Before we dive in, I just want to say:
Your response to Part 1 made me sit still for a while.
It’s a different kind of healing when you realise you’re not alone — that someone out there felt what you were trying to say.
I’m grateful you’re on this journey with me.
I also need you, when you see me post about this on Instagram, to engage — like, comment, share — even if it’s just a small word.
This story deserves to reach someone else who might need it. ❤
Now, let’s open the next tab…
Part 2: When Dreams Had to Hide
After I graduated from The Polytechnic, Ibadan, with an Upper Credit, I didn’t attend my graduation.
Not out of protest — but out of shame.
To everyone else, I had achieved something solid.
To me, it was a symbol of where I fell short.
No distinction. No celebration.
Just a heavy silence I carried home.
My father knew about me moving on to LAUTECH.
What he didn’t know was how much I was still trying to fix the past.
I attempted again to chase Electrical Engineering — the dream that was never really mine.
But once again, the doors didn’t open.
And so, I picked Statistics — a temporary holding place for a boy still trying to live up to a name.
In my second year, everything cracked.
I sat for a course, MTH 207 — one of those classes where the lecturer never even showed up.
Just sent handouts, expected miracles.
That day in the exam hall, I stared at the paper, wrote my name, and nothing else.
As I sat there, pen frozen, I realized:
I’m done pretending.
I walked out knowing I was leaving Statistics behind — and maybe, leaving the boy who always followed the rules too.
Marketing felt like rebellion, but also rescue.
It gave me space to breathe, to blog, to start carving a life on my own terms.
At night, when the city buzzed and the air smelled like rain and cigarette smoke, I wasn’t in lecture halls.
I was on the streets — learning life.
Chasing women, nursing heartbreaks.
Turning from the boy who buried himself in books to a young man tasting everything he was once denied.
I lost my first love to a richer boy in her University.
Maybe it wasn’t cheating. Maybe it was just reality.
Still, the sting carved something deep in me.
I moved on to another girl — also named O — telling myself it was different.
But really, I was just trying to fill the hole.
I was drifting. Partying. Making decisions the old me would never have even imagined.
Slowly becoming a ‘bad boy’ without even trying.
The anonymous blog I ran — LautechAmebo — became my secret weapon.
It let me move between worlds.
People opened their hearts, spilled their stories to me, never knowing it was me behind the screen. Only a few knew at least until the third year.
One night at a party, everything shifted. A cultist slapped my friend, OD, right in front of me. And for the first time, I understood:
Being brilliant didn’t guarantee respect.
Good grades wouldn’t shield me from the world’s blows.
Money. Power. Fear.
These were the currencies people respected.
That night, I made a silent vow.
I would never be the quiet, obedient boy again.
I would build something so strong no one could ever slap my people—or my dreams—without consequence.
But dreams don’t die overnight.
Sometimes, they just get quieter.
They learn to hide.
And that’s what mine were doing — hiding behind bad decisions, fake smiles, and endless open tabs I was too afraid to close.
Next: Part 3 — All the Doors I Didn’t Walk Through
I’ll share the silent opportunities I wasted, and the promises I started making to myself in the dark.