A Shot of Yesterday

You know that kind of drink, alcohol i mean, you take that’s not really about enjoyment… but survival?

The “today has shown me pepper” kind of drink. That “let me just reset my brain” kind.

It usually starts innocently, just a shot. Maybe two, but somewhere between the burn in your throat and the warmth in your chest, your mind opens a dusty archive labelled: “University Days – Do Not Revisit.”

Just like that, you’re gone. You are not tipsy or drunk, just… transported.

There’s something about alcohol that doesn’t just warm your throat; it unlocks doors you didn’t even remember closing.

This doesn’t happen every day or with every drink. An evening, after a long, stressful day, when the world has taken its pound of flesh and all you want is “just one shot”, that’s when it happens. One shot becomes two and two becomes “let me just finish this bottle.” Somewhere between the burn and the buzz, your mind quietly slips… backwards.

Suddenly, you’re not here anymore.

You’re back in university.It starts subtly.

A laugh you didn’t expect escapes your lips. Then a memory creeps in, those night classes you attended with zero intention of learning anything. You remember how “seriousness” was a suggestion, not a requirement. You showed up, yes, but your spirit? Completely unavailable.

Somehow, after you had managed to read your own book for almost 2 hours, you felt it was your civic duty to disturb every other person still trying to be responsible.

“Guy, you never tire?” “Mo n ta eko, ewedu ati ekuru to se koko”

“Close that book, joor, life no be exam.”

You were an agent of distraction… and proud of it.

Then the memories get louder. Faces appear, names and situations.

Ah, yes… the “one-night adventures” that felt like harmless fun at the time. No deep thoughts or consequences, just vibes, laughter and stories you and your friends would exaggerate the next day.

Then… that memory. The fear, not the one you felt, but that which others felt because while people whispered about “those guys,” the feared ones and the untouchables. You smiled quietly, knowing you were part of them.

The irony? Half the time, you were just as confused as everyone else.

Then, just when the nostalgia begins to settle into chaos… Music enters. You remember those choir rehearsals.

Now that one hits differently because in the middle of all the madness that defined those university days, there was something pure, structured and almost sacred.

You remember standing there, trying to get your part right, sopranos here, altos there and tenors doing their own gymnastics. Everyone was separate… yet somehow one.

Then comes the song that ties it all together.

Ebenezer Obey’s “Ota mi dehin…” The song that shifts the room.

That particular line, “Victor Odofin, Bello mi Olola…” always lands perfectly. The melody doesn’t just pass through your ears; it settles somewhere deeper. Every part was distinct. Every voice intentional. Yet when it all comes together, it becomes something bigger than the sum of its parts.

Unity, harmony and the kind of beauty you didn’t fully appreciate at the time.

Then…you snap back.

The room returns, the bottle is lighter and the present is waiting.

You sit there for a moment, smiling, half-amused and half reflective because alcohol didn’t just make you drink.

It made you remember not just the fun and chaos… but the foolishness and community.

It reminds you of not just who you were… but how far you’ve come.

The quiet truth is …maybe that’s one of alcohol’s most underrated effects.

It doesn’t only loosen your body, it loosens time and brings back versions of you that you’ve outgrown, outlived or maybe… still carry in small pieces.

Sometimes, that’s not a bad thing because, in remembering, you measure growth. In laughing at your past, you understand your present and in those soft, unexpected moments of nostalgia, you realise:

You were wild and unserious, yet you lived and had fun.