I read a short story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie today. It was published in the New Yorker. The name was ‘Birdsong’. It is about a girl who has an affair with a married man. I liked it, it was good.
I also chatted with a married man who used to want to go out with me. He advised me to find an upwardly mobile young man to share my life with. If only it were so easy.
It’s weekend tomorrow. I seem to spend all my life waiting for the weekends. It’s not that I enjoy them so much. Weekends are just free from the stressful commute I have to deal with on weekdays.
I keep thinking how the life I’m living is not the life I want. What is the life I want? I’m not sure. A life without the stressful Lagos commute? A life with wealth and privilege? A life with romance? Yes!
The life I have now is not something I can abandon though. I try to make it better all the time. But I have no choice but to live it. There is nothing that makes me unhappy right now that I can just turn away from.
This is beginning to sound like a sob story. It is not. I’m not that kind of person.