Today is Thursday. I'm dreading the night mainly because of the aftermath- a very messy kitchen, quite smelly corridors and grumpy cleaners.
My first semester of Uni, I must say, wasn't at all what I had anticipated. I remember coaching myself mentally, preparing for the hard times to come, having an escape plan in case of a metaphoric fire and a Plan B if that didn’t work. Anyway, as it happened, my plan B wasn't well premeditated, lacking enough detail to guide me through smoky situations. All it had inscribed on it was “RUN”.
Thursday nights are Mercy Nights- when students get free entry into an over-hyped nightclub. As that isn’t my cup of tea, I tend to stay indoors, watching a movie or trying to catch up with work- the latter being more frequent. The reason I dread these nights is because my flatmates have a pre-party, a chaotic one, where over 10 people squeeze into our kitchen, blast the music through the roof and scream at the top of their lungs in chants for Keisha* to drink up a concoction of weirdly coloured and vile tasting drinks. That, again, is not my cup of tea.
Occasionally I walk in on them, to grab a bite from the fridge, secretly checking they haven’t killed anyone’s liver yet, and tell them to turn Ellie Goulding’s ‘Starry Eyed’ down a little as the bass is too loud, overriding my own heartbeat. They usually listen, in an attempt to act towards establishing ‘a warm and friendly atmosphere for all to live in’ until the next week when the cycle continues.
It’s not those times I dread. It’s when they get back from the escapades, when I am tucked away in my bed in my cosy room. As I am the lightest sleeper in the world (or so I think), every sound startles me. It is when they are back form Mercy, and all out to relive the night with no compassion on the rest of us who have early starts the next day. It’s sad enough I have to live the warmth of my room for a fifteen-minute walk in the freezing cold to a lecture, even worse is that I have to do it with little or no sleep.
I’m not one to complain- usually. But in the past couple of months, I have filled the ears of those willing to listen of my plight. These gatherings of the flatties and friends are becoming more regular and I have sought help from those who have once been in my position. “It will fade away, no one has time for parties in the 2nd semester” some have said. “What do I do till then?” I would ask in turn to get the reply, “Just chill”.
Days of chilling passed so quickly and patience wasn’t slow in running out. It wasn’t until I remembered a Bible passage where Paul or Peter asks us to not complain, so we could shine as bright lights in this world. Surely, God must see this; He must see that I am fighting hard against walking up to those parties and tearing them down violently. He must see that I am striving to keep my calm, making all effort not to go crazy on the girl screaming right outside my door at 4:30am. If not for the gift of self-control, I could speak to her in a language she wouldn't understand, using words that could hurt greater than any battering. But I don’t want to get even; I want to be higher.
I’ve had to shrink my ego down a lot; I’d usually find this kind of thing insulting and disrespectful. My mini-me is very patient. However, I’ve taken time to realise that they are not trying to get me upset; actually, they are upset that I am upset with them. They would love me to have fun with them and not to be a kill-joy or a nag. I hate to be one, but I have my priorities set.
So when next I am boiling inside, considering loading my gun to shoot at my flatties with harsh words, I’ll sit for a while to cool down, scream into my pillow, push my ear-plugs in tighter and wait till morning before dishing out a piece of my mind, calmly.
It’s now 3:48am, the corridor is filled with roars of laughter. I sit up at the edge of my bed and take deep breaths waiting for all to calm down. Screaming girl takes the stage. I just can’t stand her.
“Shut up and get out of my flat” I say.
My first semester of Uni, I must say, wasn't at all what I had anticipated. I remember coaching myself mentally, preparing for the hard times to come, having an escape plan in case of a metaphoric fire and a Plan B if that didn’t work. Anyway, as it happened, my plan B wasn't well premeditated, lacking enough detail to guide me through smoky situations. All it had inscribed on it was “RUN”.
Thursday nights are Mercy Nights- when students get free entry into an over-hyped nightclub. As that isn’t my cup of tea, I tend to stay indoors, watching a movie or trying to catch up with work- the latter being more frequent. The reason I dread these nights is because my flatmates have a pre-party, a chaotic one, where over 10 people squeeze into our kitchen, blast the music through the roof and scream at the top of their lungs in chants for Keisha* to drink up a concoction of weirdly coloured and vile tasting drinks. That, again, is not my cup of tea.
