The Art Of Becoming...
Being Disgustingly You: The Messy, Unfiltered Pursuit of Everything Beyond Average.
Hii Fine Human
How’s your day? Week? Month? Year? (Be honest, don’t say “fine.”)
I’d have said “girl” or “boy,” but I don’t know who’s reading this, okay? So let’s just settle for fine human.
So, I’ve got a few questions. Three actually.
Question 1: There are about 64 days left in 2025, yeah?
What’s the most unhinged thing you want to do before the year ends? (Let me know in the comment section)
I’ll go first… I want to know what it feels like to get drunk. Not responsibly. Just drunk. For research purposes. So yeah, I’m doing that before December 31st.
Question 2: I currently have catarrh and it’s making the inside of my ear tickle, so I’ve been laughing abruptly at random intervals. I swear I’m not mad ejor, it’s just the catarrh. Please tell me I’m not the only one this happens to?
Question 3: There’s this feeling I’ve been trying to describe for weeks.
You know that moment when you feel the urge to write, but you don’t want to, and you also know that if you don’t, whatever you write later won’t hit as hard as what’s brewing in that moment?
There should be a word for that. There really should. Have you ever felt that way?
When I was younger, I was told we all have two voices in our head, one good and one bad.
The good one’s telling me to keep writing.
The bad one, the same one that used to tell me to slim-fit meat from Momsii’s pot, is telling me to go to bed.
Excerpt: Slim-Fitting Meat
This is the act or process of reducing the size of each meat in Momsii’s pot of soup while keeping the total number of meat constant. Reduction so tactical it goes unnoticed.
So, this is me, obeying the good voice...
There’s this quote I stumbled on somewhere online. I think Austin Butler said it? (That bald psycho in Dune: Part Two, the one who played Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the main antagonist.) But he credited Baz Luhrmann. So technically, it might be Baz’s words coming out of Austin’s mouth.
Typical celebrity citation Olympics. Anyway, doesn’t matter who said it. What matters is the line itself
“Embarrassment is an under-explored emotion. Go out there and make a fool of yourself. Just go for it. Feel that feeling, the fear of cringe, and then go out there and do it, because everything you want is on the other side of that.”
I wrote it down in my notepad 'cause it sounded like something I wish 16-year-old me knew early enough.
I had always claimed to be an“ introvert” and i wore it like a badge of honor. I hid behind the “I don’t talk much” and “I don’t like social events.” excuses. But the truth? I wasn’t an introvert. Far from it. I was just scared. Scared of looking stupid. Scared of being laughed at. Scared of embarrassment.
In fact, i loathed embarrassment more than Momsii’s pánkẹrẹ.
Excerpt: pánkẹrẹ (noun)
A long, thin weapon of mass discipline used by African parents to enforce Proverbs 13:24: “Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who loves them is careful to discipline them.”
Growing Up Nigerian
I grew up in a typical Nigerian household, the kind where you couldn’t join the kids on the street playing ball because parents believed those kids were miscreants who wouldn’t amount to much in life. And by some invisible, inherited standard, they thought they were better parents than theirs.
I couldn’t visit friends, with or without clearance from Momsii. We lived in a story-building, and we weren’t allowed to play with the neighbors or their children. Couldn’t watch TV on weekdays. Couldn’t attend friends’ birthday parties.
There were just a lot of couldn’ts.
I was always upstairs doing forced reading. And sometimes, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I’d count the rectangles that made up the ceiling. Twenty-three, if I still remember right.
And if any of her strong-headed children like me decided to go against her will, and she somehow found out by chance?
Mehnn, you were finished. Just go and dọ̀bálẹ̀ and wait for your fair share of pánkẹrẹ.
Excerpt: dọ̀bálẹ̀ (verb)
Aside from being the act of lying flat to greet in Yoruba culture, it is also a punishment reserved for stubborn children. You take the posture of an airplane attempting to take off, both hands and feet above the ground, belly facing down, and remain that way for the entire duration of the punishment.
Momsii never allocated a specific number of strokes like most mothers I knew. She whipped as she talked, and the more she talked, the more she whipped. Your only real hope was for her to run out of words, which wasn’t always the case.
Some days though, she forgot to discipline us. My big sis once introduced this African superstition popular among children with strict parents, where you cut three eyelashes (it must be exactly three, not more, not less), whisper your wish to them like a secret, swallow them with water, and hope for the best.
We’d say something like, “Make Momsii forget say she wan flog us today.” Then we’d swallow the eyelashes and drink water to seal it. ( Desperation births stupidity, one never walks alone )
The first time, it worked. Momsii actually forgot. But it never worked again after that. Still, I kept trying till SS1, when I became “wise” enough to realize I’d been foolish.
(A paradox really, because the presence of a thing is what makes its absence known. You can’t define darkness without light. You can’t define foolishness without wisdom. So maybe, to know you were foolish, you must have been wise all along ).
Momsii was a strict disciplinarian. Any sign of indulgence met with instant chastisement. In her defense, she wanted her kids to grow up disciplined, decent, and morally upright. She didn’t want to raise nuisances or miscreants. But in the end, it did more harm than good. And in this case, the end rarely justified the means and If she knew better, she would’ve done better.
I grew up floating through life, drifting really. No big dreams. No risks. No curiosity. Because exuberance was always punished.
Even with my unyielding spirit, I eventually caved in. I gave up. By my own standards, I became a living example of mediocrity, scared of exploration, scared of uncertainty, scared of trying new things, meeting new people, facing rejection, or simply being seen. And i probably understand more than most that your environment can make you or break you; mine did both. The place that made me strong also taught me to fear my own strength.
