This ugly face of mine - by Oluwadamilola Adesina

I was at Cold Stone by 10:00 a.m, Tuesday because I was craving my favourite flavour. The shop was calm and quiet just the way I liked it. I chose a seat by the window so I could watch the world pass by while enjoying my solitude. But the moment didn’t last. A woman walked in gorgeously dressed in pure linen and dripping in expensive gold. She moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to attention. I was mesmerized. It wasn’t until she spoke that I finally looked at her face and froze. Beneath the elegance, her delicate features were covered with some of the deepest scars I had ever seen. Yet she looked strangely familiar. Without asking, she sat opposite me. “What are you doing here?” she asked. I managed a polite smile. “I just came to grab ice cream in silence.” A cynical look curved at the corners of her eyes. “What do you do for a living?” “I’m a medical laboratory scientist,” I replied, keeping my cool. “Part-time staff. That’s why I’m not at work,” I added with a pleading voice. She wasn’t satisfied.“Then what else do you do?” “I’m an artist,” I said. “I paint, and I run a business.” She leaned back, unimpressed. “Don’t you think you’re a bit all over the place? Your focus is misplaced.” My jaw tightened. “You’re in an ice cream shop during working hours,” she pressed. “You say you’re an artist, what do you think you want to be? Picasso? Or Leonardo da Vinci? You should be somewhere working or studying, not letting your future slip on the altar of hobbies., you must think your life is a Hollywood” Her voice sharpened.“How many years since you finished school—three? Four? Five? And what do you have to show for it? I bet some of your classmates are far ahead of you.” Something in me snapped. I tried to speak—partly to defend myself, partly to stop her before the words cut any deeper. “How old are you?” she demanded. A flush of heat ran through my body. I looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching us. No one was. Still, the words slipped out, small and frustrated. “Close to 30.” She nodded slowly. “True. And you’re not married.”“Not yet,” I fired back.She scoffed. “Like you even have a prospect. And at your age? If you fail to secure a life partner now, then when? When men start choosing younger women? Or when you finally make money and convince yourself you don’t need a man—‘independent woman,’ abi?”Each word hit like a stone. “And don’t you have friends?” she added. “It looks like you’re doing this life alone.” That was it. I stood up abruptly, heart pounding. I was done. I won't sit there and be judged. But as I turned to leave, she stood up too, as though she wanted to stop me.I met her eyes.And suddenly, beneath the scars, beneath the harshness, saw it.A resemblance.A familiarity too intimate to deny. “Who are you?” I whispered. She smiled, soft and eerie.“I’m in your head.” “Excuse me.” I interrupted “I’m the voice that screams at you when you feel lost,” she said. “The one that tells you you’re wasting your life. That you’re not enough. Not worthy.” “Other people may project their fears onto you. At least you fight them. But you’ve allowed me to stay. You’ve made me a companion.” “I’m the voice that makes you settle for less because you fear being lonely. The one that blinds you to the friends and family who love you. You’re so wrapped up in me that you forget who you want to become. You cling to everything negative, everything broken, everything ugly, because you think there's comfort in the known than chase the beautiful life you desire.” “I only exist because you allow me. You feed me. You listen to me. You give me power. Look up. Be grateful for what you have. What you’ve survived. Who you are becoming.Stop staring at this ugly face of yours.” Inspired by Rebecca Dupas – how to slay a dragon

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