Isn’t twitter such a big downer lately?
In the book of twitter; chapter twitter for the woke, page early Wednesday morning — A wise man once said:
“I just come on social media to do anything that has to be done and then skate off before the negativity catches up to me.
This is some necessary evil”.
Oh well, you know who the wise man is. You know abi you no know? Aunty Amanda who failed me in primary 4 only did it because I must’ve been exceptional. Normal kids memorize multiplication tables until they’re exhausted. Well, exceptional kids like myself either use calculators or photocopy the back of their exercise book.
But then, I digress.
Fast forward Wednesday evening — I had just gotten an engagement as Gender Equality Policy and Strategy Volunteer at Africa Health Organization. Which is great news, by the way — but I was hesitant to post that success story.
Why?
Asides the fact that I’m some low-budget Mahatma Gandhi and I’m deliberately conscious about my environment and how much I affect people, I tend to shrink myself lately — at least publicly — because I don’t want my successes being the reason for someone’s mental crisis. Well, I’m either being too noble or a disastrous over thinker — but it’s a deliberate choice I’m conscious of. Comparison is the new oxygen — damn, it’s not my fault you measure your life by my standards. But I understand because I do the same too. We all do. We tend to live other people’s lives. But it’s hypocritical because we’re only willing to live their successes, not their failures.
But this isn’t the reason why social media’s toxic. It’s deeper than this. It’s even deeper than rap.
I’m in a relationship with a private person — you know how relationships work, they’re transactions. You take, you give. You get taught, you teach. I don’t know how much of a thug I’ve made my partner become, but I’m damn too sure my partner’s made me more simple and serene about people and things.
With simplicity comes privacy. I’m less of the self-assured, fist-banging-on-the-chest-King-Kong that I used to be. I still unleash the King Kong. Although, rarely. Asides being a low budget gracious Mahatma Gandhi who’s conscious about people placing comparisons between my life and theirs — here’s where my new knack for privacy and simplicity lies. I don’t intensely post my nudes on social media like I used. At least, not like when I was a star on Cuming to America.
Still, it’s deeper than that. It’s even deeper than rap.
There’s this unspoken toxicity — it is that social media forces you to shrink yourself so you can fit in.
Damn, most of y’all who’ve got your NIN numbers lie that you don’t. It’s cool to say wahala for who dey queue on top NIN registration. It’s the twitter I-too-know-shaming that has kicked in on you, my dear. You don’t want to appear diligent, it’s uncool to be on time or not to say school is a scam.
Folks who don’t have it “good” say the most awful things about “good” and those who have it good shrink themselves so they won’t be labelled “boujee” “booed up” or “I too know/sabi”.
But then, it’s toxic. Why should a man put up a picture of his wife or girlfriend and then you tell him — “It’ will end in tears”?
My dear, no disrespect, I know it will end in tears. If she was in the labor room pushing out my baby, that’s some sort of tears too.
Blessed tears.
But perhaps we need to fix up. If lack is tolerated and people co-exist with us when we don’t have a thing, I think it’s only right to respect and be humane when other people possess what makes them happy.
Damn, you know you want that chunk of happiness too. I understand you do. But we’re way too angry nowadays that we’re too blinded by hate to choose which battles to fight.
You can be pissed at the government — pissed at everyone who’s deprived us of our collective happiness to fuel their individual gains. But we should never take the blood of an innocent because we’re perhaps too full of hate. A man shouldn’t put up a photo of his child for you to joke about him getting a DNA test. A lady who’s happy for herself shouldn’t put up a picture of her car for you to say she got it from opening her legs. I shouldn’t bring my calculator to school only for Aunty Amanda to seize it, sell it and then use the proceeds to play Bet9ja.
Stop the toxic cycle.