Occasionally I walk in on them, to grab a bite from the fridge, secretly checking they haven’t killed anyone’s liver yet, and tell them to turn Ellie Goulding’s ‘Starry Eyed’ down a little as the bass is too loud, overriding my own heartbeat. They usually listen, in an attempt to act towards establishing ‘a warm and friendly atmosphere for all to live in’ until the next week when the cycle continues.
It’s not those times I dread. It’s when they get back from the escapades, when I am tucked away in my bed in my cosy room. As I am the lightest sleeper in the world (or so I think), every sound startles me. It is when they are back form Mercy, and all out to relive the night with no compassion on the rest of us who have early starts the next day. It’s sad enough I have to live the warmth of my room for a fifteen-minute walk in the freezing cold to a lecture, even worse is that I have to do it with little or no sleep.
I’m not one to complain- usually. But in the past couple of months, I have filled the ears of those willing to listen of my plight. These gatherings of the flatties and friends are becoming more regular and I have sought help from those who have once been in my position. “It will fade away, no one has time for parties in the 2nd semester” some have said. “What do I do till then?” I would ask in turn to get the reply, “Just chill”.
Days of chilling passed so quickly and patience wasn’t slow in running out. It wasn’t until I remembered a Bible passage where Paul or Peter asks us to not complain, so we could shine as bright lights in this world. Surely, God must see this; He must see that I am fighting hard against walking up to those parties and tearing them down violently. He must see that I am striving to keep my calm, making all effort not to go crazy on the girl screaming right outside my door at 4:30am. If not for the gift of self-control, I could speak to her in a language she wouldn't understand, using words that could hurt greater than any battering. But I don’t want to get even; I want to be higher.
I’ve had to shrink my ego down a lot; I’d usually find this kind of thing insulting and disrespectful. My mini-me is very patient. However, I’ve taken time to realise that they are not trying to get me upset; actually, they are upset that I am upset with them. They would love me to have fun with them and not to be a kill-joy or a nag. I hate to be one, but I have my priorities set.
So when next I am boiling inside, considering loading my gun to shoot at my flatties with harsh words, I’ll sit for a while to cool down, scream into my pillow, push my ear-plugs in tighter and wait till morning before dishing out a piece of my mind, calmly.
It’s now 3:48am, the corridor is filled with roars of laughter. I sit up at the edge of my bed and take deep breaths waiting for all to calm down. Screaming girl takes the stage. I just can’t stand her.
“Shut up and get out of my flat” I say.
But I’m still sat on the edge of my bed. Mini-me is holding me back.
Feyi! I love this so much and I feel your pain, even though I do go out, my flat mates are just as inconsiderate except they're not popular enough to have flatparties but they come back and talk outside my door about how great their night was, one night they even re-enacted an event that happened that night and kicked my door, dw, just one more semester, and we'll get through it by Gods grace x
ReplyDeletefeyi am impressed once again u know am one of your biggest fan lol. I endeavour to read all your writings . A well written piece i must say which we can all relate to funny enough especially if u live or have lived in student halls of residence lol .well done doll.x ronke odumosu
ReplyDeleteOne of my big reasons for moving out of the dorms was because private rooms weren't available any longer and I'd just about had enough of roommates.
ReplyDeleteWhen you finally snap, everyone will say they never imagined it (not that I hope you do, ok maybe mini-me hopes you do).
Lula, I'm glad you feel my pain. Amen, we'll get through it!
ReplyDeleteThanks Ronke, I'll try not to disappoint you.
Azuka, I've had enough as well. Sadly, I don't really have the choice of moving out yet. I hope I don't snap because if I do, it's not going to be pretty. Lol.
I've been on both sides of the proverbial fence in this one and there really is only one thing to do ..... SUCK IT UP!!!
ReplyDeleteLook for the funny side and laugh your heart out instead of bottling it all up and waiting for the day you explode, try preparing for it so sleep in the afternoon on Thursday and when they come round later at night you're not that tired .... go out to the kitchen and hang with them listen to their stories, tell them yours drink orange juice while the work on destroying their livers .... trust me its a lot easier to make some listen to reason when they see as "just another student who doesn't drink" than the weird chic next door. Besides its fun waking people up at 4am especially when you know they wont find it funny .... Trust me, Ive done it ... lol