There is a particular moment after graduation that nobody prepared me for.
Our departmental WhatsApp group was still there. Same names, same display pictures from final year. But the messages changed. It stopped being “where is the venue for GST?" and started being “guys, I just got my offer letter from KPMG," “we open next week, come through o," “guys, japa don finally happen — Heathrow."
I pressed like. I typed congratulations. I meant it. Then I dropped my phone face-down on my bed. That was in November last year. I had just come back from a failed interview in Ikeja and I was scrolling on low battery.
Five years ago, we all wore the same departmental shirt for matric. We complained about the same lecturer who never came to class but always set hard questions. We borrowed notes from each other. I genuinely thought we were all on the same level. Then we graduated and the levels showed.
The hard part for me was not that they were doing well. It was that I could see it so clearly, every day.
Before, you only heard about success at reunions or through rumours. Now I watch it happen in real time. Instagram stories show the new apartment in Ajah. LinkedIn shows the promotion. WhatsApp status shows the car with the red ribbon still on it. I'm trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, and my timeline is a highlight reel of people who seem to have figured it out.
I'm not always jealous. Jealousy is simple. This is more complicated. I'm happy for them, I'm worried for myself, and I'm questioning what “making it" even means, all at once.
In Nigeria, making it has a look. It is not quiet. You have to post your win. If you don't post it, did you really win? So my mates are not just building lives, they are documenting them. And I'm not just living my own slow, uncertain process — I'm watching their documented wins while I live it.
I don't think we talk enough about how much of early adult life is just trying to understand yourself. What am I good at? What kind of work can I do without hating myself? Where do I even belong? Those are not questions I could answer in one year after school. But online, it looked like everyone else answered them in six months.
I learned something when I finally saw Tunde in person. Tunde was one of the most “successful" people on my timeline. He had opened a thrift clothing store in Yaba, he was posting customers, sales, new stock every day. I went to see him in March at his shop, that small container near Sabo bus stop. Online, his life looked perfect. In person, he told me he had not slept properly in weeks because of debt. He looked at me and said, “Guy, everybody thinks I don hammer. I dey find money to pay rent for shop."
Another friend, Femi, posts motivational quotes every morning — “Focus, grind, never give up" with a sunrise picture. I met Femi in April after church in Surulere, we sat in a buka to eat. He told me he had not applied for anything in three months because he feels stuck. His LinkedIn says “Open to work" but he said he hasn't opened the app in weeks.
That was when it clicked for me. Social media shows the result, not the rent. It shows the car, not the loan. It shows the japa picture at the airport, not the three visa denials before it. It shows the shop opening, not the months of begging for capital.
I was comparing my inside to their outside. I know all my own doubts, my unfinished plans, my mornings where I wake up with no clear direction. I only know their captions.
I'm still figuring myself out. Some days I feel behind. Some days I feel like I am exactly where I need to be to learn what I need to learn. Both can be true.
What helps me now is remembering that we were never really on the same level, even in school. We just wore the same uniform. Tunde's parents could give him money for his first bale of clothes. Femi was the first graduate in his family and had to send money home every month. My own pressure was different. Life after school just makes it visible.
I have not muted my mates anymore. I watch and I learn. Their wins remind me that it is possible to build something after school. Their honesty in real life reminds me that nobody has it all figured out as much as their profile suggests.
My own path is still forming. It is slower than I expected. But it is mine.