The night before my first story went live, I couldn’t sleep. My nerves weren’t just butterflies — they were a full-blown drumline. I had always dreamt of seeing my name in print, but as I stared at my laptop in the dim glow of my Brooklyn apartment, I kept wondering if I’d said too much. Would anyone even care? Or worse, would they care too much?
Let’s rewind: I had just landed my first freelance gig after quitting my teaching job in Queens. It sounds brave, but it felt reckless. I went from discussing Alice Walker with rowdy freshmen to chasing deadlines and rejecting the assurance of a steady paycheck. My family thought I’d lost it. Nigerians don’t joke about stable careers. "You want to write?" my dad had said, shaking his head. "Ehn, maybe they’ll give you Pulitzer Prize for nonsense."
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in me; he just didn’t get it. Realistically, neither did I.
From Lagos to Brooklyn: The Push to Tell My Story
Growing up in Lagos, my stories often lived in my head, fed by the folktales my grandmother whispered late at night. She painted vivid worlds with broad strokes, threading lessons I didn’t fully grasp until I grew older. When we moved to Brooklyn, storytelling became survival. I learned early that being the African kid in ’90s New York required finesse. Matching my Nigerian roots with my American reality meant I had to own a voice that straddled two worlds — one seasoned with jollof rice, the other topped with pizza folds.
Fast forward to post-grad Malik, sitting in my cramped studio and trying to translate my patchwork world into articles people could actually relate to. The topic of my first piece? Dating. Specifically, how moving from Lagos to Brooklyn shaped my understanding of romance. Let’s just say when your parents' idea of “flirting” is reminding each other to defrost the fish, navigating the melodrama of American dating culture feels like crash-landing into a telenovela.
Drafting Disaster: The Early Fumbles
The first draft of my article was… how do I put this kindly? A mess.
I tried too hard to be charming by tossing in every pop culture reference that crossed my mind. Somehow, I rambled from Beyoncé lyrics (why?) to a metaphor about plantains and love (again, why?). My attempt at “relatable humor” felt more like a stand-up routine at an empty comedy club.
Early advice I wish I’d taken? Keep. It. Simple.
- Write what you know: I didn’t need to overanalyze why American couples kiss publicly “too much.” I just needed to explain how new it was for me, seeing love broadcast boldly instead of delicately whispered behind closed doors.
- Start with heart: People don’t fall in love with your jokes; they fall in love with your truth. What scared me most — my fish-out-of-water dating moments — was exactly what my audience wanted.
Publication Day: The Big Reveal
After nervously editing that article to within an inch of its life (read: I cut Beyoncé and the plantains), I hit “Send.” My editor emailed back with more suggestions, which sent me straight into a spiral. Were these changes a rejection? No. They were refinement. Turns out, editors aren’t there to tear you down; they’re there to pull the best parts of you into focus.
When the piece finally went live, I couldn’t bring myself to open it right away. Instead, I distracted myself by fixing lunch — fufu and egusi, my comfort meal of choice. My phone buzzed just as I took a bite. The first comment?
“This was hilarious! Growing up with immigrant parents really is a dating obstacle course.”
And just like that, I exhaled.
Lessons from My First Byline
Looking back, that first article taught me a lot — some lessons I wish I’d known sooner, and others that became clearer as I kept writing. Whether you’re sharing your voice for the first time or the tenth, here are a few takeaways that apply to writing, life, and yes, even dating:
- Be vulnerable: Whether you’re drafting an article or starting a relationship, people connect to honesty. Admit the awkward firsts, embarrassing mistakes, and cultural missteps — they’re what make you human.
- Find your language of love: My first instincts as a writer were to imitate others. But finding my own rhythm — blending Lagos mornings with Brooklyn nights — was what made my voice authentic. The same holds true in relationships: bring your full self to the table.
- Accept (gentle) rejection: When that editor sent back notes, I panicked. But revisions didn’t mean failure; they meant growth. The same rule applies to love and life. Sometimes, “no” is a redirection to something better.
- Celebrate the moment: I ordered a slice of cheesecake that evening to celebrate my first byline. It wasn’t fancy, but neither was my journey to that point. Big wins come from celebrating small ones.
A Constant Evolution
My writing career has grown since that first piece, but the lesson remains: putting your voice out into the world is scary and exhilarating all at once. It’s a bold act of hope, whether you’re pitching an article or making that first move on someone new. So, do the scary thing. Make the first attempt, the awkward joke, or the clumsy compliment.
My dad eventually read that first article after I sent him the link three times. “It’s good,” he said finally. “But you didn’t mention Amala and ewedu soup. Aren’t you a proud Nigerian?” I laughed — you can’t please everyone. But his grin told me enough: he was proud of me anyway.
So, whether it’s your first love or your first byline, embrace the rollercoaster. Some days you’ll soar; other days, you’ll fumble catastrophically and end up crying into a box of stale pizza. Either way, the journey’s yours — so learn from it, laugh often, and keep showing up.
