No, I know I can act

(From my Facebook)

Hey guys.

In 3 days, I’ll walk out the door of teenagehood. Remember my blog? I finally decided to fill up the blank spaces with a…..

SERIES!!!!!!!!! 😊😊😂🤣👏😍🙂🙁😜

As cheesy as this whole ode to a teen thing seems, I’m totally rowing the boat till the end.

I officially invite you to the read carpet show/ blog series premiere of “31 days young” happening on Sunday, the 29th of July. Interviewers, cameramen, backup makeup artists, wardrobe malfunction out-lookers, Instagram attendees, fashion police, best-dressed countdowners – you all are invited to my last month as a teenager blog series. I’ve been scribbling half-baked recollections of my days since June, 28th 2018 and I will be publishing an entire 31-day readality series starting on the 29th of July, a day after my birthday. This is a clickbait. Now fall for it, please.

Here’s a snippet of what is to come. Day 1 – June 28th, 2018 titled “No I know I can act.” Read and be blessed.

28th June 2018

Proverbs 1: 33 (The Message Version)

“First pay attention to me, and then relax. Now, you can take it easy – you’re in good hands.”

Today was beautiful. Here are screenshots of the text I sent to my dearest Nwambuiheoma at the end of the day.


I acted! I was an actress, specifically an extra, which makes sense cause I’m so extra. No other extra could be prouder or extraaa. We shot scenes – think hundred – depicting the earthquake in Haiti. I was one of those who were hit by a dilapidating building. We were taken to the hospital where another earthquake happened, totally crushing us. That’s all I’m gonna disclose because, well, you figure. Contracts. Privacy. “Comments are disabled for this video.” We shot three scenes, and I will talk about them for the next hundred years, so as I wrote before – think hundred.

Interlude: I’m listening to The Script’s “For the first time” for the first time and this is the real jam. My laptop speaker’s the scone. Before this, my YouTube autoplay blessed me with some good Boyce Avenue cover, some smooth Ed Sheeran and some other cool guy I will have to check out because I totally loved all the songs I just listened to, and that guy was the only unfamiliar blesser. By the way, the harbinger of the cool auto playlist was George Ezra’s “Budapest.” You’re welcome. Snow Patrol’s “Chasing cars” is playing now. I’m florid, roseate, sanguine (literally googled opposites of livid). I gotta take a break. I jotta cAn’t. My emoceans are threatening to flow. Oh, they’re sooow flowing. There should be a right to beautiful music.

Before you continue, or start actually, do note that there’ll be a lot of here’s and there’s in this series. Interludes will be the norm; Proverbial Bible verses, the tradition. I’m more agency than structure. More maxi than skin-tight. Few peplums. My thoughts are all over the place, and I’ll apologize for this when I learn how to write(better). I think I write like I speak and that makes me feel totally lazy but that also makes me the lazy girl who gets shit flushed, and I guess that’s ok for now. That didn’t make sense, by the way. Or did it? I don’t know why I’m doing this house-keeping but I just felt so “house on the rocky” so take thine announcements before thou sermon. Apologies in advance for all un-colonized and decolonized words, all other sorts of uncontextualized allusions and what-not-kinda errors and acca-noying zoning outs. When I type these self- dialoguey journal-belonging chronicles, they are as raw as the fluid in my brain and as mashed as almost all my life experiences. So dear reader, this will be a merry-go-round, a hiking trail, and/or even a plain haggis if you don’t like the mixture of sheep heart, liver and lungs minced and seasoned with peppery spices. You’ll either admire the bimbling if you sweat it out through the “what is she saying to say?” or just call it crap and leave, or goddamnit, just read for amebo’s sake. I write these memoirs to unpack my mind for days (see what I did there?). I write fiction to fill my heart. Here’s the remote, please rewind.

My day started at 6:30 a.m. when I sprang out of bed after my third alarm snooze. It was so cold yo. I wondered if I was back in Scotland (this feels like my writing from 5 years ago – ati “I wondered.”) So you can imagine my anger when I had to wait for what felt like centuries before the shower turned warm then hot. The heat hit my back like that monsterly smack that ruins and ultimately ends all friendly hit-and-runs. I actually prayed and declared the water hot. And it did. Yeah. I don’t do coincidences much. I’m a woman of signs and wonders. Ask Fifi. Nikki. Eli. You’ll get to know better. When I call it a sign, IT IS A SIGN.

After the cumulatively nice shower, my drowsy eyes transfigured and I could spot the details of the college bathroom for the sake of some spicy description. Sprinkle some Nora Roberts on this shit! Put some lotion on that bitch is an original song I heard on Fierce Comedy, a You-tube channel that feeds me perfumed oxygen. Check it out.  The smooth- silvery gaze of the shower head, as I adjusted it to the middle of the stage where my vertical frame waited in outlandish nakedness, reminded me that I don’t miss bucket baths at all. My head looked like a Nok art piece in a blue Mauritian map-contoured headscarf which overlay my weird-ass dreadlock bun. Trust me, you don’t want to see the confusion on my head at shower time. I didn’t think of bathing and my lack of extra-large shower caps when I sat for about 6 hours to make my dreadlocks about three weeks ago. Love ya, Evon.

That’s it for description. I’m exhausted. Auto-tone mode de-activated (I could be killed for this.)

After breakfast of pancakes, baked beans, and fried eggs, my day officially wheeled off. The day was spent in Tombeau Bay, one of the many big places I’ve never been to on this small island that’s handed me more peace and joy than I could have possibly anticipated as a 16-year-old fresh-out-of-high school girl in Naija. I loved the sea view from the sky room of the good-looking hospital we camped in before filming. I walked into the changing room in a crop top that said a subtle “I love me too” and the pinkiest and clingiest of my three high waist Ankara pants. I left the room in Nwambuiheoma’s old grey top and my orange baggy pant, both surrendered as the canvas for blood and all else depicting destruction and natural disaster. I remember throwing the clothes in the bin on my way to the van like I had just made a sacrifice for a fruitful career to come. Father Abraham knows how I committed to searching and asking around for dump-worthy clothes the night before.

The euphoria of sweet newness and effortless roleplay that I experienced throughout the filming is all I remember after leaving the changing room for make-up then camera-rolling-and- action! The far from too many takes didn’t bother me much. My rookie awe was stronger than the exhaustion from repetition. I left the filming location in ecstasy and I think someone caught my pocket smiling when I returned to campus. I had such a swell day, to be honest, and I’m still stoked about my first professional acting experience. By the way, it was a German movie, sorry, tv series. I think I should put that on Linkedin – “starred in a German film production of the Haiti earthquake in Mauritius.” Then on Facebook, I’ll put up a quirky “small girl, multinational God.” I don’t really write anything on twitter, so that’ll pass.

I think I will be an actress someday. Who knows?

Now revert to the start of this post, dearest millennial. I know you want to see the WhatsApp message again.


This first post officially marks my countdown to twenty. I feel smitten in all possible connotations – good and bad. I started this series because I feel a certain way about these next few days. I’m growing from being indifferent to life to giving a bit of a fuck (most likely wouldn’t say this in real life) and it’s the giddiest feeling ever. I wouldn’t say I’m adulting because I think that happened a long time ago.

Life is bigger than age or experience or whatever. It’s complex. You have such a good day and you think “this is life, this is it.” Then you have such a bad day and your brain coerces you into asserting that “such, such is life.” But, on the most normal day of days, what do you say?

Today wasn’t normal and I have a lot more to say. But for now, nothing else.

Watch out for day two!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2 thoughts on “No, I know I can act

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