The art of pretending - by Inioluwa Adeyeye

She called me lonely. That word travelled farther than it should have.It caught me somewhere between a smile and a lie. Really?Is it that obvious? I thought I had hidden it well. Over time, I have learnt to wake up every morning and put on the most beautiful mask I own. Sometimes I practice my smile in the mirror before I leave the house, just to make sure it looks convincing enough. A little happiness here.A little confidence there.Something warm enough to make people comfortable. And then she said lonely. For a split second, my smile fell. Just a split second. Then I put it back. “What do you mean?” Because I don’t have nervous smiles unless I decide to have one. I could show you, if you want. That is the strange thing about me. I practice my emotions. You might call me a hypocrite, but I don’t think that is quite right. I simply have different versions of myself for different moments. I can become whoever the moment requires. I can be soft when you need softness.Happy when you need happiness.Quiet when you need silence.Excited when you need someone to be excited with you. I don’t even know if I have feelings of my own anymore. I just mirror whatever you give me. You smile, I smile.You hurt, I become gentle.You pull away, I disappear.You love me, and suddenly I know how to love you back. But I always begin with a smile. Nervous?Smile. Sad?Smile. Happy?Smile. You want to see more, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You want to know whether you can read me.You want to peel back the smile and find something underneath it. Hmm. Try. There is only one emotion I haven’t mastered yet. Crying. I can’t cry on command. Not yet. Maybe when I finally learn how to do that, I will have mastered everything. Maybe then I will become the master of my own emotions. Maybe I will finally decide how I feel before the situation decides for me. And yet, for someone who claims to have so much control, I have never felt more like a puppet. Maybe you are my friend because you must be the puppeteer. Pulling at strings I pretend aren’t there. Lonely. I keep turning the word around in my head, trying to understand why it sounds so unfamiliar and yet somehow feels like home. Is loneliness having the whole world around you and still feeling like there is no one beside you? Is it being surrounded by people who hear your voice but never really listen? Is it everyone fighting for you while you quietly fight alone? Or is it what happens when everyone finally leaves and you return to the silence you were pretending you didn’t need? Maybe it is all of it. And perhaps that is why I don’t hate it. There is something strangely comforting about being alone. No expectations.No explanations.No one asking questions I don’t know how to answer. Am I okay in the head? No. Definitely not. But there is comfort in knowing that if I disappeared for a while, nobody would really notice. Half the people I speak to don’t know me. And maybe I prefer it that way. Because what exactly is there to know? I don’t even know myself. So what is it that you want to discover? My borrowed emotions? The smiles I rehearsed?The personality I built for you?The version of me that only exists because you needed her? No. Really. No. I would rather be desolate. Is she rightI think rightDo I care?I think not

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