It’s a beautiful morning, maybe not so beautiful. The only beautiful thing I’ve seen today is the radiant streaks of golden sunlight through my draped transparent curtain, the squeaking funny sound of mice in the corridor, and the therapeutic drops of my broken tap in the bathroom — the power of perspectives! My therapist would be so proud of me, I thought.
After all, they say when life gives you lemons, you make lemonades but most times you wouldn’t even see it coming. It hits you right on the face before you make your lemonade. Or you get stuck in “what ifs”. What if there aren’t enough lemons? What if it isn’t ripe enough? You’ve got tons of those questions running through your mind.
I dragged my battered self off the bed and moved towards the left side of the room. Exhaustion isn’t one of the perks I’d cherish from overnight shifts. Greeted by the sights of my overflowing buckets, I nodded my head and sighed. The lady in the mirror stares back at me. Dark tired eyes. Rough hair. Slouched shoulders. And the signature weak smile of the new Lara Johnson.
No one would believe the generation of The Johnsons would look like this. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes as I gazed at my reflection. But, the soothing voice of my therapist rang in my head, urging me to smile and prepare for the morning walk.
The lousy street calms me. From the little boys scuttling around, and the nuts sellers enticing their customers. One could see an angry woman yelling at her child to not cross the busy road. I find these scenes funny because I’ve never thought I’d experience all these. And yet, here I am. No one really knows tomorrow.
I move closer to the newspaper vendors hoping to see something to read for the day. Two headlines caught my eye. “The tragic plane crash of Senator Johnson Ibitoye and his family has been confirmed.” “Authorities have confirmed the discovery of multiple bodies.” I stopped at that, I haven’t checked the news since the incident. Being the only Johnson alive is no good. Especially when they found out about your father’s shady lifestyle.
I’ve been trying to take my mind away from the last argument I had that prevented me from being on that plane. “You have always been rebellious! The Johnsons aren’t meant to be found in places like that! Regardless of what you think is right or want, there are standards to be met.” Dad yelled at me while I stormed out.
A bitter laugh escaped me. The Johnsons weren’t meant for places like this— the slums. The slum where I live now. I once woke up to crystal chandeliers; now it’s flickering bulbs. What if there’s no tomorrow? After the whole incident and finding out about his stashed cash and every other corrupt activity I don’t even want to think about. It was like running away from the city wasn’t enough; I had to live hidden.
There were days when I wished I was on that plane. That being dead would be better than living as one. Days when I thought there was no tomorrow, days when I hated the name — Johnson. But I had given myself the thought of living. I had fallen in love with the concepts of life, and I am trying to hold on to it regardless.
I had a love-hate relationship with my mother. Sometimes I tried to understand the reason she chose that life, and most times I don’t. It was only better to settle with the thoughts of knowing it was no one’s fault. We often feel like we have the chance to choose our lives and every other step we make, but it’s crystal clear that we’d only choose from the options life throws at us.
I have always been a carefree lady, witty, and rebellious. Now, I have been finding it very hard to tap into that part of me. Even the constant meetings with Miss Mary, my therapist, aren’t anywhere close. But, I know deep down I’m on that path. Slowly adapting to what life throws at me while wanting to make the best out of it.
I stood up from the chair I was sitting in, smiled at the vendor, and continued my walk. The toots and horns from the cars on the tattered streets clouded my ears.
As I walked, the warm sun on my skin reminded me that every day was a chance to start anew. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my past slowly lifting. The haunting question — What if there’s no tomorrow? still lingered but today, I choose to live. With each step, I left behind the shadows of my family’s legacy and the ghosts of my past. I smiled, knowing that Lara Johnson, the carefree, witty, and rebellious woman, was slowly re-emerging. The world ahead was unknown, but I was ready to face it, one day at a time.
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