Hi my name is Christopher and you’re welcome to the year where I try to take charge of my life. Not that I haven’t been doing this previously but in December I realized why a friend (who is a Prophetess – legit!) told me that the Lord wanted me to focus.
In the search of money and hustle and in the search of this thing that Nigeria has us bogged down in, I tried to use all my talents maximally and ended up not using any one of them fully. Basically, in small increments, I stunk quite a few places up. In 2016, my writing for work was decent. I tried incredibly hard at it but I had my failures and my highs. Like real life. And that was fine. This year, I want to mic-drop every time my pages come up.
In 2016, I don’t remember making a single beat for Dolapo, the kid whose career is, for the time being, in my hands. Life though short, has openings for second chances. I will inundate him with music this year. I hope.
So many times last year, especially towards the end, I had this crippling feeling that in having too much to do, I felt like doing none at all. I have always been obsessed with the idea of being busy. Or at least looking like I was busy. It was my way of telling the universe (and if I’m being honest, my peers and family) that I wasn’t lazy and confused. It was also my way of telling myself that I was firmly on the path towards fame and fortune when I pulled myself in 7 different directions. This wasn’t wise. It was counter-productive. I’m not going to be that singer/songwriter/producer/mixing/mastering/mass-producing/radio-hustling/promoting/selling-my-stuff-in-traffic guy. So, in 2017, I promise to turn down so much work, everyone thinks I’m deluded. Heck, I promise to be deluded.
I’ll write about that later. Get it?
I love mine to death but I legitimately feel judged by some of them. A lot. Recently, there was an issue with my perceived video game habits. Basically, they thought all I was doing was wake up in the morning, turn on my ps4, muddy up the house, eat junk food, postpone all my appointments, sleep, rinse, repeat. And the more I tried to explain, the deeper I dug myself into a nice little hole.
Okay I weigh a crapton. It was at least a medium hole.
Things eventually evened themselves out and as much as I know it might piss them off if they ever read this sentiment, I’m learning not to give a crap. I’m a Christian. Let Jesus judge me. I’ve heard this defiance from other people who were either breaking the mould or making bad decisions. I looked at them funny. I’m happy to be looked at the way I looked at others.
Although that’s partly because I think I’m sexy.
I really don’t think I’m sexy. Funny? Probably. I can get a few jokes in. Sexy? Not really. But it’s relative I hear. Any ladies into dudes with enough tummy to be a double for a spinning atlas should send me a DM on twitter: @cikk0.
Anyway, women. Largely lovely but sometimes infuriating. As usual. As of January 2017, there are two that I’m too nice to cut out of my life completely. In my defence, I have tried. In their defence, they are both mildly bonkers. Neither of those relationships are romantic. But both think we’re still very close friends. We used to be. Here’s to figuring out how to be properly rid this year.
Romantically, 2016 was fairly nonsense. There was this girl I may have fallen very badly for. Not ‘may’: I fell. But I ran swiftly when I sensed a thing that I would not live with. The short version is that she was epic with bearing grudges and though she warned me, I thought I was too cute to be on the wrong side of that particular trait. Well, as with when I used to think all sexual intercourse was pleasurable for men, I was wrong. 2017, feel free to be somehow.
I love mine. But sometimes, I want to step back. Just because. I go to The Eternal Sacred Order of the Cherubim and Seraphim purely on my own terms. I want to. Born into it, left, returned. Tried Pentecostal churches: loved the sermons (a lot!) couldn’t stand the clichés and the rhetoric and the clean-cut look of a “prospering Christian brother.” It wasn’t them, it was me. I couldn’t relate. So I returned to my home. And yes, I loathe church cliché. My current church has a bit of it but it doesn’t grate on my nerves like some others I’ve experienced. I hate how attending church is somehow mandatory and non-attendance is more or less criminalized. You know what? Some mornings I just want to sleep in. Prove to me that God is taking attendance as part of CA and I’ll be the first one in.
Okay I won’t be the first in. But I’ll be the second and make jokes at the door.
The vast majority of gospel music bores me to tears. Once Timbaland and Calvin Harris start making gospel hits, that stuff will litter my Spotify playlists. But until then…
On the future
I am happy to wait this one out. But e get where I go old reach ehn, if I never marry, I go gats give person belle. Little Cikk0s will fart in vanilla flavour and be great for our carbon footprint. Amen?
I always have too much month at the end of my money when I do the math but I find that I somehow always end up with a little to spare at the end and I generally regret not going in for that one splurge I held back on. I’m learning to not be a slave to the cheddar. Sometimes, blow it all. No really, blow it all. Not on frivolous things but on generosity and philanthropy and on that beautiful sound system you’ve been ogling. Yeah, go. Do. Easy come easy go. But give most of it away. The universe loves that stuff. I find that the more I lessen my grip on my wallet, the more readily it refills. Also, keep a pension fund. I don’t have one yet but my cynicism hasn’t made me blind to its benefits.
Some random gist to close this out. On New Year’s Day, I had my niece Abigail in my lap. She was fiddling with my face. Next thing: “Uncle, remove your glasses.” I do. To which she remarks: “Ah. Iz more beautiful.” I freaking melted. Like melted. And dissolved into puddles of clear water.
She’s 4 going on 5 though. “Iz more beautiful”??? I’m gonna kill her English teacher!