It’s 11:30 p.m. I’m very tired. I’m in bed, and on the next bed lies my friend, Tina.
We’re barely talking. We’ve been having dinner in silence, too tired to hold a conversation.
Suddenly, she asks, “Why do we work so hard for a life that can end anytime?” Without looking at her, I answered, “Because we have dependents, and we want a good life.”
She pauses for a while and asks again, “You do have a dependent, but what about me? I have none, and I’m not sure I’ll have any anytime soon.”
“But you still have to work. You want the soft life, and you hate begging, right? Then you’ll have to work,” I whispered.
She stayed silent for a few minutes, then asked again, “Imagine working hard for a life that abruptly ends tomorrow? When I’m only 28? Will the hard work still be worth it?” she asked, laughing.
“Yes. At least you’ll rest in heaven or hell knowing you had good things courtesy of working hard,” I said, laughing too.
Her words sank into the silence. I wondered about the unspoken fears in many of us—aging, unfulfilled dreams, purpose, and the loneliness between career achievements and bedtime.
“You’re working so you don’t have to worry about checking your M-Pesa balance every minute. You’re working for the future—for your children and grandchildren. Who likes begging? We have to work. If life ends abruptly tomorrow, it will just be bad luck,” I chuckled.
“You make it sound nice, though it’s pointless sometimes for people like me,” she said, smiling.
I knew how she was feeling because I’ve been there. Days when you get home too tired to cook, too tired to talk, too tired to read anything. The point where you wonder if everything you’re chasing will surely come to pass. This is the point where you question your sweat.
“You know,” I faced her, “my mother said life will never stop because you’re tired or going through pain. She used to work and still have our time—the family time. I used to ask how stressful it was, and she told me that if she stopped to pause, then life would move on without her. There was no time for long resting.”
“This is the biggest problem with life. You continue running whether you’re tired, stressed, or confused. One day, we’ll fall off the tracks,” she laughed so hard.
I thought about Skylar and how I always measure my wealth by how much I can provide for her in the years to come. I thought about her university fees, proper accommodation, and noticed I don’t have time to be tired. I just need to blink twice, and there she’ll be, asking for university fees and rent. I can’t afford to be tired.
“You’re right. We might fall off the tracks because life has no manual, but we’ll be glad we tried.”
She laughed out her heart. “That’s what people say when they’re secretly burned out. I know it.”
“But it’s true. We have a timetable as of now. We work. We rest. We complain. We start again the next morning. But things will fall in place in time—God’s time.”
She sat on her bed, took a bottle of water, and asked, “Do you sometimes feel like you’re losing yourself? Like you work and forget to live? How do you handle that period?”
“Daily. I miss the times I would just sit, do nothing, and feel no guilt. I smoothly go through the phase by writing or talking to friends like you. Talking has been therapeutic. You share your worries and find people going through worse, yet they still encourage you. Somehow, it gives me strength to face another day.”
“That girl that could rest in me was buried in spreadsheets. The current me even forgets to complete a movie.”
We laughed—not a laughter of joy, but a laughter of recognition. The laughter between stressed women who know that laughing will decrease the pain.
We could hear soft cries from the neighbor’s son and a motorbike passing outside. The world was still moving even when we were falling apart in whispers.
“We work hard because we know, deep down, it will make sense. One day, we won’t have to wake up at 5 a.m. because we fear salary deductions or the constant shouting from the manager. We’ll also be able to plan holidays without giving excuses at work. One day is one day,” I said.
“And if it doesn’t, we’ll find peace in the chaos. We’ll survive in any circumstance. We’ll get used to the chaos and call it life,” she whispered.
“I just want to live. Not to survive,” Tina said.
“Then living requires enough money.”
That made her laugh.
“So I can’t live without money?” she asked sarcastically.
“Not in this economy. You won’t even get a husband. No man will look your way if you’re broke,” I said, hiding my face in the pillow while laughing.
She burst out laughing again.
We went into silence—two tired women pretending to be strong at work but now becoming ordinary humans with endless questions.
“Do you feel like quitting?”
“All the time. Then I remember Skylar and the soft life.”
“You’re lucky you have something to push you. Someone depending on you. I feel like I’m working to chase away loneliness. At least I need different people at work who keep my life interesting. No parents, no child, siblings are okay, relatives who took care of us are okay. I literally work to avoid loneliness.”
I turned to her. “It’s the structure. You wake up, go to work, go back home to sleep. Start the next day with the same cycle. Without this, your world will be extremely silent.”
“I have those good moments—when rent is paid on time, people around me are smiling, I don’t have to worry about the price of burgers and milk. That gives me some kind of joy.” She smiled.
Sleep was finally overpowering me. I kept asking myself the question, “Why do we work so hard for a life that could end anytime?”
But then I thought, anytime isn’t today. As long as we’re breathing, we’ll try again tomorrow. This imperfect, boring, unfulfilled day won’t stop us from trying again tomorrow.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “Goodnight.”
She murmured, “Goodnight. Let’s survive again tomorrow.”
And somehow, that felt like a prayer.