The Reality Check After School

I guess we’ve all fantasized of how we visualize our life after school. At all stages of our education we’ve had ambiguous expectations, though reality is one hell of a stroke we don’t wish to slap us.

You are in the lecture hall, earlier than before on a chilly Monday morning. Not to forget it’s drizzling and your hood is soaking wet. Just because you don’t stay in the school hostel or a rented house near your campus. You commute.

Let me guess. Your parents made the decision for you. They have been to campus before – they have their fears of their 1900s experiences being a replica. What can I say, the love of cautious parents?

The lectures are not really interesting, assignments and projects have become your daily routine to work on.

You picture and document your life after school more pleasant than the lavender freshener. You repeat the same fantasies over and over until you matrix your brain to form a reality in it.

You see yourself finding an internship. Not really being an intern rather finding a job because you feel you are ripe and have the capabilities to be in the corporate world.

You see yourself earning right after campus, moving out, being more independent, buy your first car and house at twenty-three, finding a partner then a baby. You feel the happiness of finally having your own family with a fulfilling career that has always been your hobby.

Absurd. Actuality hits you. Right after your graduation.

Your village neighbor passes every 11:00-ish in the morning, staring at you. You might confuse his stare to a person dying for a Goodmorning greeting. Truth be told he’s wondering what you are still doing at home while other graduates are in the city looking for jobs. Some land into part-time jobs that are not even related to their baccalaureate.

Your aunts and uncles call your siblings or parents, they start it with a delightful conversation. That flows to “nani sikuhizi anafanya nini.” For a girl they all ask about her fiancĂ© and remind her of the biological clock.

Your church pastors and elders rant why you’re not praying for deliverance. They even seek to visit your home. Assuming there could be an evil spirit gripping to your success.

Well, you block your ears and keep up with the drive of job hunting. Your CVs are almost in every company. The receptionists in town are now fond of your face. Until they call each other just to confirm if “kawaida” has shown up.

Finally your prayers are answered. You research how to dress up for an interview, get your clothes ready and your cologne.
You don’t want to look like the problem itself, you improvise your broke looks to that of a Chief Executive Officer.

You get started, it seems like the job everyone wants, including yourself. You act like you love it in the name of passion being your number one rule.

It gets too much, the pressure, the toxic boss, the sleepless nights, late night shifts and detachment from family. You are left empty and unable to deliver. The one thing that was supposed to give you the happiness is engrossing you.

You reconsider the people around you. Their support and happiness, but your mental health denies you the power to sacrifice your soul.

You now get yourself to another stage of answering queries. Since you dumped the only job that was meant to be your breakthrough and those around you. You wish to get the job back but you left a dent at your work place and their ego can’t accommodate your return.

The consequences of prioritizing your mental stability sends you back to square one – tarmacking. A place you swore never to go back to.

You wish to make people understand where you’re coming from but all they can see is dissapointment.

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