As the year hastily recedes in our rearview mirror, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on some of the most interesting and thought-provoking discussions that have taken place over the past 12 months. On this newsletter, of course, because where else? My bedroom? Don't be gross.
There are a few people in my life who know how much of a struggle it has been for me to grasp this life thingy. I'm not very good at pretending to be okay with things that are clearly bonkers. For as long as I remember, I have questioned everything. Mostly silently. It was a mix of excitement and terror and I envy people able to entertain unusual thoughts without fidgeting or even killing out their cigars. And I only began to gain a sense of control when I took the initiative to write these lengthy and often confusing entries.
This December, I wanted to give you a short behind the scenes peek at how, over the year, my thoughts marinate in my head before they're shipped into your inbox. Hopefully, you'll get to know me a tad better and, in the next year, understand where I'm coming from.
In the 12 months since the first entry of Nightcap was first published, I have tried to get as close to a grasp of what I think I am and what it means for me to be this lump of carbon, magnetized to a wet rock hurtling through space, skirting its dusty and explosive backyard. Incidentally, while this endeavor began selfishly — a desperate attempt at exorcizing the demons in my head that rumble so loudly — it has evolved to be more than a personal quest.
As a writer, I believed I was cursed to extract the exquisite from the banal, the sensual from the frigid. Writing Nightcap entries, I discovered that it was never a curse. It is a gift: one of painfully and laboriously breathing life into the stories that linger beneath the grime and repose.
Although most of my entries are longer and more of a ramble, one that stood out was 'Toxic Nigerianism.' Writing about my country, even with the naivety of someone like me, is like spitting into the wind and hoping that some of it will catch the ears of those who will listen. It also took me a while to put into words the odious nature of what it means to be a Nigerian. I had to tie that to my quest for meaning and how it all doesn't make sense.
For those of you who have been following me on this winding path — new subscribers I promise I value you too — there is nothing strange or surprising about me bringing forth the theory that maybe we're all living in someone else's written or orchestrated story. The entry stems from my love of the Harry Potter series. I was obsessed with the books — cliché, I know (shut the fuck up!). It is intriguing thinking about realities that we have no way of disproving their existence. It gives me something to cling to when I'm at my lowest. Hence, the thought that maybe, you know, just maybe, 'The Stories We Tell' will go on to have lives of their own is certainly one I thought was worth sharing.
'Systematic Chaos' is a tribute to a cat that was run over while I was out getting bread one night. There was enough shitshow in my personal life that same night that the death of the cat plunged me into a mild existential crisis. So I got up, sat at my desk, and typed away.
Other entries were more personal in nature. When my five-year-old sister died a few years ago, I didn't cry. I still don't know whether or not it is an internalized need to be perceived as "tough." But then even in the comfort of my solitude, I did not shed a tear. I still miss her. Some days worse than others. I still remember how her eyes lit up when I brought her chocolate and the gibberish she replies with when I speak English to her. I also remember her falling asleep on my lap while I played games on my computer.
'Loss, Grief, and Moving On' is me trying to make sense of how I would love someone so much and still act indifferent to the fact that I would never ever see them again. That entry was me learning to accept how I cope with grief and its imperfect timing. So when a friend wrote back that he loved the entry and had to read it thrice, it was only the second best feeling that came from hitting that publish button.
'Mind in the Streets' looked a wee bit deeper into those times when our lives seemed to freeze. The rare instances when the matrix glitched and we were fortunate enough to experience and remember it. Of course, I wrote about it.
'Is My Red Your Purple?' was an invitation to the reader reading the entry in their email and one finding the entry decades from the day it was published, to join me on my quest to explore my curiosity. Those questions that look interesting on the surface — and I genuinely think they are — but aren't worth the hassle of hosting a thousand-word write-up.
'Every Artist's Neverland' attempted, perhaps weakly so, to explore the turmoil of pursuing creative immortality. 'Tick and Tock' deals with the illusion of time and the inability to grasp the complexity in calibrating existence.
A lot has happened.
It is crazy to look back and see how much has happened in a single year. Just a few months into the year, March to be precise, I was midway through a phase of wanting to contribute towards "saving" the world in any way I could. I was as biophilic as a person can be.
In any form I could, I wanted to help with the campaigns against nuclear actions by states, the inhumane treatment of animals at slaughterhouses around the world and how we're literally farming them for a fleeting pleasure, climate action, inequality, and a million host of other issues. It was like a mad, weird fever dream that never ended.
Slowly, however, it became apparent that I could only do so much. 'Grey Is the Hue of Our Reality' is a letter to my younger self to take it easy, 'cuz reality is never black or white. Only if we get into an issue do we see the complexities and the difficult discussions around why people are the way they are. Questions around morality are larger than our frail human brains can dissect, I came away thinking. I resolved to only do what I can, and not burden myself with how others live their lives. I've never been happier.
This entry is more than a meta piece — oh my sweet summer child: nothing is as it seems. Think of it as an emotion-filled act of recognition of where I am and how I am growing as an artist. The reflection on the year 2022 is best encapsulated by the disparity between 'On Empathy and New Year Resolutions' and 'Nothing.' I see myself getting better at presenting my thought process, allowing me to better dip into old memories with appropriate lenses.
Nightcap is a window into my mind and how I think about life and the music it plays and the dance moves it calls for. When others read and relate to these entries, it comes only second to the satisfaction I get from having documented the issues bothering me, clearing my head, and saving my own sanity in the process. The object of art is to save yourself, the American novelist Sherwood Anderson would say.
While future entries will be irregular (and shorter too) — because I'm actually settling down and transitioning into a career in Data Analytics — here is (*raises a glass) to many more years of heartfelt, empathetic, sometimes asinine, yet unapologetically honest articulations of my view of the world. Thanks for coming along for the ride.