moving man.
“Why you no dey write again?”
“Why did you stop writing?”
“I don’t see your Medium posts anymore.”
It’s not me, it’s Bola. He is sucking the little creative juice out of me on a V8 level. It’s also so hard to create when it feels as if the ozone layer isn’t working anymore. The sun is scorching so much that it burns. Everything feels off lately, in a strange way.
But there’s a saying about a moving man finding his luck one day. That’s motion. It keeps me going.
These questions are beginning to feel less like questions and more like reminders of something I’m slowly failing to explain. Over time, I refer people to past write-ups, telling them to keep drinking water from what already exists, while hoping to drop something new.
Get Mujeeb Adefila’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
There’s a quiet urge to give in to the pressure, to write something, just to fill the silence.
Sometimes, the urge to write comes, and it leaves just as quickly as it arrives. It’s a view once thing. And every time it disappears, it leaves behind an itch I can’t scratch, followed by a subtle frustration that lingers.
Oh, how I wish I could hold on to that spark before it slips away. But everything is fleeting. Still, the fact that it comes and goes means there’s something to hold on to.
As the proverb says, Kò lè tan l’ára ọmọ ọba kò mà kù dansaki, even in rust, something remains, like a danshiki that never fully leaves the body. The little sparks, random lines, and half-conversations in my head are subtle hints that creativity is still there.
Until then, I stay in motion, penning down one line, one half-formed thought at a time, until they begin to make a whole.
So when the questions come again, I point them here, to this piece quietly taking shape.
