Multitudes

PC: Samiat Olayide

A while back, I was telling a new friend of mine about a show I liked, and he said he didn’t think that choice ‘fit my aesthetics’. I told him that the earlier he realises that I don’t fit neatly into any box, the easier life would be for him. And like I always say to anyone who tried to figure me out, “I contain multitudes”.

When I decided to try blogging again and was stuck for a name because nothing fit quite right, I chose Multitudes. Because that’s what I am and what my life entails (of course, this was before I realised that Medium doesn’t really have a feature for creating and naming a blog specifically).

So, welcome to the chaotic corner of my reality. I can’t promise much, but I can promise that it’ll be interesting.

Speaking of interesting, while trying to write this article, I kept getting stuck because I couldn’t think of any stories to write. Which is insane, as I’m constantly surrounded by stories. The ones I read, the ones I see, the ones I hear, the ones I’m told and even the ones I figure out from context. How could I suddenly not think of any? For some reason, it reminded me of how gym instructors are always insisting you have one more rep in you and you don’t quite understand how they think so, despite how very sure they are. And now I wonder how much we think we lack but would only take a little push to get. How much we tell ourselves we don’t have, we can’t do, when we actually do and can.

The idea that our life is a series of stories told by an unreliable narrator, your brain, has been floating around for quite a while now. And just because you think something, doesn’t make it true. But on the other hand, “I think therefore I am”, and if my thoughts are the things that allow me to claim existence, then how does one interrogate them? How does one not just entirely believe that what I am is what I think and what I think is what I am?

This is something I’ve personally struggled with, especially as an overthinker. All these branches of thoughts, ever writing the story of who I am and what I should be. And even more fascinating is how many of them I catch mid-construction. I see, in my mind’s eye, of course, these thoughts being made up; I witness their birth, and yet, I fall prey to their whims. It’s like watching a sales rep write up and practice the script they would use on you, edit it out for maximum manipulation and still fall for the pitch.

That knowledge should provide a buffer to your belief, yet it doesn’t.

I mean, sure, sometimes you don’t shop the “40% off discount” but somehow still cannot resist the “Easter bunny sales”.

And isn’t that life? A series of never-ending choices, some great, some horrible and most somewhere in between?

So. Yeah. I think therefore I am.

But also, my brain is a lying, sadistic mess.

And now, the me that was created by all the stories told by my brain also has to be the me that stops some stories entirely and rewrites others.

It’s a flawed system, most likely to fail. Or is that another lie my brain is feeding me at this moment? The only way to know is to ask.

Is to push.

Is to try.

I know I contain multitudes; that has been established. And I’m certain I have so many stories to tell, hence the writing. So, if the only one I have to fight to get them out is myself, then try I shall.

I think therefore I am.

And try I shall.

That’s all for now, my lovelies.

I look forward to the story I get to tell you next time.

Until then,

Try you must.