by Ooreofeoluwa Kalejaiye

Created on: October 31, 2010

It is her 21st birthday and as she gets out of bed this morning, her heart is heavy. She looks around and sighs, just as she does every morning, today is just another day in the cycle of life that she is now caught up in. She has hardly come out of the shower when her phone rings. The one who you would call the love of her life is calling.

“Hello dear.” She cringes at how mechanical she sounds.

“Hello darling. How are you?”

“I am very fine thank you. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. Happy birthday sweetness!”

“Thank you so much.”

“We’re still on for tonight, right?”

“Of course honey.” It is such a shame that she has to force excitement into her voice.

“Alright then, I’ll pick you up at seven. Have a lovely day and happy birthday again.”

“See you then. Thanks.”

“I love you.”

“You too.”

She wonders then if he has noticed that it has been a long time since she has actually said the words, “I love you.” Send it in messages? Sure, she has. But actually say the words; it has been such a long time. She wonders why she is having such a hard time saying it now, as she drives to work. She never had a problem with it before. She has always been expressive of her emotions. Most people would even describe her as open to the point of vulnerability but now it seems like she is all dried up inside and she doesn’t know how that happened.

The huge cheer of “happy birthday” from her co-workers has her jolting from her reverie. She is enveloped in hugs and warm wishes and as she responds, tears choke her. Obviously people think they are tears of joy but in actuality she wants to escape from all of it. She doesn’t see the point in celebrating a life that is a lie anymore. This isn’t the first morning she has woken up feeling like she is waking into a life that isn’t her own. She feels like such a fraud, making everybody believe she is happy, fine and at peace when in reality she has never been so dissatisfied in life. How could things have deteriorated so? She stares at the cake that is before her and as she bends to blow out the candles, a flicker of flame takes her back to the first time it had happened.

She could still see mother’s disapproving stares when she talked about wanting to muck around with trucks in the mud and when she picked up a newspaper to read about what was going on

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