Summer is that time of the year when people brag about where they’ve been to, what they did, how they lived through it—and other things that never made sense to me. Well, they’re nonsensical for the following reasons: first, I am not adventurous—introverted even; second, I have an aversion to such a daunting season. I can list so many reasons, and you would be convinced, but I am afraid this mere page won’t sustain my words. To brevity I must obey.

So, dear reader, bear with me, for I shall give you slight insights on how I desperately looked for something to numb my routine. It was indeed unbearable.

I woke up at eleven in the morning, sun blazing half of the room I shared with my little sister. I would sleep longer than that, only my body wouldn’t bear the torment of mid-July hot air. I live 83 Kilometers away from the coast. My hometown is such a small city compared to Kénitra; hence the lack of entertainment, a ghost town indeed. My day consisted of having my elementary needs realized, that is, eating, sleeping, and going out at night. Take away these three, and I’d have probably died of boredom and loneliness. Sometimes, a call from a friend was enough to pull me out of my misery. At times I was conditioned by my context. I had in mind so many books to read, yet all I did was look at their covers, read the prologue, and put them back on the shelf—doomed to eternal forsaking.

What depressed me most was not the fact that I was surrounded with so many disadvantages. But it was my inability to turn the tables. I witnessed my weakness triumphing. Could I ever do something about it? No. Dared I change? No. I questioned my incapacity, yet all I heard were echoes of my own voice, weak as it was. I wasn’t in need of a wakeup call. I needed a punch in the guts. I had that—figuratively I mean. You’d expect me to get up on my feet and try again as in a Superhero movie. Well, no. That was not the case. Reality is harsher than how a Hollywood director portrays it to you! I cringed, and on the ground I remained, lying still. Had I enough experience, I’d have done something about it.

July ended, and I had to prepare for a catch-up exam. There was no set date. Maybe it was not worth it, I thought. Yes, it was not. I was never into linguistics. I let it be. I did not prepare. I was in no mood. In fact, I struggled with having the right mood. Apparently, mood and I are sworn enemies. See, the more I repeat the word, the farther it goes from my reach. My back hurt because of arching down to reach my laptop. My bones hurt, too. The pain did not detract me from thinking of my routine. I was caged in a never-ending loop. I tried to numb it. I played video games. They helped for a short period. At sunset, I took a shower and went out. I strolled through the city passively, a corpse walking among the living.

I sat on a bench and pondered, “How could all these people be this happy?” I asked, “Have they been through this before now that they made it in one piece?” Sometimes I’d spot a beautiful girl, pull myself together to go talk to her, and then I’d immediately convince myself that it was redundant. When I was done thinking, I brought my phone from my pocket—the magic wand that alleviated my pain. I went straight to my favorite platform, Reddit. I browsed through hundreds of pictures, articles, podcasts, and many an endless world.

On my back home, thinking of that melancholy routine, I rushed to the nearest coffeehouse, ordered my typical pot of tea, gulped it, then hit the road again. I stood before the house’s door. I grabbed the keys, unlocked the door, sighed, and was absorbed by the rifeness of Darkness the house withheld.

 

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