Grown Up (First Installment)

There is something utterly drab about growing up. It brings with it a forbidding reality that all but destroys the surrealism of childhood and teenage air-headedness. It replaces dreams with conformism, a constant effort to fit into societal expectation. Herein lays the cot-death of many a dream, talents and possibilities. I fear that I may have already begun the macabre dance towards the sepulchre of my possibilities. I have never being a lover of reality; it represents the darkest place for me. As a young man I could exist in my thought for hours unbroken, uninhibited by reality. I created my own reality, my own terra firma, my own being. Thinking about this has driven me to one incontestable conclusion: these days are the dog-days; the hours of glory may have already passed by.

There is monotony to daily events that bores.  There is an acute detachment to the essential workings of my persuasion. A disquiet that perturbs.  To me, beauty and living attain life-like contours the moment I read Dickens, Hardy, Joyce or Wole and the Holy Writ.  I think it was my Grandpa, Baba Ibadan, that herded me towards the lodestone of the earthly pursuit of Thermis.  He would always berate me for being too inquisitive saying "ma lawyer mi".  The encounters sowed the seed of an inclination and eventuality in my soul. Then there were the demons that pestered and chirped mockingly that I could never make it in the art. The spirit of Doubt that left nothing but a Changeling in my place for my parents to nuture.