Photo credit: Psychology Today
People have been telling me I’m nuts. But I hardly believed them.
However, it took my being locked out to realize I’m sillilly sick. I was attending to some duty where I didn’t need to take my pen and notebook along.
When I finished there, I just had to go home for one reason or the other. It was then I realized my key could not open the door.
I wouldn’t have been much concerned about that if I had my pen and notebook.
Normally, I would go into a drugstore and buy a notebook and a pen. I just felt it was getting too much.
I really don’t want to be an akowekowura!
Another thing was that the battery of my phone was getting too low for comfort.
Ah tor!
That’s double wahala!!
Double trouble because I didn’t have the opportunity to enter the house to pick the charger.
To crown it all, the summer sun was at its fiercest. The sun did not even bother me so much.
You know Naija no dey carry last!
My writing materials and my phone were evidently much more important to me.
They were because I do my scribblings without notice. The urge to put something down would just come along. Someone once said it was a possession by the spirits.
What I forgot to ask him was whether they were positive or negative spirits.
The urge to write the truth the way I see it is so paramount that I hardly care if people do like what I have penned or not. Although I’m pro people, my scribblings are so personal to me that if I happen to be the last man standing, I hardly care.
It’s, therefore, no surprise to me that most great writers do not write for prosperity. They would rather write for posterity.
If money comes, that’s prosperity, it would then be a matter of,
A nwa owo lo;
A pade iyi lona!
Ta ba r’owo ohun nko?
Iyi la o fi ra!
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