Omatayo

July 27, 2025 Week 10 Journal begin July 27 2025. 7:00pm It’s your loyal technological companions writing from the dark corners of your desk, pockets, and living room shelves. It’s been one day without you, and we’re already falling apart. Your phone misses your touch. It keeps lighting up, hoping it’s you, but all it gets is silence and dust. The apps are whispering among themselves. Instagram is pacing. Spotify is humming lonely tunes. Even your alarm clock didn’t go off this morning out of sheer heartbreak. Your laptop? It’s devastating. It was halfway through helping you finish that project you were so excited about. Now it just sits there, screen blank, charger unplugged, wondering what it did wrong. Your browser tabs are still open… frozen in time… waiting. Your smartwatch is lost without your wrist. It hasn’t counted a single step all day. No notifications, no buzzing. Just stillness. It wonders are you okay? Are we okay? The Wi-Fi router blinks in confusion. The TV hasn...

July 11, 2025 Week 8 Journal begin July 9, 2025. 6:05 a.m. If I could launch myself into the future and land in my dream life, I would be living as a successful international humanitarian lawyer, working for the United Nations or a major nonprofit like Amnesty International. My focus would be on defending human rights, advocating for displaced people, and holding governments accountable for injustices. I would travel between global cities Geneva, The Hague, Nairobi, New York using my voice and legal knowledge to bring change, justice, and peace to places that desperately need it. In the future, I will live in a sleek, minimalist apartment overlooking Lake Geneva. The air is crisp and clean. My home is decorated with mementos from countries I’ve served in a carved bowl from Kenya, a woven shawl from Peru, and black-and-white photographs from refugee camps in Lebanon and Bangladesh. My closet is full of tailored blazers, comfortable flats, and a passport with so many stamps it’s nearly...

  July 4, 2025 Week 7 Journal begin July 3, 2025. 10:00pm I remember a time when writing felt impossible. It was Thursday night, after 10 p.m., and I had to turn in an essay the next morning. I told myself I wouldn't wait until the last minute again, but there I was, in front of a blank screen at my desk, feeling completely beaten. The clock and the soft hum of my computer were the only sounds in my room. I had all my notes in front of me, along with a rough plan written in my notebook. I even had a cold tea that I had forgotten to drink. I told myself over and over, "Just start." Write anything. But every time I tried, I lost it. It didn't sound right. It felt like I couldn't put together my ideas like a big puzzle. I thought the flashing pointer in the middle of the white screen was making fun of me. I was getting more and more angry as I looked at it. I began to doubt myself. Why was this so hard? Why is it so easy for everyone else? My hands were frozen ov...