Dear Diary,
It's Monday... I am seated in the hushed and darker recesses of a library, flanked by the post-colonial and contemporary literature shelves section as I write this. A whiff of cappuccino, tomes, aftershave, sweat, pickle, chicken from wraps and Vonnegut knows what other aromas, waft up in an odorous musk and meaty colony. The dining area in the library's cafe is quite like a huge, closed effervescent vat of champagne. Bubbling with energy.
So the day has been weird. Utterly and completely weird; not onerously so but neither light. I do wonder what soul initially phrased the night to be young and exactly how ardently accurate this idiom is, I'm yet to discover.
The dream might have started the cataclysms in my head. Might have created the first pounds of pressure whilst I was half-leaning, half-lying on the desk in my pedagogical talk lecture early in the morn - I had a latte with my usual duo-shot of vanilla syrup in hand. I have always had dreams that have been unexplainably a little too vivid for any commonsensical mindset- a rational, humanly thinking mindset but don't we all have remarkable dreams? It wasn't erotic or nude-shaming or grossly nightmarish in any manner, if we divulge it in more Freudian terms but it was somewhat upsetting. More than upsetting.
I don't even know why I dreamed of a colleague passing away.
Even relaying this now is more than dampening my mood and it makes it slightly more disconcerting that the colleague and I are on the cusp of a beginning friendship. Tentative glances are thrown his way and he lifts one dark eyebrow, bemused by such a display of odd behaviour.
Yes, I'm completely normal .not.
At this point, taking mouthfuls out of the suddenly fascinating foam cup equates to sustaining feigned buoyancy; the rich liquid pouring down the chapped regions of my sore throat is warmly soothing.
At lunch I meet up with my usual group of friends and because there is quite a flock of us, we branch out to fulfil our usual afternoon rituals; few hurriedly going out to buy things to eat, a couple heading off towards the library and then a few of us who stay behind to dine in. I begin to mention my dream but there are skeins of tension that shoot up my arms; an undulating rise and fall of indecision. I finally progress to tell them and don't expect the salvo of questions that are arrowed my way, 'was it me? was it me?' ensued shortly by reassuring pats and a shrill chorus of 'that means he will live a long life!' I've no idea if any truth rings in that but the thought has given me solace. I thank my Lord that as well as a loving family, I have lovely friends.
It has also just dawned upon me, that today, coffee has been quite reoccurring on this particular day and Monday! The pounds of pressure as per mentioned earlier did largely stem from what I believe to be a huge caffeine withdrawal. There has also been quite the digital anthology of different grounds and brands featuring on IG stories; Costa ones, Starbucks, pure black, lattes, frappe lattes and all sorts. What is with coffee and today? Is this metaphorical? The writer in me is going off tangent and off-rhyme again!
Till tomorrow,
Sumaiyah
• excerpt written by - Sumaiyah W
*instagram @_soulstyss*
concept 'Excerpts from a Stranger'
created by Shamim Hussain
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Excerpts from a Stranger
Short StoryDiary entries from seven strangers about their day. In these excerpts we get unique glimpse into the lives of seven different people. Once you begin to read, you're hooked to find out how their day ends. With these diary submissions, it provided an...
