"If you didn't seem to be hiding, nobody hunted you out."- Irish Republican Leader, Michael Collins
I don't think I've stabbed anyone since I discovered the word stab from a British movie I watched in 2008. So, I don't think anyone is hunting me out as far as my mind can tell, but I know I cherish hiding more than I want to.
I travel back home a lot; at every turn the semester makes in bed, as if to say "Hey! I'm running away, before you turn to face me again, before I get to make love to you, I need to refill my depleted strength with something from home."
I haven't seen shege all my life like I did in these past 3 months. They ran by quickly, and I'm sure I could have collapsed in between one of those many classes. I wrote less, read less, did everything less. I couldn't be that artist and entrepreneur I read in Robin Sharmas' at the beginning of the year, talk less of Mr. Riley. I burnt out, like those white ropes turned brownish black and white we used in our kerosene stoves when we lived in Abeokuta, that became that way because they lacked fuel, energy, fighting power, the ability to get the job done—because they lacked life.
I was tired of those advices people who have gone through what I was going through or who thought they understood what I was going through gave me. I was tired of explaining myself to people who had already carved out an identity for me in their heads. I couldn't bear to hear them talk again. Depression was knocking, and if I had gotten to the end of my kerosene rope or whatever it is called, I could have given in.
Depression is cheap, it's easy. It tells a good tale, it reminds me of rainy days when I lie indoor with a piece of anendlessocean blasting my ear drums, becoming one with me, when all I want to do is run, hide, and keep running, but not like Asiwaju though.
I've spent the past 1 week and a few days at home—sleeping, and reading, and praying. These are the things I do best anyway.
I'm sleeping because I know next semester would be rough, or maybe not. I'm feeding my bad appetite, or I can console myself with the fact that Aproko Doctor on his IG reel said that 9 hours of sleep is good for normal brain function, and conversely reminisce on all the preachers and motivational speakers who condemn sleeping beyond 5 hours.
My pastor in my local church always say we are practicing to die. I'm torn between the two. But I made a decision on my way back home a week ago that I was going to sleep, and sleep well. And I'm doing it, a good job thus far. Don't say anything yet, when I'm back, I'd be ready for the speeches.
And yeah, I've been reading. A thousand medium articles and essays. I've been reading Onyishe Uche and Oyindamola Shoola on IG. I found Michael Inioluwa's (Oriade of Lagos) essays on Substack, and I joined the ER club. Also, many other amazing writers on Substack I'd share some other time. I've read 3 books currently in 1 week, and I have about 4 of them I've read to midpoint: 2 A W Tozers', a Ben Carsons', and a book by Dale Carnegie and co.. I hope to break my record number of books read in a month. I've been reading my Bible too. Who doesn't read their Bible?
Jesus has been closer than usual, or maybe I just feel so? Possibly because I've grown quieter these past few days, and I've been able to hear myself; to hear Jesus more. That's all I can say for now.
As I conclude this piece of... this ramble, I've fully become aware of what I've been running away from, what I've been hiding from. More than just people in school and church, and the places I'd rather not be. I've been hiding from myself. That's why I've been sleeping, if haply I'd see a dream of someone else, like these "prophetic people do"; been reading, so that I could immerse myself in someone else's life, in someone else's love story or gigantic feats in the market place; I've been praying, maybe Jesus would tell me something different, something different from what I want to hear, hoping that I just may live someone's life, or die before the 'Gethsemane cup' episode draws near.
Because in truth, if you didn't seem to be hiding, nobody has hunted you yet: not followers and fans; not spiritual sons and daughters; not village people, or some uncle somewhere wanting something; not pride and mammon, lust nkor; not those people who know too much, and tell you too much, and you wish all you could do was 'ef' them with your mostly unused middle finger but you can't because Jesus would give you that bombastic side eye you dread. So, you'd keep quiet and endure all the werey in that person; not family members who don't care about you, or friends who think they know you enough; not yourself who thinks everything is okay until you wake up one day to see wings of pride sprouting like grasses bathed in rain, or find yourself staring at that girl you know would destroy you but you can't resist her because she's too fine, or find yourself in the middle of exam malpractice, asking your neighbor for answers to number 2b on a fine Wednesday morning because the drive for success has brought Jesus to back sit; omo, boss, the list is endless jare.
Wo, moral lesson is I'm hiding, and I may do more of that in time to come, maybe even contemplate an exile gan. But till then, read your Bible, mind your business, drink water, and dream.
Dream because it's free. Dream because you can live someone else's life whenever you want to, you can hide in his or her complexities, till you're bold enough to face the world. When Jesus is done with you, you'd become a masterpiece, ready for the world to see Jesus through you.
Till then, face front, no lose guard, just dey vibe dey go, we go block for gate.
- Fabian 
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