The exams are done. My brain? Burnt. I'm drained put. My account balance? Let’s just say even 0.00 would be an upgrade. I’m a black, short, African medical student who just crawled out of a mental war zone called "end-of-posting exams"—only to realize that the real battle has just begun: surviving the next two weeks without money with preparing for another exam.ughhhhh
I’ve mastered anatomy, but now I need to study the anatomy of survival. I’m talking empty kitchen, no backup plan, and a stomach that keeps starting conversations it can’t finish. I don’t even have the energy to be dramatic—and that’s saying something.
Exams are finally over and instead of peace, what greets me is hunger and empty bank apps. No money, no backup, just vibes and coconut head. I need to think of what to do. Two weeks to survive until i recieve my monthly allowance.
Not that I can’t ask my mum for money o—God knows she’d try. But the fear of that "Didn't I just send you something last week?" speech is the beginning of wisdom. I’m not ready for the emotional damage. I haven’t even recovered from the medical Biochemistry incourse i just finished yet.
And don’t even talk about my hair. It's crying for help. My edges are on strike, and my mirror has started judging me. But I need to slay o, because I’m seeing my man at the end of the month and this crusty version of me can’t be the one to show up. He deserves the soft babe he signed up for, not this half-braided warrior in survival mode.
But asking him for money? Lmao. We're both in this med school mess together. He’s also managing, probably eating one meal a day and lying to himself that he’s intermittent fasting or it will make him read better. If I ask him for money, he might block me and then write a SOAP note about the emotional trauma.
Hmmm
I really need to stop thinking much,that might not be the case.
So here I am, doing mental gymnastics—calculating how to survive two weeks, look fresh, and still keep my dignity intact. If there was a Nobel Prize for making 200 naira stretch like elastic, I’d have it already.
This isn’t just about being broke—it’s about being broke with style, broke with purpose, broke with plans. I’ve got dreams, hunger, and zero shame left. If you see me chewing gum aggressively, just know I’m tricking my stomach into thinking food is coming. Spoiler: it’s not.
Welcome to the trenches. I didn’t choose this life, but I’m living it with vibes and a pinch of delusion.
I'll let you guys know how it goes
