Jesse Ojuka

It’s one of the biggest cliches of life. That we only live once. Yet it worries my heart how much it’s overlooked. I’m begging you, please remind yourself that you do not have forever. It’s normal for us to avoid the most profound truths. “Why am I so angry?”. “Why am I so sad?”. “Why do I keep going from relationship to relationship.” “Is my job the best way I can use my life?”. We keep ourselves preoccupied with distractions so we don’t have to face ourselves.

The most profound changes happen when we face the truth head-on. I lost the most weight when I stepped on the scale and looked at what I ate. I made the most progress when I realised I didn’t work half as much as I professed I did. We don’t talk about the deepest and most significant realities until they slap us in the face. We reflect on mortality at funerals. We confront our buried pain after heartbreak. We sign up for the gym as summer approaches because we feel inadequate compared to people posting body photos. Most of us don’t change until we’re forced to change.

On January 21st, I left my job. Not because I had another one lined up. But because it began to erode my soul like a dark acid. I went from being the brightest person at work to the gloomiest in a matter of months. I knew I had to make a change.

Currently, I’ve a been self-employed artist for the last two months living in my mother’s house. I don’t go out much or need a lot of things so I’m able to survive on the money I make from music. I hear about my peers who I went to school with making six figures, with shiny job titles. Scrolling through media, I often come across LinkedIn announcements about their new degrees and lovely job promotions. I feel removed. Ejected from that world since I left secondary school. Oblivious to what that life is like. A life of perceived certainty. A life of having a quick answer when someone asks “What do you do?”. A life of not wondering where my next big paycheque coming from. However, instead of plummeting into self-pity or falling into the grip of despair. I can’t help but grin in delightful confidence.

Since I was fifteen, I always knew my life was going to be unconventional. “I’m not going to get rich from a degree” I would tell my mum. A gargantuan wave of pride washes over me when I embrace and reflect on the fact that despite how radical and unorthodox I may look, I am being the person I want to be. I chose my path and I walk it with a smile.

Reminders of mortality chime in my mind on an almost daily basis. I’m asked questions by books such as “What would you do if money didn’t exist”, and “What would you do if no one in the world would judge you”. An avalanche of gratitude and glory comes upon me as I answer “Exactly what I’m doing now”.