Chapter 23
The days started blending together, a haze of smoke, alcohol, and fleeting faces. I had pushed Usman and Emmanuel away, the two people who had always been there for me. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate their concern or love—it was just that I couldn't bear to face anyone who still believed I could rise above the mess I had created. They had dreams for me, but I couldn't even see mine anymore.
Instead of reaching out to them, I gravitated toward a new crowd. A group of people who lived for the moment, who seemed to understand the emptiness I felt without having to ask questions. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of their lives, where every day was a party and every night ended with a bottle in hand, a cigarette between my fingers, or a joint passed around in the circle.
I stopped caring about the future. It seemed so far away, so intangible. The constant partying became my escape, my way of drowning out the regrets and the loneliness that had begun to suffocate me. I'd never been a smoker before, but now, the cigarettes were a constant companion. The burning sensation in my lungs became a reminder that I was alive, even if it didn't feel like it sometimes.
Marijuana became another outlet. I didn't know if it was the high that made me feel free, or if it was just the numbness I craved, but I didn't question it. It was easy to get lost in the haze, and for a while, I thought I had found the freedom I had been searching for.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't real freedom. It was a false sense of control. Every party, every drink, every puff of smoke, took me further from who I used to be. It felt good in the moment, but the morning after, the hangovers were a harsh reminder that nothing had really changed. Nothing had really been fixed.
Still, I kept going. I didn't want to stop. If I stopped, I'd have to face the mess I had become. I didn't know how to confront it, so I buried myself in the noise and the distractions.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I couldn't keep running. Life didn't stop, no matter how much I tried to escape it.
The JAMB exam came and went. I had almost forgotten about it, but somehow, despite everything, I managed to find the will to sit for it. It wasn't that I suddenly found hope—it was more like a flicker of something that hadn't completely died. Maybe I was just going through the motions, or maybe it was because part of me still longed for a better life, even though I didn't know how to reach it.
A few months later, I received the letter.
I had been accepted into a polytechnic. I was going to school. The news didn't come with the sense of triumph I expected, though. It wasn't like the moment when you achieve something you've worked hard for. This time, it felt like a quiet acknowledgment that I hadn't completely given up on myself, even if I didn't fully understand what that meant.
I stood there, staring at the acceptance letter in my hand, and for a brief moment, I felt the weight of it. It wasn't the kind of success I had dreamed about when I first started out. It wasn't the victory I had imagined when I thought about my future. But it was something. A chance, a new direction, something I could hold on to.
I didn't tell anyone right away. I didn't even share it with the new friends I had made. There was still a part of me that wasn't ready to face them either. But deep down, I knew it meant that the road I was on wasn't a dead end. It wasn't a shortcut to anything, but it was a path—one that would take me somewhere, even if I wasn't sure where.
As I walked through the streets of Lagos, heading back to my apartment, the letter tucked into my bag, I felt a mix of emotions. I wasn't the person I wanted to be, but I wasn't the person I had been, either. Maybe that was the first step—acknowledging that I wasn't stuck, that there was still time, and that I still had choices.
I didn't know where the future would take me. But for the first time in a while, I felt like I was moving forward, even if it was just a small step. And that was enough to hold on to for now.
The next day, I went to the bank and deposited the last of my savings. The money wasn't much, but I had made a promise to myself that I would start fresh, no matter how small the steps seemed. I would focus on school. I would focus on rebuilding myself, one day at a time.
Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to try again.
But for now, I was just trying to find my way back to the person I once was, or at least to the person I could still become.
And that, I realized, was the hardest part.