Anxieties of a 20 something year old African millennial

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There is a darkness I recognize as my own, a series of truths that I am having to learn to love in complex and painstaking ways. Laborious truths, but truths that are my own nonetheless. I am increasingly having to deal with the things that are both convenient and inconvenient about being myself.

There are anxieties and justifications for why my life is not the epitome of accuracy and why brilliant is not yet the adjective that characterizes my life and why my work is sometimes late or tacky. Deep seated misgivings and qualms of what it means to exist as myself in this skin, at this age, in this gender and era. I am learning what it is be and to ‘person’ at this age.

And while I understand that this is a phase of preparation that most if not all people go through and that I am here to help build new constructs, gain life skills and make lasting life decisions, I still really wish there was a manual or some sort of guide book. It’s rough enough being a millennial without the added pressure of having to figure out what it is to be African and how it is that we are expected to contribute to the society that birthed us.

I have however come to the realisation that we are here to learn and that is all life really is, one big school where academics are cultivated. We learn, we research, we learn a little bit more and then we are expected to apply and teach. The twenties are just a point on the spectrum of human growth or maybe I have just convinced myself of this to allow for my current paradoxical state of comforting stoicism.

And so I am convinced that things will work out just fine as long as we are honest with ourselves. That our stories will one day tell themselves, but until that day we must tell our truths as the deep, riveting and consuming things that they are. Let others tremble if they may, but never neglect to tell your truth. The deep and audacious things that bring your life story into being.

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