Hi, my name is Azeez Akande. But is that really who I am? Maybe it’s Runners?
Sure, that’s Azeez is the name I was given. Not chosen. Just handed to me like a birth certificate or my secondary school results (just joking lmaooo). Born into a world that started labeling me before I could speak. Name. Gender. Nationality. Religion. Culture. The usual identifiers, handed out like starter packs for existence.
So again, who am I?
Am I just the last-born son of my parents who thought “Azeez” sounded like the right fit? Am I just that guy who says he’s a tech guy? The one who jumps on calls, sends Slack messages, creates roadmaps, builds websites, and sometimes wonders if any of it matters?
Or am I just someone trying to survive? Doing what he knows, or at least what he thinks he knows, to make a living. Doing his best to make sense of the systems he didn’t build but has to navigate anyway.
Sometimes I ask myself if that question, “ Who am I”, is only supposed to show up in interviews. You know the drill: “Can you tell us a bit about yourself?”
Cue the highlight reel.
“I’m Azeez, I’ve done this, I’ve done that. I’ve led this team. I’ve shipped that feature. Look at me. I’m someone. Trust me.”
But is that the answer? Or is the answer more personal?
Do I say,
“Hi, I’m Azeez. I’m a thinker. I like to approach problems head-on. I enjoy gaming, movies, playing, and deep rabbit-hole conversations about life and nature.”
And even then, is that enough?
Because here’s the thing. One is born today. Next thing, you’re given a name. You’re assigned an identity. And from that moment, the world begins to tell you who you are, where you belong, what you should want. And maybe that’s necessary. Maybe it’s even helpful. But is it complete?
When I look back at how I was named, how I was shaped, I still don’t fully understand it. I start to wonder;
- What if just two or three things had gone differently?
- What if I had grown up in another country?
- What if the people who raised me had different dreams for me?
- Would I still be me?
- Would I be in tech?
- Or would I be a plumber?
That’s not a random example, by the way. As a teenager, I once said I wanted to be a plumber. Not because I didn’t have big goals. I did. But in that moment, that’s what made sense. That was the dream I could touch.
So again, I ask, what makes me who I am?
Is it what I do? Where do I come from? The labels I wear? Or is it the patterns I’ve repeated enough times that they feel like the truth?
If I were to introduce myself now, I might say this:
“Hi, my name is Azeez Akande. I build things. I’m curious about the way people think. I come from a place rich with culture and complexity. I care about humanity. I try to see people for who they are, not just what they present. I’m Muslim. I value thoughtfulness. I question everything.”
But I could also just say, “Hi, I’m Azeez,” and leave it there. Let the rest unfold through conversation, through interaction, through contradiction.
Because the truth is this: there is no single way to define self. There is no permanent label that captures all of me, or all of you. We’re always becoming. Always adjusting. Always negotiating who we are against who we are told to be.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe the question isn’t “Who am I?” Maybe it’s “Who am I becoming?”
Because when I take a deep look at my life, the mistakes, the wins, the pivots, I see motion. I see growth. I see someone who’s not done, someone who’s unsure of what’s next, someone who’s learning, someone who has more questions than answers, and is learning to be okay with that.
So no, I’m not a finished sentence. I’m a work in progress. A living contradiction. A walking question mark with a name.
And maybe that’s the realest thing I can say right now.