70 - by Big Dee

70 Seventy is one of those numbers that seems to carry weight. Not because there's anything magical about it, but because human beings have always attached meaning to milestones. In the Bible, seventy appears repeatedly. Seventy elders stood with Moses. Seventy years marked seasons of waiting and restoration. Jesus sent out seventy disciples. Beyond Scripture, seventy is also one of those numbers people naturally pause at. It's large enough to look back on and small enough to know there is still more ahead. Maybe that's why I thought my 70th insight would feel like arrival. But it doesn't. Not really. If anything, it feels like accumulation. Not of achievements. Not of followers. Not even of insights. But of people. Because when I think about my journey on TwoCents, I don't immediately think about the things I've written or my qualification as a writer or an author. I think about the people whose words quietly changed how I wrote, and how I expressed myself through writing. The first person that comes to mind is Dolapo Oludairo. Technically, she was the entrance through which I joined the platform in the first place. But when I think about her now, I remember one of her audio insights that really got my attention then, Attention, Please. I remember listening to that audio insight and smiling. How did she pull that off? I screamed countless times. She sounded so natural, like she wasn't trying to be anyone else. She wasn't to impress anybody. She simply sounded like herself. And I think that was one of the earliest lessons I picked up here: your voice works best when it is actually yours. Then there was Toluwalase Soyinka. Guyyyyyy, I remember clearly reading You, Solape. You and thinking, who writes like this? The piece was dramatic, funny, chaotic, emotional, and somehow still worked. What about when I found Mama Was Like Rain? I seriously was lost. How did she do that? That was the second thing I picked up, and started working with: writing doesn't have to stay in one corner. You can experiment, you can stretch, you can surprise people. Around that time, was when I got the idea to write my grandmother's story, IYE MI. Felicitas Atuayo was another writer I couldn't ignore. 'Go Ahead and Cry' was one of those pieces that made me stop and reread sections. It was very, very deep. What about To Faye, From Faye? I seriously don't know how you do it, really. Esther Lawrence joined the platform after I did, but guess what? her presence didn't go unnoticed. Your other pieces, especially the POVs, are all remarkable. Then there was Cyrus Majebi.Before I knew about the engineering background, the robotics research, the startups, the languages, or the fact that he co-built this platform alongside Tobi, the one many of us now enjoy, I encountered Colourblind. What struck me was how deliberate it felt.Like, the man wasn't rushing anywhere. He simply walked me through an experience and I did follow till the end. Looking back now, it makes sense.The precision I noticed in his writing seems to be the same precision he applies to everything else. Tobi Igbinedion's Letter to My Icing on the Cake is another piece I haven't forgotten. It's one of the love pieces I smile about whenever I remember it and there was another one, I think it had "Aya" in the title, sha. But bruhhhh, his pieces didn't feel like they were written to impress. They felt honest.I still wonder why he's like the wind, though. 🤔 Then there is Emmanuel Daniji.At this point, the takeaway he drops at the end of his insights is no longer enough. We need coolers. I remember reading Odumeje and the Business of Spiritual Entertainment and laughing through most of it. But that's the thing about Emmanuel's writing. It's always interesting to read through, whether it's a piece of information or whatever kind of piece it is. Call me, John Oyinloye.The man behind the Sunday Twists.One of my favourites was the episode about Adam, Eve, the serpent, and blame. What I enjoyed wasn't necessarily the answer. It was the discussion. The questions. The way a simple topic could suddenly become a conversation. I wished they continued, but he knows best, and I wish him the very best. The truth is, none of these people sat me down and taught me how to write. There was no classroom. No manual. No special lesson. But over the months, I found myself learning anyway. Not by copying them. But by observing them. Watching how they approached ideas. Watching how they told stories. Watching how they sounded like themselves. And these aren't the only people. There are many others. Cara... her stories are mind-blowing, forget. I think there was one of them, I can't recall the title, but it was a romance piece, and both characters were men. Before I could fully realize who the characters were, I had finished reading it. Her pieces are very interesting. Tracy? My person. And her pieces that always make me want to turn back and look. Hope no one's coming? Nimmat? From your covers to your pieces, you and Faye pushed me to stretch myself and really bring out my ability. To the people who left comments. The people who started conversations. The people who encouraged me without even realizing it. Some of you may never know the impact you had. But you were part of this journey too. So when I look at this 70th insight, I don't really see a number. I see people. I see voices. I see moments. I see pieces that stayed with me long after I finished reading them. And maybe that's what seventy means to me. Not completion. Not arrival. Just accumulation. An accumulation of influences, conversations, lessons, and people. And if God permits, I hope to celebrate my 100th insight with many of these same people still around, alongside other creatives I am yet to meet. Because while this is my 70th insight, the journey was never built by me alone. I'm still learning. Still reading. Still growing. Still becoming.

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