You walk into your house quietly, walk straight into your room and you sit at the edge of your bed. The mess you made just before you anxiously went out on the date is just as you left it.
You stand up, walk to the mirror and stare at your face. You touch your lips. They feel very swollen but they look only slightly swollen. You arch your eyebrows and begin to laugh uncontrollably. You laugh not because you look silly arching your eyebrows but because you realize James is a fool.
You know how your breath stinks when you wake up. Very disgusting. You know how your armpit itches and itches two days after you shave them. You know how you drool all over the pillow whenever you’re tired. You know how your hair stinks when you remove your extensions. No, even when they’re on. You know how annoying the ‘kraw-kraw’ sound you make when your throat itches is. You know how you violently pick your nose when no one’s watching. You know how terrible you are at making Indomie. It seems strange to most people.
You know how you like to keep everywhere disorganized when you’re stressed. You know how you take advantage of people when you know they like you. You know how you can’t help but gossip sometimes. You know that you’re not so excited about children and their ‘cuteness’. In fact, most children are not so cute to you. You know how you make up funny names for people in your head.
You know about most of your radical nonsensical opinions like how you think that even if it means they hawk, little children should at a tender age, start to support their parents financially. You know it does not make sense to most people, but really, you can’t see past the correctness of that opinion. You know how you bite your nails until they hurt and how you like to stay up all night humming all your favorite songs. ‘Annoying behavior’, your sister had told you.
You know how you throw up (not purposely) if you eat anything foreign. And by foreign, you mean any un-Yoruba food. You know about your terrible mood swings (not even PMS) where sometimes you dish out hurtful words to people who don’t even deserve it and sometimes you just keep quiet and ignore everyone.
You know how terrible you sing. You know how you almost always forget that something’s on fire. You almost always burn your food. You know how you avoid discussing with people because you’re very sure you’re quite shallow. You don’t know much. You know enough to get you B’s and C’s in school though.
You know all these things (and a bunch of others). You’re not perfect. No one is. But you’re not even making efforts to be. You’re probably the worst person you know… because you know you.
You look again in the mirror, this time, scared and sober. You think back to your date this night; the best you’ve ever had; with the most gentle, most gracious, kindest and most loving person – James. Opposite of everything you are. Every micro frame of the night plays in your head.
Night (felt like eternity).
Ever (you’re very sure it was a stroke of luck… never to be replicated).
You feel the tears on your tender lips…
…and you wonder, ‘What does it even mean to love me… me?’