31: OOTD

wear joy like a fragrance.

Is joy a learned concept or a feeling? Is it a mirage we keep walking toward, or a thing already bruised into us? These were the unhinged questions that slowly turned into ramblings, immediately after seeing the movie, Christmas in Lagos.

I instantly knew it was the right mix of cringe, romance and comedy when I heard RMD say, “you know say flower go soon die, e no dey pass today or tomorrow, but, Hermes…is forever.

Before then, I spent over three hours hunting for the right movie to drag me into that Christmas mood, because I knew for a fact that Christmas was going to feel more like a random Saturday, minus the usual obligation to tidy my room.

My conclusion was drawn from my longing for the familiar dust that welcomes you every Christmas. The one that assaults your nostrils and leaves your legs looking leprous-white, flaking like borrowed skin.

The moment the movie started, I knew it would be worth the watch. Watching Teniola Aladese strut was already giving shape to my Christmas-less Christmas.

Now beloved, this Substack issue is not about flowers, Hermès, or private jets.

It is about Fiyin.

Typically, a storyline about a girl determined to destroy her best friend’s relationship would piss me off badly enough for me to turn the movie into an insult-raining episode, however, with every scene that passed, I realised that I have, unconsciously and shamefully been Fiyin.

Not in the sense of sabotaging a flourishing relationship, but in fixing my gaze too intently on the (romantic) love. In my search for love, I have held firmly to the sort of love that surrounds me, erroneously concluding, that I am either incapable of being chosen by those I choose, or that, for this single reason, I must search for something else. Or worse, accept something adjacent to what I desire.

This pattern is evident in the way I entertain people men. I give them room even when I know, from the jump, that I am not interested. Some days, I enjoy the idea of being pursued: the companionship, the attention. Other days, I fear that this derision will leave me too occupied to create joy, or pleasure outside these delusions.

Can joy be created? Actually, scratch that! Has it ever been created? And if yes, what was the reason?

Then I question my motive. Do I want to engage in frivolous activities for the thrill of it or am I seeking the companionship that has been offered to me?

I once told my friend that, after all days work has been done, I am met with the harsh reality that I long for a partner to discuss vain topics with and sometimes when the lights are out and the evening breeze travels through my window: I feel lonely. A loneliness that can be mistaken for unhappiness and only cured by a lover.

Is life without a partner, joyless? I doubt.

Fiyin, in the last few minutes of the movie, confessed her love to her best friend and for me, that was the turning point. She experienced all she needed to experience for clarity: rejection, pain, regret and acceptance.

Sometimes, you need to be foolish to be smart.

She realised that her joy wasn’t tied to having a partner, or fighting for a love she perceived was meant for her but acknowledging that self love is the greatest form of joy. While her conclusion might be erroneous, I understood one thing which may not essentially linked to joy in the context of a relationship.

Joy, I have learned, is not a reward for choosing right or being chosen. It is something we must already be wearing like skin, like scent unremovable, unnegotiated, untouched by who stays or leaves.

Xoxo,

The Great One (aka Badgirlshey).

To Teni’s lilac-coloured asoke shorts. Love you deeply.