How To Be Twenty

Drum roll 🥁🥁

We have our first guest post today💃🏾💃🏾💃🏾. Yup, we do! I’m very excited to open up the guest author part of my blog, and we’re kicking things off with Fiyinfoluwa 👏🏾. Today’s post is on how to be twenty.

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This, like most things in my adult life, comes without a road map, tea break and most importantly, my express permission. On the contrary, I am-for lack of a better word-thrust head first into a toilet bowl, armed with nothing but my own wit and my regrettably rusty penmanship. While I enjoy the occasional escapade themed on recklessness and potential bodily harm, they just usually aren’t a decade long or worse, missing a user-friendly manual.
Self-depreciating humor aside, do I now upon the tenets of my recently obtained maturity, have need to bathe more often than bi-weekly or, Godforbid, pull my nappy mane into a decent plait? I mean, do I now, at the say-so of the MC, join the crowd of single, marriage-happy twenty-something year olds all too eager to spar at the throw of the bouquet? The farther down the list, the more fragile and desperate the ingenuity of my questioning.
Again, I do not have a road map but what I do have is a virtual shelf full of twenty or so self-help books-one for each year I have lived-some touting, in movie vernacular, to help “Discover Yourself” and others more generous with originality promise “A journey through the wilds”- yet another detour to self-discovery and it’s exhilarating particulars; but surely there must be more to adulting than breathing exercises and pick-me-up speeches? More to the point, how much of the said adulting can fit neatly into a print-worthy self-help book devoid of colourful expletives, dead ends and their intervening madness?
Admittedly, self-help is arguably the most underrated genre on the book-shelf but I haven’t any inclination to live out my days through the pages of some thin spined self-discovery book or the other; there, afterall, isn’t a how-to book on jumping yaba bound buses or haggling pepper for dummies.
So maybe I had it wrong; maybe there isn’t a road-map to begin with, maybe it’s alright I’d still chew my meat loudly and pick my nose when I think no one is looking;Even better that I periodically cry when Mechanical Engineering proves more daunting than I signed up for. Perhaps, it’s alright to drive against the traffic and crash into the figurative equivalent of a heavy-hand warden and tiresome paperwork. maybe just maybe, I don’t have it all figured out-and even then, maybe that would be alright too.

Comments

  1. Madunemeh, Ikechukwu FLOYD

    This is real good, Cheers!!! But at risk of writing more wole soyinka type penmanship, depending on whom your target audience are, tune down on the vocab cos simple minded scholars may be unable to get the message at first or even a second read without a dictionary.

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