Today, I found that a couple of people were kidnapped on the Lagos-Ibadan expressway. This is two days after the incident. Right now, I am trying really hard to feel something, but the only emotion I can connect with is guilt.
Given how old the news is, it makes a little sense that I may not feel panic (or does it?), but shouldn’t my concern carry with it an air of urgency?
But this isn’t an isolated incident. Recently, I have been relating less and less to reality - my reality even. How did it happen?
It’s not entirely clear when it started, but I grew up a compartmentalist. It was the only way I could deal with the many sides of me; by finding environments that could cater to each facet.
The result? There exists a different Ifedolapo depending on where you find her. The Ifedolapo on Twitter is different from Ife on Instagram or Dolapo at home.
The only problem is that I never know how to handle crossovers. If someone in my Twitter world suddenly came to my doorstep, I wouldn’t know how to act.
I’ll admit that it helped; by compartmentalizing, I am able to deal with each social identity in a context-dependent way that helps with setting boundaries and curating my reputation.
But as I try to navigate adulthood, certain circumstances have influenced this structure. And in trying to preserve myself from overwhelming or overstimulating situations, I had to remove myself from certain environments - environments that fueled certain personas.
As an example, here are a couple of words I muted permanently on Twitter - Nigeria, Asiwaju, Tinubu, BBNaija, Sanwo-Olu, Chibok, Buhari, Boko Haram, UGM, EndSARS, and every football club I come across.
But it is not enough that I never have to deal with these topics when I’m doom-scrolling. Cause even though I am desensitized to many of these circumstances, the space is tainted with memories so I get triggered by the faintest reminder. It ruins the experience, yunno?
Soon enough, I became a spectator to a lot of experiences including mine. I did not notice this until the day I had to narrate my day to a friend. It wasn’t until he responded “Oh damn! So, the day is just not going your way” that I realised I was having a terrible day. I had not given myself the opportunity to deal with all the mishaps of the day. I was at the centre of the day’s experience but I couldn’t even relate to it as a protagonist.
Even now, I’m fine, which used to be a way of carrying along the conversation, but now is a euphemism for “I don’t know…”
And it’s fine if this was all I had to deal with, but the Lagos-Ibadan expressway thing happened and I did not call my dad to ask how he was doing since he spends at least 6 hours of every day navigating the road.
I know that my position on the muted words/discussions/environments might never change, but I think I owe it to myself and those I care about to follow up and be there when these situations begin influencing their lives.
Where to begin tho; I do not know, but I do miss experiencing life in all her colours.
PS: I am starting another newsletter - Aneckdote. Many of you might recognise the name, but this time, it is not a book club. Sorry!
Every month or fortnight (we’ll figure it out), I will be sharing knowledge on the randomest shit - just like I do on Twitter, but with more detail and structure.
If this is something you’re into - you can subscribe below.
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