Dear diary,
I imagine life after service and the feelings are mixed. I'm not really scared of the future but then, there's this bit of obscurity as regards what to do next.
After service comes the time when everyone expects the boy to have become a man. At this point, he should be able to fend for himself, get his own house, get a good job and start thinking about settling down. In a nutshell, he should be all grown up. But what if I don't want to grow up?
There's so much fakeness about being an adult. Do people actually lose their old habits or they actually hide them? Perhaps, in the closet where prying eyes will never find them. They are let out when the world isn't watching and the baby in the man awakes and takes over, if only temporarily.
I want to be real, no pretence. I want to be me. I want to be known for who I am and not what I put on display for people to see.
Who are you when no one is watching?
I am me. That's the answer I want to always chant whenever the above question arises. Is there a place in this world where it isn't wrong to not grow up?
I always see myself as a teenager, with all the naivity and carefreeness that comes with it.
You've got to be real man
Well, this is being real to me. It's that life you want me to put on, like an oversized jacket, that is fake.
Forever young, you say?
Well, that ain't bad. Is it?
How about I take those responsibilities and still get to keep the ME
There is something I fear about marriages. It's the loss of freedom. I can barely think of it. Like get to share space with another for ever, till death do us part? What then happens to my me moments, when I'm supposed to be wrapped in my thoughts and scribbling those random ideas, eating pop corn, chin-chin while watching a soccer match, alone?
You're selfish. That's what you are!
I think I am. But I really don't know why you should care. I guess things will have to work out sooner or later. My thoughts are jumbled, scattered across all plains of vagueness. Maybe that's why I prefer to write than talk.
Speech is troublesome. If silence could speak, I wonder what pitch she'd have. Or if she could sing, what voice she'd possess
Steemit is fast becoming my obsession, my addiction. I sometimes wonder what I would be doing were there no Steemit.
Wait, what's happened to my life?
I spend my hours perusing through people's thoughts and imaginations. From @gbenga's fatherly advices to @pearlumie's scientific findings. Or is it @surpassinggoogle's awe-inspiring posts. My Naija pals keep keeping it real. There's so much to read and digest.
I got inspired again to write. P.K has already written nine chapters of his new book and I haven't so much as lifted a finger.
Where did the juice go to?
I'm writing this night, definitely! I must complete this book before the hols are over.
In other news, Manchester United made me sleep well yesterday. I owe Pogba a golden hand shake like one former president.
# FROM ALL FOOTBALL
The cryptos are showing positive signs. I just hope it's not that face the cloud puts up before it begins to crack up and release a down pour.
My worms are telling on me already. Time to grab something to eat.
I still haven't unraveled the meaning of shapropro, abi shaprapra
Shey we are still alright in this country sha.
Nighty diary.
THE PEN HAS MORE VALUE THAN A SWORD
8:50 P.M