It is a big day for Londoners and an even bigger day for me, an African student studying in the heart of the city. The streets are buzzing with anticipation and excitement as people from all around the world converge to witness history in the making.
I had set my alarm for an ungodly hour just to make sure I didn’t miss a beat and hopped out of bed with the energy of a thousand suns. After that, I made my way to the living room where my flatmates were already tuned in to the telly. The TV was on full blast, and the commentators were rattling off names and titles that I didn’t understand.
But none of that mattered because the moment I saw the King’s carriage roll by, I lost my cool. I started whooping and hollering like a banshee, much to the confusion of my flatmates who were clearly not as invested in this momentous occasion as I was.
“Come on guys, show some respect for the King!” I exclaimed, as I jumped up and down on the couch.
My flatmates exchanged a knowing glance and rolled their eyes at my over-enthusiasm, but I couldn’t help it. This was history in the making, and I was living it, I am so close to this beautiful royal event!
As the ceremony continued, I found myself getting more and more invested in the proceedings — I cheered as the trumpets blared and the soldiers marched by and clapped along to the hymns that were being sung.
But then, disaster struck. Just as the crown was about to place on the Kings’s head, the TV suddenly went black.
“Nooooo!” I wailed, frantically pounding the remote control in frustration.
But then, as if by divine intervention, the TV suddenly sprang back to life, and there he was – the King, resplendent in his crown, waving to the adoring crowds.
I let out a whoop of joy, and my flatmates just shook their heads and chuckled at my antics. But I didn’t care. In that moment, I was just caught up in the excitement and pageantry of a royal coronation.