I am still trying to figure Justin out. Recent addition to my TL, and now, guest here. I love the way he wrote his entry though. I intend to go look for other stuff he’s written. This first though…
As the lights come on, I wince: this photo-sensitivity the result of years in the dark. As you stare curiously at this (hulking? Cowering? Skulking? Towering? Method acting has never been my forte) man before you, you probably wonder if I suffer from the rare Xeroderma pigmentosum.
No, my years of darkness are not the result of a genetic defect. I speak figuratively. I am just a hermit. But not a hermit like you would think. I have even coined a word for my kind of hermitine propensity.
I call it my “Socially Prohibitive but Expressively Unhinging Hermitic Proclivity.” To simplify – I would avoid company if I can, but where I cannot, I actually tend to be the life of the party.
Figuratively, of course. I wouldn’t give CPR to the idiot who drowned in the punch bowl.
Unless the idiot is female.
And by ‘breasts,’ I mean those things on the chest that pass the “D’s” cut-off mark.
You are restive, I see. You came here to read about my hope for 2014, and here I am rambling about punchbowls and hermits. I assure you – I do not ramble. In fact, I cannot ramble. I find rambling a sign of unintelligence and with that I am impatient.
My handle is TheVunderkind. In the land of children born with no exceptional gifts, I am king. I was born so ordinary, that my ordinariness is extraordinary. I am Extraordinarily Ordinary. I am no maverick, no infant terrible, no maestro, and, by Jupiter’s enlarged testicles, no Vunderkind either.
Enter my parents, greatest tricksters of the 90’s.
My parents fed me with the idea that I was extraordinary. To them, I have a gift. When I make a retarded scribble, my mum would clap with glee and declare me the modern day Pablo (due respect to Jay-Z). When I score a 60/100 in a test, my dad would proclaim proudly to his drinking buddies, “AND HE DIDN’T EVEN READ FOR IT! IMAGINE WHAT HE WOULD HAVE SCORED IF HE READ???”
Of course, you know what happened. I started becoming extraordinary. A sympathetic response to the expectations of papa and mama, and here we are again.
I spent the first year in school on an effortless first class. Then, like MI said, “the money issues came, and the drizzles turned to rain,” and I was looking at deferring my education.
Writing saved me. Literally. I discovered that I could get paid good money writing. I began to write and paid less attention to school. I went through school on autopilot, fam, hardly reading or even attending classes. Niggah, I missed almost all my tests.
I graduated well enough.
Eleven days after graduating, I got a job. The interview was just a formality. I knew I had it from the first phone call. No, I’m not conceited. I just knew it.
Why have I given that extremely sketchy story of my life? No idea, but I think it helps you understand how my 2014 might/should be, given the odds.
On February 13th, 2014, NYSC will grant me parole on good behavior, and I can begin looking forward to planning my life. Let me break my life down in segments at this point.
I got an offer this December. An offer which, if I agree to it, doubles my current NYSC salary (I’m not talking the N19,800, to be clear) and makes me the manager of the company. It’s a start-up, by the way, so I will be learning business management from the beginning.
You don’t know how excited I am.
As content/community manager for my company, I will be able to officially study human content needs, filter and curate and deliver content that is both handy and timely. I will be controlling an in-house and outsourced team, leading. This excites me. Leading is challenging, and I want to prove in 2014 that even though I may not have been born a leader, I have, by sheer force of will, made myself one.
Of course, the pay packet is also an incentive, but it isn’t even the primary one. I’ve spent the better part of my life living poor, I am still skeptical about money. I watched my family switch from affluence to palm-kernel breaking (figuratively) in the blink of an eye. It is for this reason I will not be putting much stock in money but on self-development.
I aim to be the veritable maestro in my field, and it starts in 2014.
I have had (only) two relationships in my life. The first with a girl who was so infatuated with me that I made the mistake of obliging a relationship out of sympathy. The second with the only girl I have ever loved more than myself. It was in the course of the second relationship I discovered several flaws in my character.
After three and a half years of Rihanna and Chris Brown livin’ (we didn’t throw physical punches though), I decided to end it. And I did. Callously, a casual observer might add. But I didn’t care then. I still do not care now.
I love her still…
I have remained single throughout 2013, and I have tackled most of my worst flaws and tried to subdue the lesser evils. I think, in 2014, I may be ready to enter the relationship market.
I may come off as a prude with this next statement, but it is true. A girl must be exceptionally special for me to fall in love with her. As my friends know, I am neither a face, boob not ass guy. There is an abstract quality in a girl (I can’t even define it now) that attracts me to her. When I see it, I know it.
See, I need a princess to make a queen. It is only fair that I present her with a prince to make her king.
By the way – extraneous – I hope to father a child by 2016 😀
My faith has taken successive and recurrent hits since 2008, and my walk with God suddenly crashed at the end of 2012 and spilled into 2013.
Church is meaningless to me, even as I type this. The bible looks like a regular book (and if I read the KJV version, I can almost imagine Shakespeare winking at me as he sucks on the nib of his quill), and I do not apologize for this.
I am going to try again. I am going to try to find God again, on my own terms. Not on the world’s. I hope I find favor in this regard.
“Ohana means family, and it means no one gets left behind…” that’s a line from Lilo and Stitch (I think).
That’s it, in summation. I’ll make sure no one gets left behind. I can smell the wind of fortune blowing this way, and as we flap windward, I’ll make sure no one of my family gets snagged on some errant tree branch.
Kill the lights.
I am done.
Happy New Year, ladies and gentlemen.