Retracing My Way Back from the 9 to 5

"Now, it is 9am and I am not rushing."

I fell in love on a Monday in a classroom full of 15-year-olds.Our high school teacher told us to write a 700-word essay

about The Book of Mythology

I fell in love on a Monday,

In a classroom full of 15-year-olds.

Our high school teacher told us to write a 700-word essay

about The Book of Mythology.

The entire class groaned but I was electrified.

30 minutes in and I had flown past the 700-word mark:

I was Venus, I was Oedipus, I was Zeus

Pulling the strings of the world on top of Mt. Olympus.

By the end of that hour,

My paper was brimming, spilling over—

I knew I had found the one.

My father used to say that when a dream calls

The only thing to do is answer.

So at 19, I packed my bags.

Traded my dusty small town for big city concrete

Where 30-story glass and stone giants stared at me from every corner.

The city was in constant motion.

I thought I had found the gods.

But it was the wrong mountain.

People walked in lines like colonies of ants

Working for their queens

Stocking up for the rainy season.

There was no shelter for the stories

That spoke the language of my life.

I sold my lines for a living

Taught to make people believe not in their own beauty

But in creams that make skin whiter

Pills that make weight lighter

Treatments that make you look younger

There's a fist in my chest protesting every line.

The question of “Can I?”

Turned into “How could I?”

It took me years.

The fear of empty dining table and unpaid bills

Cornered me into believing

That it was the only way to go.

But what is there to lose

When I had gained nothing

But a false sense of security?

If the lies on the page

Are now heavier than the coins in my pocket?

There was no escape for me

Because I didn’t need one.

The good thing about being lost

Is that every turn could be the right way.

See, all we need to get out of a maze

Is to retrace it.

I want what Icarus must have felt the moment

He lifted off the ground

Each burst taking him higher and higher

Wings gliding, drowning out all noise of fear—

I want the sun.

I bet Icarus would’ve done it all again

Even if it meant flames swallowing his skin

And the sea swallowing what’s left of him

Because at the moment of flight

There was nothing standing between him

And the heavens.

So I returned to where it all started.

Now, it is 9am and I am not rushing.

I sit in my own desk

All set to write lines that are all mine.

There are no more strings

Just me, my hand guiding the pen,

My paper brimming, spilling over—

I am finally answering the call.