Dear Diary,
It is Monday again. The day that everyone groans about, but can't avoid. To me though, they’re just… days. The same route, same office, same work routine, same me, maybe? The only difference is the traffic tends to be thicker, or angrier, almost like the entire city is reluctantly dragging its feet back to work.
I left home today at 5 a.m., an hour earlier than usual, just to outsmart the anticipated Monday traffic. It didn’t entirely work though. I still spent just under 2 hours getting to the office. I guess the city is wiser now. I may have to wake even earlier next time, to be just a bit more wiser.
Still, my drive wasn't all bad. I had Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry, Be Happy on repeat, and it kind of set the tone for my day. The irony wasn’t lost on me. But I whistled along anyway.
Monday’s a road I’ve driven before,
Same potholes, same detours, same office door..
Oh, Monday’s a mirror, set in the same place,
And when you stare at her, she'll take your face...
Work was a blur of spreadsheets and muted Zoom calls. No emergencies. No epiphanies. Just the hum of the AC, the blandness of the lights, and the clatter of keyboards. At lunchtime, while my colleagues ate all kinds of stuff, I stared at my phone. I couldn't stop thinking about old classmate (Let's call him C today). So I ended up calling another old classmate who was a mutual to C and I (Let's call him U). The phone rang, and rang...
"U" picked up on the third ring. “Long time!” We traded the routine pleasantries. Then I asked about C. "When last did you hear from him?" The pause was heavy. Turns out C and U had stayed together for a while a couple years back. He had told U that he went to Egypt, but then told me things went awry in Ghana.
Then the big reveal. Needles, empty sachets, drugs... My throat tightened. All this time, I’d avoided approaching C at the car wash out of guilt — Why him? Why can't I help? — but U’s words flipped it. Instinct, maybe. Survival. I suddenly felt my conscience breathe easy.
Eventually, we agreed to rally some old friends. Stage an intervention. Get him back to Port Harcourt. I hung up, half-relieved, half-sick. Lunch time was over. Work had resumed.
The drive home was the same - Lagos in full glory: Danfo buses belching smoke, hawkers weaving between cars selling plantain chips, USB cables, and all sorts. Somehow, my car playlist stumbled on the song "Gratitude" by "Anendlessocean". As I listened consciously for the first time, I finally understood why the artist had so many fans. The music got to me, and I felt grateful for my own simple universe.
I am home now. Dinner will be chicken stew, and a few slices of bread. I am trying to eat lighter these days. My stomach’s still a stubborn mound, but I will try to chew slower. As I write, Power has just been restored. I watch the standing fan spin. Small victories, Dear Diary... Small victories.
We plan interventions with trembling hands,
We chase ghosts, with maps of forgotten lands..
But when the radio plays, and the ocean sings,
Our gratitude fills, hearts bursting at the seams...
Goodnight, Diary. Today didn’t fix much. But it didn’t break me either. And for that, I am grateful.
#SladenSpeaks
#IfWordsWereNudes
How am i still up?
It will be a short night tonight. Good thing I work from home tomorrow.