Codes and Coffee

Codes and Coffee

Olasunkanmi Igbasan's photo
Olasunkanmi Igbasan
·Dec 4, 2022·

2 min read

It was past midnight, 1:30 AM to be exact. Sitting across from me on the glass-topped dining table was my brother-in-law. We’d been up all night while he tested a company’s security system for vulnerabilities. I sat across from him, juggling between codes and coffee.
Right there, I realised, sitting across from me was a glance of whom I would become in a few years, that would still be me staying up all night again. A father and Husband (probably) but older for sure.

We are frequently so fixated on who we want to be that we lose sight of practically everything and everyone else; Like people who would always admire us for who we are and those who would make sure we never have as much as a scowl on our faces.

“My corner,” I murmured to myself. A place where I can simply appreciate and ponder on everything around me, and especially document the steady fucks life might keep dumping on me, every quiet loss confined in the walls of my domain, the long-waited wins, the less deserving ones and greatest of them all, the epiphany that escorts every heartbreak.

And lastly, as a writer, who lost that hat once, that empty, feeling like the God of thunder without Mjollnir. So was I, helpless. Words failed me; metaphors would not budge to my call but not anymore.

Welcome to Cracked Ink.

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