Blunt Tales and Coffee ☕️

  A huge chunk of Saph’s relationships ended on a Tuesday. Always a Tuesday. It was as if the universe predestined Tuesdays to be her exclusive day of doom. Its mornings were mostly coated with a jarring routine—an alarm shriek, a stretch that seemed endless, lazy yawns, and a deafening hesitation to get out of bed. She’d have a brisk shower on her bathroom floor—so slick it made her trip thrice, nearly ripping her manicured pinky fingernail in half. And afterwards, when her outfit did not correlate with what she’d envisioned the previous night, she’d wear a grim facial expression which usually featured furrowed brows and lips curled up just enough to flash her incisors and canines in nothing that had the identity of a smile. What kind of day gets so predictable and unpredictable at the same time? Its afternoons held way less pleasure. Sometimes they made her emotional . She hated that word. Most of all, she hated being associated with it when it had anything to do with her boss’ ...

Mondays are supposed to be less hectic courtesy of the sit-at-home policy in the eastern part of Nigeria. However, because the folks over here love to defy laws that do not fetch them the currency which earns the average human egotistical and psychopathic attributes, it unfortunately, is usually the opposite for me. I find myself labouring, not just on weekdays, but on weekends, constantly trading my sanity for punctuality and a few naira notes, which, if you ponder intensely about it, can be harshly mind-boggling. Why do humans have to do that? Pay for things with their strength and time instead of simply existing to enjoy? I was told to turn on the generator on one of my trade days. Let’s just say, being an adult offers you zero discount on the consequences of naivety.  I miss my mum. And my siblings. But I know I'd want to be far away from them as soon as we’re physically close for too long. Not because they are despots, or they asphyxiate me, or anything, but because there'...