The sun rays squeezed themselves through the aperture of my glass windows and blue curtain and rested on the floor just beneath my window frames, causing splatters of light around the room. The room transitioned from duskiness to brightness.
My eyes, even though they're still shut, sense the arrival of light. Its balls moved rapidly beneath the closed lids, causing the lids to twitch.
Subconsciously, it dawned on me that I had passed my usual waking hours. My eye movements became even more rapid. Eventually, it forced the lid open. Overwhelmed by the brightness that greeted my vision, I blinked in quick succession, just so I could adjust my vision to the brightness of the morning sun.
All my organs rose and stretched their muscles beneath my skin. I arose with them, stretched, and bent my joints, mimicking the yoga move and chiropractic skill I learned weeks ago through a YouTube video.
The cracking sounds of my joints filled the room, harmonizing with the tickling sound of my wall clock and the whirring of my turning ceiling fan.
"If I were still doing music, a new sound would've been inspired," I soliloquized.
Not wanting to be haunted by the memory of my sudden departure from the music industry, I shut the thought off in my mind and continued stretching mindlessly.
It's my favourite part of the day—morning. There could have been nights where I went to bed sad and depressed, but I can't think of a morning that I didn't wake up refreshed. Till date, sleep has remained my favourite therapy—especially night sleep. It has a way of washing away the filth of the past day and presenting me with a clean slate to begin a new day.
I kneeled by my bedside and uttered some words of prayer before dashing to the bathroom. These routines have pretty much become part of me. I carry them out effortlessly and almost unconsciously.
In the bathroom, I allowed the cold water from the shower to splurge over my head before finding its way to all the visible and hidden parts of my body. As the streams of water from the shower drum against my bare skin, my nerves are excited, and the last drop of drowsiness is driven away from my system. I became fully awake and conscious.
I said to myself, "It's a few minutes before 7 a.m. on a Monday morning, and I must get to the office before 8:30 a.m."
While savouring the refreshing sensation elicited by the pats I'm receiving from the shower water, I made a mental note of my day's activities.
A few minutes to eight, I was neatly dressed with a well-ironed pant, shirt, tie, and a pair of dressing shoes. Breakfast was already taken care of.
I'm full of energy, vigour, enthusiasm, and hope. It's a new day to make it right, and I'm excited.
While on the bus going to work, two malnourished young girls, who I'm sure aren't more than the ages of 12, are lapping each other beside me. A man far older than me was about to enter the bus; the only row left was the one in which I was seated with the young girls. Upon seeing the ill-looking lads, he gave a loud sigh, frowned, and moved away.
The driver got angry and yelled at the girls, "Get out of my bus." He commanded. The older man who was standing by was impressed; in fact, he started moving towards the bus again.
Just as the driver was about to forcefully pull the girls out of the bus, my gentleness flew out of the window. My morning happiness is ruined rather too early. I roared like an angry lion.
"Driver, what exactly are you trying to do? Because we're in Nigeria, where everyone seems lawless, do you think you can do anything and go scot-free? How much is their transport fare that you want to drag them out without caring if they'll be injured? Don't you have daughters?" I kept ranting.
I turned to the girls and asked them where they were alighting. Thankfully, the distance wasn't really that far. I could conveniently foot their bills. I told them to occupy the seat instead of lapping. They occupied the seat, and the older man had no place to sit.
I turned to the driver and continued my roaring. I was hoping that he'd yell back at me the same way he yelled at the girls. But that didn't happen. He rather kept mum.
"Where's this maturity coming from? Isn't this the same man who was screaming at these young girls, simply because they couldn't afford to pay for two seats, so they rather decided lap themselves?" I thought to myself.
I couldn't empty my mind. I couldn't show him just how much he'd ruined my sweet morning. I couldn't cause a scene where people would gather, and I'd let them know how insensitive the driver and the older passenger are.
The coward got on the driver's seat and started the bus while I was still fuming.
Since he didn't reply, I had to swallow hot words that were looking for who to burn.
Call me petty, if you would, but even as I am typing this, the memory of that driver ruining my precious morning and going ahead to deny me the opportunity of giving him a piece of my mind the way I would've loved to still haunts me.
