I love human stories, I think it’s important to start with that. In the big wide universe we are but a tiny speck, so it’s really intriguing the sort of ranges we experience. I remember sometime when I was a child in a car with my parents (perhaps just my dad) and some members of my extended family, as a child I used to be a chatterbox and in a lot of ways I still am, but there in the car talking my hearts content out, someone called me Jero and said I should I be a lawyer. It’s funny that I remember that. Now I’m very shy and reserved. Another time in boarding school in SS2 after being bullied for 4 years, a senior thought that with all the other juniors available in school I was the most appropriate person to send a ridiculous errand. I remember that I thought that 4 years was enough time to be bullied and I refused. I didn’t have an excuse to not do her errand, my answer was simply no. I remember learning that people will only push you as far as you allow yourself to be pushed.
I remember learning that people will only push you as far as you allow yourself to be pushed.
I remember a fat aunt telling me at a wedding that I was fat and I remember replying that “I met it at home and I resembled her”. I remember her mouth agape looking herself over and trying to convince me that no she wasn’t fat.
Isn’t it funny? For every experience you’re experiencing, someone has experienced it.
I had enuresis well into my adult years and it was a source of great distress, but I realize now that I wasn’t alone.
And that is why I love human stories. There’s a down to earthness of them. An agony. An exaltment. A boringness.
My old classmate and colleague writes stories on his WhatsApp status and another dear friend writes for a website and online magazine. Both curate the human experience. I make sure to tell them both loudly and often that I am proud of their work.
Stories continuously are our ways of affirming ourselves on this earth.
I was at my boyfriend’s house the other day when another girl casually made a joke that I looked like his (my boyfriend’s) mother. I randomly went on Twitter in the aftermath of that statement and was serenaded by gorgeous pictures from Fiyinskoko, a plus size gorgeous black lady and was immediately reaffirmed. We are beautiful. We are here. We deserve to be here.
Previously I have written on my WhatsApp stories and a friend had messaged me to let me know that my story resonated with her. My story made her think, comforted her, reaffirmed her.
And I think that if one person learns from your story then it matters.
So write it out baby. Say it. Force people to listen. You’re but a speck. But you matter. You are here. Leave those footprints. You have weight, and you occupy space.
I love you my loves.
♥️&💡
I remember learning that people will only push you as far as you allow yourself to be pushed.
Tweet
Iyanuoluwa's Diary 