won the AMVCA movie of the year award! I almost sent a fan email to Chiemeka Imo. I was happy for all the cast and crew, you’d think I was a part of the team. The movie deserved all the awards it received. It was a refreshing story. A true breath of fresh air.
I overdosed on YouTube videos about life in other countries. I watched documentaries on work and the 9/11 attack on Netflix. And of course, I binge-watched Bridgerton for the umpteenth time. While I don’t fancy Polin’s love story, Anthony and Kate’s love reigns supreme for me. That scene where they danced to the Midnight String Quartet’s version of the wrecking ball song is stamped and sealed in my memory.
Sorrows, sorrows, prayers
I cried so hard the day I got my first formal offer. It was a low sum in comparison to my ideal expectations. My worst fear had come to be. The exact thing I was running away from. Graduating and being jobless or facing the harsh reality of most first-year associates. Low paychecks and high work volume. I wondered where I got it wrong. I cried from my stomach. It was a gut-wrenching affair. Had to get into the bathroom to have that good moment so my neighbours won’t hear. I still came out minutes later to talk to one of them with the feigned tone of a person who just woke up from sleep.
I also had to hold uncomfortable negotiations with would-be employers and must admit that I find it uncomfortable to negotiate money or some workplace stuff involving money. But I’m learning to do it afraid.
It’s the beginning of the bridge month and the sun shone brightly on the first day, quite different from the heavy downpour of the last day. That rain washed away the sins of May and to mark the end of my sad month, I decided to get myself some Suya and masa. I’m as glorious as that.
The morning sounds on the first morning of the month were louder than usual. The harmony from the cacophony of the morning tweets and crows was my alarm for the day. The sunset was lovelier. A sweet orange deep into the sky-blue sea. Nature affirmed the fact that it was the dawn of new life.
I’ll be conscious of my thoughts this time around. I’ll be patient in this journey and still hold onto faith and hope. I’m grateful for this one life and this precious breath that goes through my nostrils, and lungs and feeds my internal ecosystem. I’m determined to dream differently and to remember that the world owes me nothing.
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