The Year Does Not Need a Title

2024.

1.

It’s December 1st 2024, and there’s a ray of blue light seeping into my room. It obstructs my sleep, even when I close the door because I love to sleep in total darkness, almost naked. I’ve been faulted about the nakedness, that an emergency might occur in the middle of the night and I’d be unprotected. I believe when there’s an emergency, people’s focus won’t be on my size or slowly developing pot belly. Or, well, that’s if my size is more important than their lives. It’s 12 in the morning. Songs from birds still manage to sneak in.

2.

I am writing because there’s a piece of music coming out of my rechargeable fan. It blows softly, like a cotton blown by the wind; soundless. It reminds me of how the year has passed by: slowly, but with a speed strong enough to notice its movement. In January, I was despaired. I was just finding my feet after spending a year at my job. I was struggling with clarity and I wanted, desperately, everything good to happen to me. Nothing happened. Or some things happened, but they were bad news. January seeped into February and all hopes I raised for myself got flared like a balloon bloated by the scorching afternoon sun after landing on grass. Yet, I was happy, because I had love in my life. I still do.

3.

In March, an essay I wrote about my father was published on Zocalo Public Square. I fell in love with ZPS during the pandemic when I read an essay by Otosorieze there. When the editor shared the link with me, and I saw my father’s photo on the cover, something got lifted in me. Dreams do come true. But it slips out of our minds unnoticeably because as we progress in life, we construct bigger dreams that when those little ones come to pass, we move past them. Apart from the quality of that essay and how important it is for me to write, getting it published in a dream place was a reassurance. I never thought I would ever get to write about my father. Since then, in my personal projects, I have been blending creative writing with historical explorations, telling personal stories and winding them into the present.

4.

I was on the phone with my lover one day when I said something I didn’t know where it came from: If everything I put in for does not work out, I will hold onto the one I have and make it be enough. This (2024) was the year I applied most to things and it was the year I got rejected most. I got rejected so much that I became immune to it: a rejection comes in, I read it, and move on to the next thing. This is not to say they do not get to me, but life and God have made me realise that you really can’t force good news to happen. In a mysterious way, you will get whatever belongs to you as long as you put in the effort to reach it.

5.

My essay in The Offing Magazine introduced some people to my writing. I didn’t know a lot of people would relate to the piece but the notes and tags and notifications I received reassured why I write: to share something about myself that I think reflects other people’s realities. This doesn’t come to my mind when I write but whenever I finish a piece and I am reluctant to share, something nudges me that someone somewhere might read the essay and feel seen. That Offing essay was the most I’ve shared about myself in recent times. That was in June.

6.

I was the laziest of writers and readers this year. It’s even embarrassing to mention the number of books I read or the amount of stuff I wrote. Workwise, I wrote more than 60 pieces but creatively, I did not reach half of the half of 60. This reflected in how long it took me to write something on Bareness. Since I started getting notes from people saying my notes on Bareness make them feel seen, I became conscious of what I share here. But I wasn’t reading enough to write enough. Then I realised Barenaes was not started for the notes or messages; it’s about me which, of course, I expect everyone to read. Writing is a gift.

7.

June and July went by like say dem no exist.

8.

I got selected for the Alternative Heritage Fellowship by StoryMI Academy, in collaboration with The Republic Journal and The French Embassy in Nigeria. The highlight of the fellowship was meeting people I have always admired and writing about something I’ve always wanted to write about: Doors. The fellowship spanned 3 months and it was immersive.

9.

And now, it’s December.

10.

You will receive this on December 2nd.

11.

Next year, you should take things easy. Live. Love. And get married, like me. Don’t force things. Live within your means. Appreciate God for the gift of breathing. Don’t get too comfortable. 2024 is not over; you might not get anything done, but you should try. It could be as little as preparing yourself for 2025.