(COMPLETE)
Temah Amoah, an aspiring journalist and article editor joins one of the biggest companies that New York has to offer.
She keeps to herself unless she is around family or extremely close friends.
Her life is simple and a lack of complica...
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^^ Temah Amoah
Okay T.
Let's not panic.
This interview will only dictate the rest of your career as a future journalist.
No pressure!
I walk up the platform to wait for my train, seeing as my usually trusty 'Honda Civic' decided to break down, earlier this morning.
My black block heels click across the floor, earning a few annoyed looks from a few of the teenagers with their bulky backpacks strapped to their backs and their acne prone faces.
I push my thick black- rimmed glasses further up the bridge of my nose and I pull my figure hugging skirt, further down my legs, to keep my body hidden from the prying and lustful looks of some of the horny teenage boys and leery older men.
I ain't catching no case.
Finally!
After, what must realistically be, 15-20 minutes, the train pulls up and creaks to a stop, and the intercom system buzzed over the top of an incoherent voice that speaks in a dull monotone.
I quickly rush onto the train, careful not to catch my tights on a stray piece of metal, and find a good seat where I know I won't have to later stand up or be squashed in-between two badly smelling individuals, who seem to forget what personal hygiene is.
I take a seat, right near the end of the row, next to the the closest door and I sit down heavily with a huff.
I go into my bag and pull out a book called 'Malcolm X- The autobiography'.
I plug in my headphones and listen to UGOTME by Apollo Omar.
Allow me to introduce myself.
I am Temah Amoah.
I am the third of 8 children and we all live here in New York.
We are all doing well and trying our best to look after our dad, who is in good health, but our everything.
When he and our mom had to split up, he was with us every step of the way.
From providing a roof on our heads, to clothes on our shoulders and food on the table every night, our dad was there.
When any of us had our first heartbreak, he was the shoulder to cry on paired with blankets and a litre of ice cream and sappy 90s romcoms.
He spoiled us all, girls and boys alike and lets us know every day that he loves us. III
After a few minutes of reading, I look up just in time to see a young man sneeze harshly on the railing just above my head.
I cringe in disgust and shift out of the way of the falling water particles that float in the wake of his rejection of illness.
