The Me In Media

THE ARTISTS' JOURNAL ²⚘✾

Laying on my bed, I watched the ceiling. My headphones hung on both sides of my head. The fingers of both my hands were locked into each other and I placed them on my belly; meditating.

Remi and Aisha sat in a spot, few feet from where I was, conferring about the situation on ground.

"I don't want to sound insensitive but we both know that Temi is very responsible for what happened." I heard Aisha say.

"Yeah. Doesn't matter if you are talented and the best, what the contest entailed was that you need votes to win! She wasn't even making any efforts. Her efforts would have been more significant than yours or that guy, Sam, because she's the one who got into the contest."

"Exactly. Then at the end, after winning the contest, she would have gotten the platform to prove herself like she wanted to. Talents didn't define that contest but votes. Way to go, Zeph."

"He should realize he made a big mistake by now."

"If only Temi herself had put in so much effort in gaining votes just as I was constantly doing for her, there's a greater chance that she would have at least made second place."

"I feel bad for her. You think we should talk to her?"

My eyes were clouded with tears while their words lingered in my head and sank deeply into my soul. The tears slid on both sides of my face to my ears.
I was depressed and lost in despair.

A lot of my online friends were asking me about the contest and I was too ashamed to acquaint them of the outcome. I had bragged about my progress towards the levels of the contest. I did so partly because I wanted to show off my perceived success and feel among those who often flaunted their chances and luck.

On the other hand, Beck kept bothering me with phone calls; his behaviours towards me was causing an irritation that I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Dude, just stop bugging my life! In fact, I stayed away from the media. I was sad and depressed.

I refused to respond to calls and texts for a while.
My friends, of course, came around to cheer me up once in a while but it could never withdraw the pain and feeling of hopelessness.

"And the winner of The Artists'Journal is Light!" Actually Light Ezechukwu Iroegbu. Zeph would get his tongue twisted if he ever tried to pronounce a native Nigerian name. Lol.

I could never take that announcement out of my head. A fellow Nigerian had won the contest... A fellow Nigerian.

Not even one influential person online picked interest in me after the whole contest, I didn't even get an endorsement deal or just anything.

I got no special attention, no defense from the audience pertaining the unfair judgement of Zephaniah. Nothing was going the right way.

At some point, I turned to the Lord in resentment, "you failed me! Why didn't you hear my prayers? Aren't you God anymore? Aren't you on the throne as they say? Why did you put me to shame if you don't put people to shame? You know what, just forget it. I knew you wouldn't answer anyway."
I wanted to give up.

                     ***
In two weeks, I went back online through the edification of my friends but I really wasn't active; I went through newsfeeds for a while, made no posts, and chatted with only a few people on casual things.

One day, out of boredom, I made a comic book of scant pages based on the lucid dream I had. I was then motivated to give the public the same enlightenment I had gotten from Tika and from that revelation. It was a cutesy-wootsy little comic book which I made and designed myself. ꒰⑅•ᴗ•⑅꒱