by Joy Isi Bewaji
The biggest shame of urban delusion is not the mental deterioration exhibited by the protagonist, but the sloth and phlegm behind fiction that suggest wealth where there is nothing but a bunch of unaccomplished dreams and no money.
Urban delusions are usually reserved as tools to impress on another’s affection.
We start love conversations by enquiring about one’s job or skill or accomplishment. So we try to thrill the one whose affection we desire with what we have accomplished… because it shows they’d be making a smart choice loving you. It is how a true urban society works. And it is a damn good approach.
“What do you do?” Should never go out of fashion. May it continue to come before you whip out or open up private parts and secret closets. Amen.
However noble this is, it is abused daily. The first attempt to ensure you won’t be wasting time on a loser… sleeping or dating a dud or a washout, is complimented with the attempt of the next person across the table not to appear as such.
So it is from the very start that those who suffer this mental illness begin to make a performance of fiction and falsification… just so the attention they desire from the other doesn’t drop to the floor.
It starts with petty lies. You know, white ones: The school you attended, where you’ve worked, the people you know. You start to name-drop (as if knowing someone automatically rubs off on your own failure or success)…
The devil that navigates urban delusions of grandeur is a tireless one and its mission is to push for more entertainment.
So the lies never stop.
Some day, you’d graduate to full social schizophrenia where you remember every imaginary friend you have, make imaginary calls, tell imaginary pity stories… just so you can continue to feed on a reputation you never really had.
And because delusions need a lot of tweaking and editing, you do not have the time to live a real life with real dreams and real jobs. Your delusions have become your reality.
It starts in that leaking room, with patches on your wall, telling a lie about your Banana Island residence. And believing in it strongly.
Nah, that’s not faith. That’s a bloody lie.