Five Loser Anthems

Growing up, being emo was never cool. Actually, I stand corrected. It was, but almost exclusively to the teenagers who glamorised its merits. In fact, to us, it was the coolest thing in the world. It was a haven of complete otherness for kids who liked being out of the loop.

I spent days on end online, visiting the painstakingly crafted pages of other emo kids on Myspace. Punk rock sounded off proudly in the background of each one of them like emblems of a tribe. I talked to these kids for hours, soaking in their stories of what it was like in their high schools, halfway across the world.

At this point, I guess I should mention that I myself was way, way out of the loop. About 6,613 miles to be exact. So some could argue that in a world of emo loners, I was the loneliest of all.

To any African-American kid who has ever been teased for liking predominantly 'white' rock music, I hear you. But I'm sorry, at least you were in America, drowning your sorrows in what was still American music. I, on the other hand, was the weird girl all the way in Africa, finding comfort in music that made her feel like she belonged somewhere in theory, even though in reality, she fit in nowhere within driving distance.

As much as I'd love to keep in the theme of teenage self-indulgence, I am in no way suggesting that I was the only one in my entire country with my taste in music. But it definitely felt that way.

Growing up in Nigeria, I had three friends. To avoid any confusion, I don't mean all at once. No, these three friends were on rotation. It was very much a game of 'who can tolerate my weird emo angst this week?'

So for the most part, I felt very alone. But somehow, I was lucky enough to find a whole genre of music that romanticised that. After that, being alone almost felt cool. It felt powerful and brave. These songs in turn became the daily bread I needed to remind me that it really was:

1. Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

I am not afraid to keep on living;

I am not afraid to walk this world alone.

How meaningful those words were to me growing up. This song was the catalyst for living loudly, exactly as I was. Regardless of who was with me; I was free to be fearless.

If your high school years were anywhere near as melodramatic as mine were, chances are every day felt as close to a war as you'll get in this lifetime. The truth is, that's because it was.

For girls, high school is a war against sexist rumours made up by boys, and a war against girls who compete for the attention of said boys with the kind of sycophancy we all spend years unlearning afterwards.

But more than anything, my high school years felt like a war against conformity. Do I join in on the rumour-making, the cruel jokes and the unfair competition just to fit in? Or do I denounce peer pressure and prepare for immediate social backlash? To any teenager reading this that's scared about picking the latter, don't worry. I've got the perfect battle cry to get you through.

2. The Pretender by Foo Fighters

What if I say I'm not like the others?

What if I say I'm not just another one of your plays?

You're the pretender

What if I say I will never surrender?

In all honesty, it wasn't always so intense. In fact, a lot of being emo was really just me spending time alone in my room, enveloped in a warm blanket of songs that perfectly qualified how I felt: like doing whatever the hell I wanted:

3. Fat Lip by Sum 41

I don't wanna waste my time

Become another casualty of society

I'll never fall in line

Become another victim of your conformity

And back down

You see, there's this massive misconception that people listen to rock music just to wear black eyeliner and wallow in self-pity. But for me, that couldn't be further from the truth. These songs made me celebrate myself. They gave me the kind of self acceptance that was followed by teachers constantly mistaking me for being much older. But alas, I wasn't a sage, just a Good Charlotte fan:

4. The Anthem by Good Charlotte

At my high school, it felt more to me

Like a jail cell, a penitentiary

My time spent there only made me see

That I don't ever wanna be like you

I don't wanna do the things you do

I'm never gonna hear the words you say

And I don't ever wanna

I don't ever wanna be you

Don't wanna be just like you

Yes. Good Charlotte gave me yet another loser anthem. Arguably, the most important one.

Last but not least, a 15-year-old me would roll in her grave if I didn't pay homage to her favourite band, Fall Out Boy. While I considered some honourable mentions like Hum Hallelujah, The (After) Life of The Party, A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me", it soon became clear to me what song to choose:

5. Don't You Know Who I Think I Am? by Fall Out Boy

They say quitters never win

But we walk the plank on a sinking ship

There's a world outside of my front door

That gets off on being down

When I think of Fall Out Boy, two things come to mind. Fun but oddly specific song titles and facetious lyrics. The latter gave me an unspoken sense of belonging; similar to what one feels when they're in on an inside joke (which as a teenager who was usually the butt of them, felt like a lifeline). They were just so damn clever. And in turn, I felt clever for relating. But more than anything, I felt seen.

This song in many ways, is a swan song. This was the one that made me realise that it was okay to leave the small town where I was tolerated and forge my own path in pursuit of a world where I would be celebrated. Weird music taste, black clothes, eyeliner and all.

It wasn't giving up and it certainly wasn't backing down. It was recognising that there was a whole world beyond the front steps of my high school that 'got off' on the same things I did. By committing to being myself, I would attract a whole bunch of like-minded individuals and the songs I escaped into could become my reality. I would no longer have to fill the gap with gold.

I owe every inch of my confidence to these songs. They gave me the strength I needed to show-up and perform my authenticity even when I knew I would be booed. Their lyrics have stuck with me and I'm a better adult for it.

Of course now, as an adult, living exactly as I please, I am less inclined to scream from the roof tops that I was once an emo teen. But as I look to my hip, I am flooded with memories of the remnants of my past; an obligatory anti-establishment tattoo, always there to remind me that:

"The price of liberty is less than the cost of repression"