Myself — A Short Story

The battle of identity is so fierce that sometimes we need to consciously choose to be ourselves.

I remember vividly when I was younger, my father beating me for coming home at 8:45 pm. My elder sister was always trying to find a way to make me do things her way.

My uncle does not approve the excessive monitoring instead he constantly reminds me of the need to be more like him, an energetic but never resting youth who speaks each Yòrùbá sílábù correctly. Those days seem distant now. I'm far beyond their reach, at least until they call again.

Sometimes I find it difficult to understand why the older people cannot see that we, the younger folks, also want to be ourselves. We want to discover who we are so we can be free. Not in the worldly way as Màmá usually emphasize in church, but in a much more personal way, I believe only God can understand.

I like to stay indoors. I do that 75% of the time. But there are times when the explorer in me, who’s passionate about wildlife and nature, wants freedom. In those rare moments when I’m not bent over my MacBook for 10 hours, I desire nothing more than to spread my golden wings and soar close to the heavens.

Other times, I just want to run like a lioness and enjoy the cold fingers of the morning breeze as it makes it dusk round through the city of London. At times like this, I feel truly alive, uncaring for the deal I’m about to close or the investor I plan to pitch. In those moments, there’s only one person on my mind - Abba. Running past the colourful houses on Observatory street with Him, I can finally be myself.

The End.

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