Finding me

You know that feeling when you're alone in a room filled with loved ones, and then the least expected person comes along and brightens your day? Yeah, that's not my story. Well, not entirely.

My name is Arya Willows, and ever since I can remember, I've always felt alone in the midst of family, friends, course mates, and even in a bus station.

I'm Nigerian by birth, but I'm based in the United States. Growing up, my parents always kept us locked indoors except when we were going to school or church, two places we never played around with. They said the world was a wicked place, where people did bad things to others, and even worse things to people with my skin colour. Apparently, this skin colour was once associated with slavery many years ago, before it was abolished. However, some people still wouldn't let it go because, apparently, it was fun to them.

---

"Mum!" My little brother, Edward, yelled as he ran down the stairs. "I can't find my socks!"

He walked into the kitchen with his school shoes in his right hand. He stood there as though he expected my mum to pull a pair of socks out of the pot currently on the fire.

"It's your socks, not ours. Get them where you left them," my mum answered without looking away from the pot of rice on the fire.

"I washed and hung them, but I didn't see them there," he replied, scratching his head.

"Then check on top of my head. You might find them there," my mum retorted.

She covered the pot and handed me the dirty utensils to wash. I think my brother finally got the message because he left the kitchen in frustration.

That was his third failed attempt to get new socks from my mum. Apparently, he liked looking neat, but he wouldn't clean up after himself.

My other brother, Evan, the third child in the family, was way too cunning. He could never get caught up in situations like this. My older sister and I had noticed certain patterns that suggested he was my mum's favourite. If he had asked for those socks, he probably would have gotten them.

---

I walked into my room and plopped down on the bed, staring at the pink walls while thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

I finally picked up my phone. I had no new texts from anyone, and I wasn't the slightest bit surprised. This was a feeling I knew all too well.

I really was alone.

I closed my eyes, trying to sleep, but I'd just woken up from a nap. I stood up, hoping to move my body or do something. I really was bored.

I walked downstairs. Since I was home alone, I figured I might as well do things I wasn't usually allowed to do. I might be seventeen, but what's wrong with being a child for a day, huh?

I grabbed my dad's music box, connected it to my phone via Bluetooth, and played 7 rings by Ariana Grande. The volume was low, but loud enough to be heard throughout the entire house.

I stood in the middle of the living room, pretending I'd created that masterpiece and was holding a concert. My private concert.

I sang along to How You Like That by BLACKPINK, 2002 by Anne-Marie, and Girls Like You by Maroon 5 featuring Cardi B.

At some point, the music started sounding like noise, and I hadn't even made it halfway through my playlist.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep. I just didn't want to stay awake.

I stood up, turned off the music, and returned to my room to sleep.

---

Dinner went well, to an extent, but it was nothing different from a normal Willows family dinner, except that this time, my name was part of the quarrel-like conversation my parents were having.

"What do you mean by that? Please explain better," my mum said in a very hostile tone.

"I mean exactly what you heard. She's not attending any university here. She's going back to her motherland," my dad said before stuffing a spoonful of jollof rice into his mouth.

I was instantly reminded of the time I'd cut my finger while absentmindedly chopping onions. I clearly remembered begging my mum to get a chopping board to avoid incidents like that.

She would always reply, "Cut your hand. The blood makes the meal better," or, "Those cuts show you've been well trained to be a woman."

This always annoyed me.

"Our people are bringing their children here to study, and you want to send her back to square one?" my mum asked, visibly agitated.

"Let them do that. They can do whatever they want with their children, but my child will go down there, and I'm not asking for your permission. I'm merely informing you," my dad said.

He took a gulp of water before continuing.

"She will attend university over there and serve her motherland before returning. She won't stay here and serve people who only see colour."

He looked at my mum, then held her hand.

"I know you care, and I care too. Just trust me on this. She will go over there and come back as soon as she's done. Besides, look at her. She doesn't even know her mother tongue."

He was still looking at my mum when he finished speaking.

"Fine. We'll do it your way. When does she leave?" my mum replied, continuing to eat.

"Next week," my dad answered as he tore the meat served to him.

"Next week? That's too early. Admissions haven't started," my mum said, staring at my dad.

I was very sure she was calculating all the errands she wanted me to run before I left for good.

"Yes, she has exams to write before admission. Besides, her flight has been scheduled, and her school fees and accommodation are ready," my dad said as he stood up to leave the dining room.

"I'll send you some money to get her the necessities she might need," he added before disappearing upstairs.

My mum turned to me.

"Naza, prepare. We're leaving very early tomorrow, as these children are going to school," she said before leaving the dining room too, possibly to finish the conversation they'd started about me in my very presence, as though I wasn't there at all.

I turned to look at my siblings, making sure they were eating. All I could see was pity in their eyes as they looked back at me.

I smiled at them and took the dirty dishes to the kitchen. I reminded my brother to load the dishwasher before disappearing into my room.

I wasn't angry or sad that I was leaving. I was happy, in fact, but not entirely thrilled. It was Nigeria.

I'd never been to Nigeria, even though both my parents were Nigerians.

I stood up and prepared my clothes for the next day. I wanted to sleep really early so I wouldn't feel light-headed the following morning.

I lay on my bed, tossing and turning for about an hour before Edward walked into the room and lay down right beside me.

"Don't worry. They'll cancel the flight, and you won't have to go," he said in an attempt to reassure me.

"But I want to go," I replied before turning to look at him.

"Then you will," he said, smiling widely at me.

At that moment, I didn't want to go anymore. I hadn't realised how much I was going to miss this baby.