The simple art of spending my afternoons

A short story of all the promising lies I have been told since birth.

My afternoons were always mine. Till they weren't. And no, I am not bitter about it. Much.

I believe my need for peace in the middle of the day started in my mother's womb. Growing up, I saw my mother running around, doing one thing or another. So, I guess I hardly found time to rest between developing and kicking her stomach to let me out.

Nobody bothered me when I used to cry. They preferred my silence during the day.

I was even given free rein to do as I liked after school. Till evening. Four hours before I had to rush to extra tuitions.

I wish I could tell you that I played in the ground with my friends and came back with mud stains all over my dress that my mother lovingly washed off. But, after lunch, I preferred sleeping.

If I woke up earlier than the time it would take me to go running, I would spend it in front of the television with my grandmother. She loved watching reruns of her daily soaps, and I loved the shiny clothes the women wore, even while sleeping.

Sometimes, she argued with my mother to let me stay home so that I could keep massaging her feet. My mother sighed and went back. I earned a wink from the old lady, who pushed her feet on my lap as payment. I didn't mind.

I had to give it up when I reached the ninth standard. The preparation for board exams had to start. It would decide my future. The classes increased in number. Most days, I had lunch while preparing for my first tuition of the three.

By the night, I was too tired to do anything but eat and sleep.

I only endured the pain because my mother told me, "You just have to pass your school, then you will be free to do whatever you want."

She lied.

When I went away to the hostel for college, I had my first taste of love. He studied in my class. The romance lasted three months.

Most of the days were spent arguing because I didn't want to spend time with him after classes. I suggested a very logical alternative of meeting in the evenings till my curfew at ten. He slept early and refused.

My roommate told me it wouldn't happen with another one if I tried.

She lied.

I didn't bother again after the third one had the same problem.

I went back to my room for my nap. Daily soaps gave way to Netflix until I discovered the pleasure of reading. Now, I would not lie to you about what I read. It was not my course books. I would have topped my class if I had, and it was not the classic literature books my friends discussed over coffee at night. It was billionaire romance on Wattpad. Till I discovered that I could download more stuff illegally.

I took up a job as a teacher near my college and the time for myself reduced under the responsibilities of cooking for myself. The two hours I had were often spent searching for recipes online till I got perfect in it and got my time back. I should have never boasted about it to my parents.

They started searching for a suitable husband for me. I told them in the first meeting, I wanted the noons to myself. They laughed till they realized from my straight face, I was serious. It was my husband who asked in a teasing tone if he could have my mornings. I said yes to him, and my parents when they asked how this date went.

We got married, and I kept my job till I was pregnant with my first child. She kicked my bladder too much and only behaved when her father was around, much to his amusement.

He told me everything would be fine when she would grace us with her presence.

He lied.

My mother asked me to take up my job again when my daughter joined the school. She thought I would get bored at home. I politely declined. We were good with my husband's income.

But the reason was there would not be any time left for me.

I used to get free at one after all my household duties. By then, I had to get my dear back. The little angel talked the whole way back, and feeding her took me two more hours. I would have liked her to fall asleep, but she seldom did. She didn't take after me.

I would not agree that I put her in different creative classes for selfish reasons. She had too much energy that had to be channeled. My husband agreed. He picked her up when he came back from office.

My favorite authors continued to churn out new books every year and I promised myself every night that come next afternoon I would start a book from my wish list.

I lied.

I got too tired after dropping my daughter off. Now, I only sleep in the daytime if I don't work. I wish I had more time.

Maybe the writers have time after the noon to do as they please. Maybe they read for leisure, watch shows or sleep. They can always write in the evenings. Maybe, I should have been one.

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If you are still confused, this piece is fiction. I am a writer, and I am not free in the noons as much as I would like to be.

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