I’m (probably) the best writer on Medium.
I learned disdain at a very young age, say 6. I lived in a face-me-I-face-you bungalow with eight rooms on Alof Street with my Mom and Alhaja, my Great Grandmother.
My mom, Alhaja, and I shared one bathroom and toilet with 7 other families, some of which were extended family members and others were strangers who had become family. There was no kitchen. Everyone had to be creative and considerate with where and when they cooked.
Most of the families in the building were polygamous and that meant there was a monthly Real-Housewives-of-Alof-Street kind of drama. Midnight fights, early morning arguments, spitting, slapping, scratching, and repeated cases of physical and emotional violence. Each family had a dad, a mom, and an average of 4 children. Either or both of the parents had other kids outside of their tiny home. With this obvious suboptimal quality of life, most of these daddies still had baddies they were spending their little income on. Of course, the woman of the house would have none of such rubbish. But most of the women didn’t know how the extent they could go to demand to be treated right because they weren’t legally married. If there was no cheating scandal, there’d be money drama. This wasn’t when I learned disdain cos my family had their own fair share of embarrassing issues as well.
I learned disdain when the parents in our crowded compound thought of their kids as the best thing after Jollof rice despite all their misbehaviors and wrongdoings.
I knew that Tola was already stealing from her mom’s purse. I had evidence that Tayo consistently lied to his parents about his whereabouts and hard proof that Temi was failing at school but lying about it at home. I couldn’t wrap my head around how these parents, especially the moms, thought their kids were just innocent kids. They’d even voice it out on the few occasions that my mom publicly scolded me for small small misbehavior.
“I trust my Ireti. She dares not spend her transport fare from school and walk such distance.” The same Ireti that I “lapped” the day before because she gave her t-fare to a classmate who said his dad was a money doubler.
It started out as astonishment. Not the good kind. The kind that makes you want to slap yourself mercilessly until you wake up from a weird dream and it went through different phases before ball parking at disdain.
At first, I thought it was Superiority Complex. The typical “I-better-pass-my-neighbour” syndrome I’d pick up from the adults around.
I was better at school. I was better at life. I was good at parties. My nickname was Awilo. Nobody in the whole of Lagos Island could beat me at Awilo. I was serving in my local church. I was a little athletic. I was loved by my aunties and uncles. I was well-behaved. I was skinny. I was intelligent cos I watched a lot of movies and read a lot of non-school books. I spoke better English. I was an innocuous child. Dare I say, I was perfect. Never lied to my parents to get extra money or just lied outrightly like some kids did.
Yet, these adults didn’t see me as perfection. The audacity!
I was a child. I thought that these parents and by extension, their kids weren’t worthy of my respect or my interest.
Did I become disrespectful? No, I became nonchalant instead. I didn’t act or speak rudely to any adult that didn’t push my buttons but I often spoke out of turn to show that I was better. I didn’t take their praises to heart or paid attention to their advice and instructions. I just focused on me, myself, my family, and my dream of making it out of there.
Now as an adult, things are different. I now see my childhood through a clearer lens. I’ve become so much better (is this an air of superiority I’m detecting?🤨). I’ve learned to give grace, trail the tracks, and to open my heart to people.
But even though I now know better, that old habit occasionally raises its nose up in the air.
Yes, the same kind of disdain I was once familiar with.
I get my Daily Medium Digest on some mornings and I roll my eyes at the articles that made the cut. I hiss and sigh to express the underwhelming feeling I get from reading some of them.
I think: I’m better than all these people.
The other thoughts I have include but are not restricted to:
Is this what people are reading? I can offer so much better.
This writer isn’t that great. It’s Medium that’s pushing their work.
And so much more!
Well, there are others like me. You (probably) are like this too.
When you see a viral tweet, you say the writer was just lucky. You see a piece of content on Instagram and automatically find a reason why you can do better. You easily discredit people’s work and work rate because you think you’re better or more creative. You scrutinize every piece of work and lifestyle in the subtlest way. You’ve convinced yourself it’s not a competition. But all you do is compare.
You’re probably reading this thinking of the many ways you’re a better writer than me. You know what? You’re probably not delusional. You probably are but guess what? We’ll never know because you don’t publish.
You don’t have the follow-through. You don’t have the gravitas to stay consistent enough to build a portfolio and a career. You don’t have that stick-with-it attitude. You’re easily discouraged. Heck, you’re probably tracking the wrong metrics. You get high on your ideas and how ingenious your thoughts can be. You rarely execute.
I’m a writer because I write not because I’m better than you. I’m a great writer because the work I did today is better than the one I did yesterday. I’m the best writer on Medium because I said so.
I have over 100 published articles on Medium and on LinkedIn. I am building my community and I have a total of over 20,000 people who see me showing up as often as I can. I have readers from every part of the world who not only enjoy what I do but send in their thoughts, their transformation stories, and their love on a weekly basis.
Who’s better now?😂😂😂
You claim to be a better writer than the popular writers in your niche but there’s no way for us to know because we’ve never read anything you’ve written. You leave them all in drafts. You leave them in your journals and notepads. You’re waiting for the right moment and the perfect timing to publish them.
Or maybe we have read them but we didn’t think they were any good. Oops!
While you obsess over perfection, I just published another article in 10 minutes and I’m making noise about it on social media. To make matters worse for you, the title is going to make your nose flare and your eyes roll😂😂😂😂😂.
Is this the part I say mission accomplished?
This article may be taken out of context but like you, my opinions are in the draft. I’m waiting for the perfect moment to voice them.
P.S.: No one is going to know how great you are if you don’t put anything out. And no one can tell me this isn’t the best piece of work they’ve read this year.
