It’s Sunday morning. 

Pamela stretches on her bed while turning from one side to another, disturbed by the light rays passing through her window. The sun is up already. She opens her eyes, stretches her hand out to pick up her phone, it shouldn’t be far from her, it never is. It’s already 8:00 am. She drops the phone on the bed and proceeds to close her eyes. This time, it’s not sleep, it’s the mandatory ten minutes of silence she observes every morning before she begins her day.

She’s already sitting in front of her desk. Unfinished work on her laptop, little notes in her notebook, messy bun, and pencil in her hair; she’s already in the thick of it. She needs a snack, something to help the ideas flow, maybe even overflow. After two to three hours of intense work, she proceeds to eat something proper. She doesn’t feel like cooking today, so she decides to order something. She watches a movie while eating and when she’s done, she’s back on her bed, for her mandatory midday nap.

Something’s different today. She can’t sleep. Instead, her mind wanders through memory lane, various points in her life that had a massive impact on who she has become today. On her way to sleep, she’s arrested by the intrusive claws of nostalgia. Sunday mornings weren’t always as peaceful as this when she was younger, living in her parents’ house. Sunday mornings used to be quite different. 

It’s Sunday morning. 

“Pamela! Pamela!” Her mum would yell her name until she was forced to wake up.

"I hope you’re done bathing oo… start wearing your clothes” Pamela would hear this while still lying down on her bed. 

She would jump out of her bed and enter the bathroom in a flash. She would have to bath with cold water as there was no time to get hot water. This was one of her least favorite parts of Sunday mornings. She would chase her dad’s car as he was driving out of the compound, and she was only able to make it in time because she held her shoes in her hands, she would wear them in the car. 

After church, she didn’t always have the luxury of a midday nap. She only had enough time to change into her casual clothes and report back to the kitchen as fast as possible. She would help her mum finish up the cooking they had started the previous night. She didn’t always have the luxury of ordering food when she didn’t have the strength to cook. Even after cooking, she was always the last person to eat as she would have to tidy up the kitchen. 

Life had changed a lot for Pamela. Sunday mornings had changed a lot for Pamela. 

The time for her midday nap is up and she has to go back to work. She’s a ghostwriter and her deadline is fast approaching.