I Always Wanted To Be Somebody

Charcoal Kid

It’s a cold Tuesday night. This cold is different— it’s not the aftermath of a heavy rain or the strange Nigerian harmattan, it’s not the antique air conditioning in my Lagos room, it’s not the fog-filled sports complex in Ile-Ife on a Friday night. This one is the abroad cold. It’s Silicon Valley.

Nostalgia is choking me tonight, and the tears are coming down softly in trickles from my heart. It’s like when you squeeze clothes with your small hand, and your Mother comes to squeeze them again with her big hands. You think you did it hard enough, but water drips down, betraying the feeble strength of your little fingers.

“They didn’t choose me, they chose her… I always wanted to be an unforgettable melody.”

Oreva’s words found me a few days before I hopped on the plane to California, and I swallowed them raw at first. Then with some tears and hot sauce from my memory. I’m plugged in again tonight, listening to her, crying, and choking on my strawberry ice cream. They should be tears of joy, but they’re not. Instead, it feels like a reunion. For big me and little me.

Two years ago was the last time words touched my heart like this. It was Viola Davis telling a heartbreaking story of her childhood.

“I always wanted to be somebody.”

Tears stung my eyes because I understood.

When I was a child, my family used to go to the Redemption Camp every month, and after preaching, Baba would give us nine prayer points. The 10th one would be for personal requests. At my age, I should have been asking for toys or maybe good grades, but I didn’t need toys, and I was at the top of my class. I just wanted to be somebody. My personal request was always ‘Significance.’ I wanted to be important, and I wanted to matter.

In my Journal, I wrote “The Quest For Significance.” That was my life’s mantra. I always felt so small, so little and not enough. It’s hard to figure out why but I guess when you find yourself surrounded by many loud voices, you want to be heard too. Or maybe you just want your voice to be loud enough to drown out all the noise and chaos. I wanted to be the best, so I became a perfectionist. Funny because it was that same perfectionism that became my biggest flaw.

I was never ready to start, never felt good enough, always fussing about the small details and running out of time for the important things. A chronic procrastinator. Everything was okay for a while until I tasted failure and rejection. That’s when my life started to turn on its own in different directions. Oh God, I tried. But I didn’t win that battle for years. I was stuck for so long, running and hiding from what my life had become— rubbles of shattered dreams and aspirations.

So, today, even in the middle of big things, I’m crying for that girl. The one who was always so extra, so strong, so bold, yet so alone because she never really fit in. The one who almost ran herself mad every time, overthinking things and trying to fix everything. I’m living big dreams now, revised versions of her dreams, but I’m crying because it was a long, hard road, and the war within was a million times greater than the one outside.

I don’t know what to do with myself now, and I can’t hide my emotions in work anymore. Earlier today, the CEO, Tye, walked into my office and asked me to go home. At first, I thought he just wanted me to go home to freshen up because I had stayed overnight.

“Tops, I need you to go home now.”

That was the oyinbo version of my name.

“Oh… why? I actually bathed and changed my clothes already. The sofa converts into a bed so I was able to catch some sleep. I’m alright really.”

“Pick your things please. You’re leaving right now and we don’t want you to be in the office for the next two weeks.”

I was still trying to make meaning of what was going on. I had been in Cali for just a month and was supposed to stay for three months to have an on-site feel of the company before returning to remote work in Nigeria. Was I being sacked? Had I not put in my best? Didn’t they say my articles were special?

Naomi from HR walked in.

“What’s that look on your face? Relax. We just don’t approve of how much work you’re doing. You’re putting in too many hours and you’re months ahead already.”

“No, no. That’s fine. This is what I came here to do. I don’t have any problem doing it and I have many more ideas to implement. Clara said we have three months worth of articles for the company website and that’s okay. But I spoke to Charles on Friday about an exclusive Newsletter for our top clients and a fiction section on the new app to entice people to use it more. I worked on a draft over the weekend so…”

“Tops.”

Naomi cut me short, and Tye dropped an envelope on the table with my name on it.

“You need to slow down. The Guide you wrote last month launched last week and it’s doing crazy numbers. You’re moving too fast and it’s our responsibility to ensure that you don’t work yourself to exhaustion.”

“I can’t be exhausted. I’m …”

“Two weeks Tops. Go around, see the city and actually rest. There’s some cash in the envelope for you.”

“Tye… Sir, I…”

“Now Tops. Right now.”

So, I left.

Working too hard? They didn’t know I had promised myself to run. To run as fast as I could. It’s how I got here in the first place.

I still remember my head spinning when I got the first mail. Then a video call with Tye to discuss the series I had written for Truka. I had sent a sample in faith after spending three months bringing the idea to life. I was scared that they could steal my work if they liked it or perhaps undervalue it. After all, I was just a charcoal kid from Nigeria.

“We really like this. It’s a beautiful piece of work and we would like to push it. So, this is our offer: We would like to pay you for this work and also bring you on board to join our team. You’ll get full credit for everything you write.”

Everything happened so fast after that. The day I got my work kit, I cried. After the first onboarding call, I cried. When I got the first payment, I cried. When I got my Visa, I cried. When I boarded the plane, I cried. When my friend picked me up from the airport, I cried. And today, here I was, crying again.

But for the first time, I want to go back to hug little me.

“You didn’t fail. It was just a hard road. ”

Tonight I can hear her reply.

“Yeah… See how far we’ve come. You will always have my childish mischief and laughter. Much more, my zest to do seemingly impossible things. You will always be extra. I won’t ask you to slow down because you know how easily we get distracted. But I’ll say, live a little my love.”

I’m going to see the city tomorrow. Charcoal kid in California with my white winter jacket. It’s not winter but the cold choke mahn.

I always wanted to be somebody. But even with broken dreams, even in highs and lows, I was always somebody.

I’ve come to realize— It’s not really a destination. It’s a process. A journey. And through it all, run o. But live too.

Ciao.