MY WORST FEARS

Today, fear gripped me like never before. I can't explain the feeling of fear quite well because it feels like so many things; headache, nausea, stomachache, heartache.

I have always dealt with fear by asking myself: What is the worst thing that would happen and what can I do to try and change it. And when I get the answer to these questions, I feel better. Like I can look my fears in the face.

But today, I can't ask myself the worst thing that would happen if what I fear the most happens because I can't bear to think of the answer.

And you know what I am scared of?

So many things.

I am scared of being 30 and married with kids with a job as an English teacher in a Public Secondary School.

I am scared of being 30 and being a high paid career woman with no friend, children, husband or time for myself.

I am scared of being 30 and being a housewife, with a rich husband who sees me as a trophy wife.

I am scared of getting married to a man that will fall out of love with me.

I am scared of getting married to a man that I will fall out of love with.

I am scared of having children that would rebel against me.

I am scared of failing my children.

I am scared of losing someone I love.

I am scared of loving and not being loved back.

I am scared of not achieving anything in my life.

I am scared of dying unknown, without doing my bit for humanity.

I am scared of being ordinary.

I am scared of existing and not living.

I am scared of LIFE.

DOES IT MATTER?

Does it really matter that he loves you? That his eyes lit whenever he looks at you? That his face crumbles and coil into something small and sad whenever you bite at him unnecessarily? That when he holds you, you can hear his heart pound out of his chest, you can feel the hardness of his penis on your back? That even with such rocky hardness he sleeps every night with your pitying rejection - rejection that is non-chalant, lazy, devoid of any emotion - when you turn your back at him and pretend to snore?

Does it really matter that sometimes you hear him rolling on the bed unable to sleep due to accumulated rocky hardness? That his eyes are red in the morning when he serves you breakfast in bed forcing himself to smile and be cheerful even when your face is straight and you feel moody? That he eats the foo

d you prepare half-heartedly, showering you with compliments? That you call him by his first name even though he calls you honey?

That he is your husband and he provides for you?

Does it matter?

When you despise his presence. When you hate the way he speaks English like Ibo. When you hate the exaggerated jewelry he buys for you. When you hate the way he pretends that your marriage is perfect when it's not. When you hate the fact that he has six cars in his garage. When you hate the way he always wants you to dress lavishly when all you want to wear is Jeans and Polo. When you hate the sound of his voice - like steel scratching floor. When you hate his sloppy kisses that nauseats you. When you hate his name - Monday.

When the one you truly love is his best friend and you know he knows.