“What a weary time those years were, to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.” ~ Charles Bukowski, Ham on Rye (1982)
You Could Be The Master Of Your Fate, The Captain Of Your Soul
In recent years, I’ve said “F*ck you” to a lot of things. Embarrassment, hesitation, phobias — the whole damn list.
Because I chickened out on too much growing up and missed out on more than I care to admit.
“You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” ~ Walter Gretzky
“You can be the master of your fate, you can be the captain of your soul. But you have to realize that life is coming from you and not at you, and that takes time.” ~ Timothée Chalamet
Destiny, it turns out, isn’t handed to anyone. It’s shaped. Bent. Made.
Life is ten percent what happens and ninety percent what’s done with what happens.
So I began to detoxify myself.
Not with yoga or those overemphasized “positive thinking” and “law of attraction” lectures.
I just got brutally honest with myself.
Because if everything I want sits on the other side of fear, maybe it’s time I stopped walking away from it and started running toward it.
It was all in my head anyway.
Life really is a game of perspectives.
You can see the cup of water as half full or half empty.
Me? I’ll take half full, every time.
Funny thing about detoxing your mind — it doesn’t stop at fear. It spills into everything. The way you see life, love, people. And I’ve learnt a few things on this wild ride of unlearning.
1.) Pretty Girls Are Human Too
Why does Abímbọ́lá talk about women and girls in almost all his newsletters?
In my defense, I was scared of them my entire life, and now that I’m not, I think it’s only right I do so.
I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations
Oh, all my friends are turnin’ green
You’re the magician’s assistant in their dream ~ Riptide, Vance Joy (2013)
I couldn’t approach pretty girls growing up. I thought they weren’t human, some kind of gods. And most importantly, I feared they wouldn’t like me.
I mortified my desires, no matter how strong they were. I thought I was unworthy of the gods. I placed them on a pedestal in my head. I would literally palpitate when a fine girl walked my way. Yes, it was that bad.
Fear does strange things. It makes you exalt people who never asked to be worshiped. Turns out, the temple was in my head all along.
My cure? Realizing the pedestal was imaginary.
Fine girls are human too.
They have blood flowing through their veins. They get bloated. They fart just like you. They burp and belch just like you. They even take a shit too. Yup, you read that right. Maybe it smells worse than yours, who knows.
They are clumsy just like you, overthink texts, and have random insecurities that don’t make sense.
They’re not divine, just beautifully human.
So when she says no after you ask for her number, chill. It’s not the end of your romantic career. Someone else will say yes. There are a lot of fine shytes in this world of eight billion people.
2.) You Are Not That Important
All my life, I’ve always cared about “what people will say,” “what they will think,” “how they will see me.” It took me a while to accept it, and it’ll probably take you a while too, but see ehn, you’re not that important. Seriously, you aren’t.
The spotlight isn’t on you. You’re background noise in most people’s lives. People have a lot going on; you should be lucky they even get to think of you. And if they do, it means you’re important, really, really important, because normally, nobody really send you like that.
People will always think something and say something. God gave them brains and mouths for exactly that.
You don’t always have to be that same kiddo who’s scared of fucking up because of “what people will say or think.”
Embarrassment protects you better than a condom from growing as a person ~ Tim Denning (2025)
If you fail (which you will) and they laugh (which they will), you’ve still got infinite chances to do it again and again. No one is rushing you.
We don’t only live once.
We live every freaking day; we only die once.~ Ayọ̀miṣọ́lá, Uniosun Radiology BGS (2025)
So breathe, f*ck up, try again, because if you keep living for people’s opinions, you’ll end up average, and average is the most f*cked-up, irritating thing on earth you can ever be.
3.) If You Can’t Be Used As A Good Example, Be A Bad One Instead
There’s no passion to be found in playing small, in settling for a life less than the one you are capable of living .” ~ Nelson Mandela
“If you can’t be used as a good example, then be a bad one,” the kind parents warn their children about, the ones they use in Sunday school as examples of “what not to become.” ‘Cause love you or hate you, they’ll still remember your name when you’re gone.
Please don’t sin, don’t do bad things!
But if you must, at least have taste. Don’t be bland, for God’s sake. F*ck the hottest baddie, do cocaine (just kidding,but you get the point) or something. Don’t rape. Don’t beat. Don’t murder anyone. And don’t spoil other people’s lives. You can do the rest. Everything else is fair game.
If you want a good life, chase it like air, every damn day.
And if you want to burn your life away, then do that boldly too.
Don’t be that guy who can’t play ball, can’t charm women, doesn’t womanize, doesn’t read books, doesn’t have money, doesn’t try anything. You want to ruin your life? At least do it with style and flavor.
Life will not hand you balance on a platter. You pick your poison and live with it.
The world needs Thanos as much as it needs Iron Man.
Mediocrity is nauseating. You cannot sit on the fence forever. Playing safe will not write your name anywhere, not in heaven, not in hell, not in history.
Again, don’t do bad things.
But if you decide to go down that path, own it completely. Do it with style. Give life a f*cking show — something worth clapping for or crying over. Just stop breathing and wasting oxygen and make every moment count.
You should remember we are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that death will tremble to take us. You should also know that it’s not the hands we are dealt, but how we play our hand.
This is your life, your story, your grind, your hustle. Own it. Let every part of your living be an art, an extension of you.
And remember, the most contrarian act isn’t opposing the crowd; it’s daring to think for yourself and be disgustingly you.
So, dear reader, I hope you learn. I hope you grow. I hope you run toward your fears. And in the messy, imperfect, brave act of trying, I hope you become.
Stay humble. Stay foolish. Stay hungry.
With love,
Abímbọ́lá Diya
P.s : See you next Wednesday, maybe… :)
P.s.s: You should try out this song, Hayd has kept me sane through the week