3am in London
I.
“Because it’s a bittersweet symphony that’s life,
trying to make ends meet,
you’re a slave to the money, then you die.”
It is 3am, and I’m humming Marc Scibilia’s cover of Bittersweet Symphony while thinking about how I set two consecutive alarms on weekdays or when I really need to be up early — one for the woman I am and the second for the woman I want to be. The summer time switch has messed up my sleep routine and I’m barely getting up to 6 hours of sleep. I am never actually enthusiastic about waking up. It’s exhausting. Existing is exhausting. Particularly when there’s nothing to look forward to.
Let me explain how my mind works.
I have managed to find a cure for my depression, praise God. It comes in the form of finding things to do and things to stay alive for. It is not sustainable — this condition of needing something to look forward to — seeing a friend, a new movie, a new song, pending delivery, a trip, a new hobby, a concert, eating at some restaurant found on TikTok, etc.
It is starting to feel like an addiction. Perhaps it stems from a need to always feel excitement or happiness or from distracting myself from the chaos that pops up every now and then in my life. There always has to be something fueling the dopamine. I fear the day I stop having things to look forward to, I’d simply slowly start to wither. My petals falling as I become one with the soil.
II.
I feel like I’m running out of time. Approaching my late 20s is an eye-opener. I once told a love interest I didn’t think I’d live past 30. He immediately rebuked me, his own selfishness jumping out. I bet he’d want me to live until 100, and we would spend the so-called forever together.
I think a lot about wedding vows and the finality of it. Finding your person involves more luck than we give it credit for. That rare possibility of meeting someone in the right headspace who is emotionally available and able to give themselves wholly in a way that makes you want to receive them day in and day out, year after year. You let yourself become a part of them, your pieces merging with theirs to form something full. Incredible.
I don’t quite agree with the “till death do us part” section of wedding vows. Personally, I feel inclined towards “till happiness runs out.” Many people will say it makes no sense to get married if you think you’d stop loving them one day or want to leave. I guess it makes marriage realistic.
At a point when it becomes performative rather than happiness-inducing, I think it should end. Forever is a long time to be in a union you’re not happy in just because you made a promise to carry on until death do you part.
III.
“Have you ever been down?”
I find myself itching to reach out to people who were an important part of my life occasionally because, unfortunately, I never actually get over anything or anyone I have closely related to. I suppress, yes, but occasionally, a fleeting thought brings a bit of warmth to me.
Music is the worst and, ironically, the best carrier of memories — the songs on your playlist that you shout at Alexa to skip. I am tired of carrying bits of people around with me through music. I have tried to appreciate the good parts of what I shared with them, but why can’t they just stay in my life forever? Why can’t I be right for them and they for me?
I’m thinking about a friend I had. A few years back, she suddenly stopped replying to my messages, and my efforts to reach out to her didn’t get any response. At first, I was worried sick and thought something had happened to her. Then I found out she was still talking to our mutual friend. It unlocked a fear in me, an emotion that felt different. I wondered if it was that easy to let go, if I was that disposable?
Year after year, Google Calendar notifies me that it is her birthday in July. I can’t bring myself to delete the yearly reminder or the goofy videos she sent me. She held me through a heartbreak, and we’d joke about our Pinterest dream wedding boards. Popping Again comes up on Spotify, and I smile weakly because she put me on Show Dem Camp’s music. Heck. We went to their Lagos concert together and had a swell time. I want to pick up the phone sometime and send a message. But how does one start? How do you explain missing them after so long? That they never stopped being a part of you.
IV.
I don’t fully understand myself, and it exhausts me. I saw a tweet recently that talked about someone not being a nice person but being kind. I honestly think I am not a nice person most of the time. I am selectively kind to those I care about or to causes that resonate with me.
Over the years, my big heart has gradually lost a bit of its kindness and innocence due to life experiences. While I can still empathise with situations, I sometimes struggle with regulating my emotions to make proper decisions. One part of me wants to choose what’s best for others, and the other wants me to look out for myself.
I believe that this makes me human — that I can’t always be good or always right, that I can try but not always make the right decisions. I do not know what I want and that makes me a mess.
V.
Who and what exactly is worth trying for? And does any of it hold significance if it will all eventually become fleeting memories to reminisce or write about?
I should go to sleep now. Good night.
May 24. 03:08am.