Writing this piece does not just excite me, it arouses
bubbles both in my heart and belly that I just cannot but express my
exhilaration. It is like remembering my favourite songs and having goose
pimples lavished all over my skin. This piece affords me the opportunity to go
through a momentary déjàvu of my days in secondary school and I can still
re-create and re-paint this scene-it is so funny that the expressions of people
into our lives, (the words they speak)
often times do go a long way in forming our lives, save we are able to live
beyond the indelible impressions of their words in our minds.
‘Like a
replayed scene of an episodic film, it was one of the week days during school
hours, that I had approached class-mate in my noble Arts Department. I was in
SS2 then-this young class-mate of mine was reputed to be the best Literature in
Student and I had written a poem waiting for this young boy to affirm me-I
staggered towards his desk that day, hoping that I can find a positive
affirmation from the reputed ‘Literature
in English Legend’. It was like my life, my confidence, and the essence of
who I was depended on whatever he ‘says’.
I got to his desk, shuddering, stammering and lisping some few words: ‘…this is
my poem, will you please rate me?’ my heart raced faster like I had just
finished running some miles. I kept praying that he will affirm me-did he? He
paused for a moment and gave a sneer. Sincerely, I had actually written the ‘best of me’. Sweats dropped profusely
from my armpits, soaking my white shirt as I anticipated my fate from his
words. (I had concluded that he had the final say on all of my academic life).
He muttered
some few words, sighing incessantly as he read the last lines of my poem. His
words: ‘you really don’t have the potential to write poems (re-phrased though),
this is not a poem, and you really need to learn a lot, your writings are so weak’. God! I shrunk, I melted, I died inside…
a death of failure… it was the death of my own esteem of myself. I believed
him, taking his words hook line-sinker and I almost concluded that I cannot
become the poet I wanted to be. I was wrapped in that smallness for years
until…
Thank God I
did not believe him forever, because that same poem I wrote in the year 2002
that he wrote off was published in a Sunday
Guardian in the year 2008, and many other writings of mine have found their
way into many other papers- 6 years after he uttered those words, my poem still
had relevance to find a place in a major newspaper in Nigeria-today I have
written a book that stands close in comparison with Bishop TD Jakes books(pastor of
the Potter’s House, teacher, life-coach, in Dallas, Texas, USA), with four other books ready to be published.
My point?
What people say to you does not matter much like what you say
to yourself. The most successful people on earth today are mostly from the other side of the rope, the other
side of the river-bank. They are the ones people believe to be the least-likely to succeed, but somehow
they make it though and become reputed for greatness, excellence and
distinction.
Oh! You say, ‘Asirvo! I don’t believe you!’ no quagmire, do
you know that noble laureate, prof. Wole Soyinka finished with a pass, same as late
Gani Fawehinmi (SAN)? That Barack Obama
was raised by a single parent with the help of his grandpa? Farah Gray from a
poor slum in the city of Chicago became a millionaire at the age of 14 and
found his way to having an office in Wall Street as the youngest black?
Ask the legendary Albert
Einstein if I lie.
Do not let me finish my life story just join us 2nd
of August and learn how myself and other speakers built our writing skills.
Great, successful and brilliant people are not born, they are
made-a genius is a product of consistent hard work and faith in one-self.
Have fun!
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