GOD FORBID I FOLLOW MY DREAMS!

Not in this economy.

Disclaimer: I'm writing this while watching a movie, so if the lines or paragraphs don’t add up, blame it on multitasking, not me.

I grew up hating hospitals—and doctors, by association.

(In case you're thinking I was scared of injections, I wasn't. I'm a tough girl 😌💅🏾.)

But for some reason, I was always a victim of, "You want to be a doctor, abi?"

And it used to irritate my soul.

When I was like 8 or 9, a senior from a school where I attended a programme asked me the same thing, and I jokingly said I’d rather be a dancer. I can’t dance to save my life, but she didn’t know that, of course. I sounded very convincing. The look on her face was priceless, but I didn’t laugh (had to make sure my aura was missing nothing.)

She didn’t insult me or anything. She didn’t even ask me why.

But she didn’t need to. I heard her disappointment in the silence.

Now that I think about it, her face might have remained the same (maybe not that judgmental, but still) if I told her I wanted to study something else outside the Holy Trinity of courses—medicine, engineering, law (you get the drill.)

Something that doesn’t come with a handshake from society or a nod of approval from uncles at family gatherings.

I think it started from our nursery songs. (“Rhymes” doesn’t really make sense here.). There’s a line from one of mine that pops in my head randomly—mostly because it makes very little sense:

“I want to be a professor, doctor and lawyer; I will be a president.”

A doctor and a lawyer? LMAO.

The message in the line is loud and clear.

It was meant to motivate us, I agree—to inspire us to aim high.

But what it really did was try to shape our identity—not around passion or talent, but around status.

It turned careers into prayer points. Not possibilities or passion; just prestige.

And that’s where the issue began for many.

Which is why out of every 20 primary school career essays, “doctor” would come up at least 8 times.

I had to help my cousin with his essay assignment once. He was 5 or 6 then.

And to be very honest, I didn't want to. Mainly because I needed to sleep, and trying to make sense with a kid is equivalent to pulling teeth.

Nothing pisses me off like a dumbass question, and unfortunately, that was his area of expertise.

So nahh, I’d pass any day.

Anyway, I googled “future career essays for kids” and started dictating the first one I saw.

(Don’t judge, my eyes were heavy.)

I was very pissed to find out that he wasn’t writing, but as the sweet soul that I am, I very calmly asked him why he was wasting my time.

He replied that he didn’t want to be whatever I was reading out (I can’t remember what), but a chef.

He said it with so much passion and hurt that I felt guilty and decided to actually help him with it.

I didn’t need to do much. In fact, I only helped him with questions to guide his thoughts and a few spellings.

He had it all mapped out. He had big dreams for such a small boy.

I had never even thought about my future career in such detail.

The essay was beautiful, and I was more than proud of him.

Naturally, he went to show his mummy first.

And do you know what she did? She shouted (in Yoruba):

“God forbid! Chef as how?! Go back and tell her to teach you how to write one on law.”

I dictated one from the internet for him without an ounce of guilt.

He didn't argue, just picked up his pencil and erased the best thing he ever wrote.

The next time I asked him what he wanted to be in the future, he said, “a lawyer.” It makes me wonder how many lawyers used to have a different dream..

That’s how the dream-killing starts—early.

But to be fair, it wasn’t really her fault. It was never just about her.

She wasn’t trying to be cruel—I mean, that’s her son.

It wasn’t just her voice speaking; it was fear. An echo.

She was trying to protect him in the way she was taught to—from mockery, from a world that recognizes certain dreams.

And I could have defended him that day, but I didn’t. In hindsight, I think it’s because even in my disappointment, I understood.

It’s not just about shame. It’s about survival. We don’t just dream with our hearts; we dream with what the economy allows. And in this one? You can be brilliant and still be broke.

So when people ask, “How would you eat?” It’s not always mockery. Sometimes, it’s fear disguised as advice.

Or so I was taught by society to believe.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to grace, not profession. Which is why I want to know: who set the rules?

I think many courses are judged based on their cut-off marks. But people forget that one of the major factors (correct me if I’m wrong) is the competition. And what led to that competition? Society.

The ones with the very low requirements aren’t valueless. But somehow, people have made them out to be.

The moment people find out that you’re pursuing certain careers, they automatically think,

“Oh, she’s not that smart.”

Personally, I think many people are just trying to keep up with society’s standards, not doing what they’re actually interested in.

So who set the rules?

Why is it that only a few dreams are allowed to be risky?

Why is a student trying to study medicine allowed to try four times, but one passionate about theatre arts told to chase something feasible? (I actually don’t think many “smart” people who love it would want to make it their first choice—because apparently, it’s an abomination.)

Why is a person allowed to chase law till they’re thirty, but it’s delusional to want to be a poet at twenty?

God forbid you want to be a creative. How dare you ignore Marie Curie and want to be like Cardi B?

Why are some dreams seen as investments, and others as indulgences? Why are some considered resilient, and others reckless?

Why are there people automatically tagged as “not smart” because of what they choose to study? Why? Who set those rules and gave some people bragging rights?

We say every career matters, right?

Yet we treat some as sacred, and others as disposable. And it’s not because the dreams themselves are weaker.

The world we grew in (or I, at least) had only assigned value to what it already understands.

If it doesn’t come with a title, a polished LinkedIn profile, or a predictable salary scale, it’s not strong enough.

Not until you’ve blown.

Not until you’ve broken records and become someone society can no longer ignore.

And even then—there are sneers.

We scream now for Hilda Baci.

But before the apron became a crown, would anyone have taken her seriously? Before the records and brand deals and blinking cameras? Or would they have told her to do something “real”—something with a future?

What about the ones who don’t get there?

The ones who quietly go with the flow and don’t make headlines? Are they failures? Or were they just never given a chance to begin with?

And if someone dares to dream out loud today—dares to say they want to be a shoemaker, a fashion designer, or a chef—

Would we applaud them?

Or ask how they plan to eat?

Even worse: what they actually plan to study?

Because for a dream to be realistic, it has to come with the promise of a master’s degree?

Let’s be honest.

When does the cycle end—if it ever will?

We’ve been killing dreams in the name of safety,

Silencing passion for the sake of prestige,

And dressing up our fear as wisdom.

I don’t have a call to action. This is not a TED Talk.

I’m just tired of watching people shrink themselves to fit into society’s expectations—or a script written by fear and handed down by inheritance.

So maybe the next time someone tells me what they want to be,

I’ll listen with a smile,

And ask for the details in full.

If anything, at least they’ll be heard.

…

My movie and will to write ended simultaneously. Isn’t God good?😌

Please don’t forget to like and subscribe if you haven’t already done so

And do well to share your thoughts too—they mean a lot to me.

Till I write again!❤️

P.S: I randomly remembered the book Adanna and how it didn’t make me cry or teary.

All of you that did, I’d love to know why—because I’m judging terribly.

Okay bye 🤭