The 100! Award Show

afterparty at my place

Automated announcer: Welcome to the stage, the presenters of the next event, Hyunjin of Stray Kids and Seonghwa of Ateez.

Seonghwa: Good evening everyone, we have finally reached the moment we have all been waiting for.

Hyunjin: The 100 subs Hall of Fame is an honor not just given to any writer. Only those with dedicated subscribers, occasionally rubbish newsletters and a lot of love for writing.

Seonghwa: This honor has been awarded to many other notable writers and today, there will be a new member joining their hall.

Hyunjin: Can we please give a standing ovation to our newest 100 subs Hall of Famer…

Seonghwa and Hyunjin: CHINEME!

*a standing ovation as I stand up, hug my boyfriend, hug Jun, Jeonghan and Joshua of Seventeen, Hobi and Taehyung of BTS and walk towards the podium. I hug Seonghwa and Hyunjin and collect my plaque*

(why make a fantasy award show and not have my fav kpop men there? Exactly, it’s my fantasy, I can do what I want)

This is the plaque. Isn’t it beautiful.

*I pick up the mic, tap it and then clear my throat*

Oh my goodness, I have dreamt of this award since the first time I was a naive reader only on Substack to support my friend’s page (go read

The Yapper's Corner

), and I saw it on my home page.

I remember thinking it was such a shiny award, an achievement I probably would never get because I was too afraid of being to put shit I write on the internet. I mean digital footprint am I right?

*insert audience laughter*

My writing journey has been from before I typed my first post. I was seven years old, sitting in the passenger seat, making stories in my head about different strangers I saw on the road. I would imagine what they were thinking and go further by making them fall in love with a random stranger.

The first time I ever wrote down a story that wasn’t academically incited was when I was thirteen. It was the church harvest in my boarding school, and I had saved 1k to spend on food because the school food was shit. I had finally gotten to the front of the line after a lot of pushing, I put my hand in my bag, and I didn’t feel my money again.

In anger, I started writing a dialogue-only story to pacify myself so I wouldn’t burst into tears. My classmates read that ongoing story I had, liked it and encouraged me to write more.

And I did. I had a jotter that was multiple scenes of like four books I was so convinced I would write.

But then JAMB came knocking and I was basically told that writing and being an author wasn’t a money-making job, and I should be real.

I got real.

Applied for university in a course I barely liked and got accepted. My creativity was reduced to scene scribbles in a sheet of paper during a boring class, which I sometimes misplaced, or cryptic writings depicting the state of my mind or my current dilemma.

I still sometimes planned for those books I wanted to write but this was a fantasy I just liked to build on. I didn’t really believe it.

Writing became something I wrote and kept to myself and never shared, unlike my secondary school days.

Then I found out my friend had a job. Where she wrote. It was an eye-opener.

I could actually write for a living. I mean Zikoko writers, Buzzfeed writers. They’re fun and wacky and still writings.

But too used to keeping my writings to myself, I kept telling myself I would make an account for shit I write. I never did.

Until I wrote my first post out of anger (anger seems to be an ongoing theme in getting me to start things). Then I realized I could do this. I could actually post what I write on the internet. I mean just a few people would see it. I wouldn’t gain million subs in a night.

I would post and share it to my friends. They would text me that it was good and as the attention whore that I am, it made me think maybe I’m actually good at this.

If they say it, it must be true, right?

Then I was getting noticed by people on substack too. Stopped shoving my writing in my friend’s faces.

My subscribers were growing. People were actually reading my shit.

Reading about me writing about my fear of shitting.

It’s a weird kind of high I tell you.

And in four short months (today is exactly four months) since I created this publication, it has hit over 100 subs. A freaking hundred. I’m not even sure I could read the stuff I write out to a room of a little over a hundred people (though

Sade L

says my voice is sexy, should I buy equipment and record myself reading my posts?)

I would like to thank the academy, my boyfriend who believed in me, my first and only reader for a while. I would like to thank all the beautiful people I have met via this app. I would like to thank the entire Substack community, y’all have resurrected my dream of being an author (why I created

Song Scenarios

, because fiction has always been my main mode of writing). I have started looking for any editorial intern job so I could get into the publishing industry, so if you see/have one, tag me (remote or hybrid, no on-site abeg)

Finally, I would like to thank everyone that liked, commented, quoted or restacked any of my newsletters. And most of all I would like to thank the MVPs, the subscribers. The people who saw my rubbish and still decided to stick around. Thank you for being a mental safe space. I love each and every one of you.

*standing ovation as I step off the stage*

---

Award ceremony over. Did you enjoy my speech?

Another thing writing publicly has done for me is introspection. I start to think about things I never thought about, figuring things about myself that I never reasoned before. It’s crazy.

Anyway, the day I actually found out about the 100 subs was an eventful day.

I was first on a high and then life decided to do what it does best and destroy that joy. My manager at work texted me that I was moving from one location to another and that I should be at the new location the next day.

Just like that.

Not next week, not the following Monday. Report here tomorrow.

Safe to say I was pissed for the rest of the day because I’m not a big fan of change.

Then while going home, there was traffic on the road, so I had to walk

Okay that’s a quick summary. Imagine cars on the express being directed to enter the service lane and furthermore forced to drive in only one lane. The type of standstill traffic that would cause. How hard it would be to find a bus in that standstill. That’s why I started to walk.

From Anthony to Gbagada.

While still pissed.

Because a fuel tanker fell (honestly this was the day that I knew the police could be competent, over 30 police/military/road safety officials trying to contain the accident so that the fuel wouldn’t ignite, ambulance nearby, firetruck nearby, the fuel being transferred to another tanker, water everywhere)

Fash, the competence, I walked 3.5km that day.

I honestly just needed to walk 1.6km, but by the time I got to that point, I was still kinda pissed and didn’t have the patience to wait for bus again, so I just walked the rest of the way. I was sweating when I got home but I loved it and most of my annoyance was gone by the time I got home

There’s a reason why “Walk it off” is the advice given to annoyed people.

---

Minor life update: You guys know how I always talk about dumping my crocheting pin and wool? Well, I finally completed a project. It’s a bag. It can fit two books and other stuff. It took two weeks (cause I’m working) and it’s beautiful. Took me five skeins of wool (I love having adult money).

Question: What do you think I should crotchet next?(if you like ignore me like when I asked what y’all first meal of the year was)

If you made it this far in my yap session, thank you once again for being here, reading my thoughts and just being awesome.

Happy Four Months Birthday To A Day In The Life

Happy 100 Subs To A Day In The Life

PS. I wanted to get a Bento cake but those are expensive. 10k for four inches one layer? For cake I’ll take picture of and then give my siblings to share cause I’m not a big cake fan? Pass. I did buy what I like though. Stir fry and turkey.

---

This is also me, show some love

Alone