TRUTH OR DARE
Chapter 1: Roseline
Growing up as the less academically gifted among my siblings, I always felt the weight of comparison. My siblings excelled effortlessly, making my parents proud, while I struggled to meet expectations. My dream was simple: gain admission to a prestigious university and finally earn my parents' pride.
But the reality of the Nigerian educational system proved challenging, and my hope was crushed when I received my JAMB score: 197.
"Are you kidding me? I didn't even make it to 200," I whispered in disbelief, tears welling up in my eyes. I had poured every ounce of effort into my studies, and yet I fell short. I knew that most top universities in Nigeria only accepted students with scores above 200.
"Don't be discouraged. You'll do better next year," my sister said gently, but her words couldn't soften the sting of disappointment. My parents' reactions were harsher.
"How is it possible to have intelligent, educated parents with three children, and you're the only one who chooses to be dull?" my mother said, her tone filled with disdain. Her words struck a deep blow, further shattering my fragile confidence.
The living room fell silent, the tension thick, until my father's voice broke through, filled with anger. "Flower, stop comparing yourself to your siblings. Focus on your studies alone—it shouldn't be this hard."
I wanted to defend myself, to explain how hard I had worked—burning the midnight oil, attending tutorials, giving it my all—but the words wouldn't come.
My mother muttered under her breath as she left the living room, her frustration palpable. "We shouldn't have had a third child. I knew what I was saying when I insisted on two."
Her words echoed in my mind, cutting deeper than I could express. I bit my lip hard, fighting back tears, unable to meet my father's disappointed gaze. My father and brother eventually left the living room, but their silence felt like another indictment.
Later, my sister tried to console me, asking softly, "Which university do you want to go to?" But I couldn't answer. I already knew she'd tell me to aim lower. Instead, I fled to my room, shutting the door behind me.
The pain in my chest was unbearable—raw, suffocating, and far too intense for an eighteen-year-old to handle. My thoughts spiraled, and I found myself searching for a way to escape the anguish. That's when I stumbled upon my pocketknife.
Standing in the bathroom, I let the shower run, the idea of self-harm offering a twisted form of relief. I traced the knife lightly over my skin, until it pierced my thigh just enough to draw a sting. The water from the shower hit the small cut, and to my surprise, the physical pain dulled the emotional storm.
I stared at the tiny wound, promising myself it would never happen again. I wouldn't let this failure define me. I resolved to work harder, to prove everyone wrong. Next year, I would make them proud.
Time flew by, and with determination, I faced another JAMB attempt the following year. This time, my efforts paid off. I achieved the score I needed to secure admission to the University of Lagos—one of the best universities in Nigeria.
The joy on my parents' faces when they heard the news was priceless. For the first time, I felt the pride I had yearned for all my life. My siblings congratulated me, and I finally felt like I belonged.