Mathree Mondays & Prayer Lists.
Monday morning. Counting every damn minute — not for a promotion or a miracle — just for this mathree to finally reach my stage. If you know, you know. That awkward sit-like-you’re-ready-to-jump position? Yeah, that one. Because with the way the seats are hanging by a thread and the fleas possibly hosting a conference under your thighs, you stay ready so you don't have to get ready. The conductor? Red-eyed. Bruised lower lip. Smells like he's been wrestling his weekend. And yet, the audacity to demand fare like we’ll vanish through windows! Midway through, the driver hears there’s a police crackdown ahead. Man mumbles something in mother tongue. I don’t blame him. That mathree couldn’t survive a body inspection. We alight. A mess. Trying to get my change back from a half-drunk conductor feels like asking Pharaoh for a quick release from Egypt. The insults! I give up. Write it off. I choose peace. But wait. Didn’t I promise myself a good Monday? I remember yesterda...