Emory Allenalite

You’re standing in a foreign airport at 9 p.m., hungry and exhausted, scanning menus you can’t read (wondering) if “vegetarian option” means tofu or just…

You’ve stood there before. Map in hand. No GPS chirping. Just wind, dust, and the quiet hum of not knowing what’s around the next bend.

You’ve spent three hours comparing flights. Then two more on hotels. Then you opened Airbnb and closed it again because your head hurt. I’ve been there.

I hate beach chairs. Not the chairs themselves. I mean the idea. The expectation that a vacation has to be passive to count. You want something real.

You’re scrolling. Again. Another tab. Another glossy photo of a beach you’ll never actually walk on. That’s not what you want. You want Lagos.

You showed up at the airport confident. Then got stopped. Questioned. Told your paperwork wasn’t right. I’ve seen it happen fifty times this year alone.

That Sunday afternoon feeling hits hard. You stare at your phone. No plans. No excitement.

You’ve stared at that booking page for twelve minutes. Same vague description. Same blurry photo of a beach you’ll probably never see.

You’re stuck. Not lost. Not confused. Stuck (like) you’re holding a map with no legend and no north arrow. I’ve seen it a hundred times.