So here I am on the rickety wooden bridge where every shaky step takes me further away from my days of being a girl, of barefoot running on meadows chasing butterflies circling the flowers in my hair, and another step closer to being a woman, of bosoms heavy with responsibilities, overflowing with possibilities.
It is a hard lesson to learn, graduating at the highest of tiers of formal education, to find not the promised land of fulfilled dreams dancing on white marble floors but me on all fours on grimy linoleum grounds, a paddle scrub in hand. The ivory tower in the clouds hovers above me and I inspect the winding stairs leading up to it, most of it obscured by shadows and thunderous clouds, virtually vertical.
It hurts my neck, holding my head up to keep my gaze upon the tower of dreams, which then hurt my eyes. I take a deep breath, keep my head down and scrub the steps that will pave my way to the tower up in my clouds.