I am not happy with the way things are going. I know there are other people like me out there. Before this lockdown, eight hours was always too long for me to sleep. I would fall sleep around twelve and wake up by six. Gone are the days, and maybe they are returning, because right now, I don’t know when this is going to end.
I have been thinking maybe I’m depressed because the listless emptiness in the way I feel does not seem far away from depression. I now have a mercurial aura about almost everything; sometimes I’m happy, sometimes I’m sad, and both seem to occur for no apparent reason. It’s almost like the turn of the weather: sometimes expected, sometimes unexpected.
It’s been six weeks now since I left my parent’s house and moved to my grandma’s— both in Kwara State, Nigeria. But it’s now getting worse day by day. My parent’s asylum was lively. I could joke a bit with my siblings. I could also go to my friend’s place to have tête-à-tête with him. Sometimes I went to the football pitch down the street where I live, to play or watch football. Nonetheless, I got fed up, carrying out the same routine every day was unbearable.
Grandma’s place has been like an inferno for me, no one to talk to, no one can relate to the type of life I live. I’m on my own now, I wake up anytime I like, eat anytime I deem fit, and whatnot. What was constant when I got here is reading and writing; for now, it’s incessant reading and occasional writing. My writing became occasional because of boredom, I just can’t think straight. Now is one of the occasional times.
Something positive that I can point out here is that my reading coverage per day has increased, and my writing output, increased. If that’s only what I’m taking out of this cul-de-sac epoch, I would be happy. It has always being my dream to be a creative writer. The problem now is this odd time. When we are resuming back to school is what I need to buoy up. Just like most Nigerian students, I want to go back to school. I’ve missed the aura like an addicted drunkard who has long been ostracised from alcohol. I’m antsy to hear our resumption date.
I’ve been contemplating going back to my parent’s home or staying here. If I see some signs that we are resuming soon, and if my writing improves the way I want it to, I would stay here and live with the constant mercuriality of my feelings and depression, while I soothe myself with the loving sounds of Lindsey Stirling’s Violin, pending the time we resume.