Here was the final big day. The day I am affirmed to have become an adult. You're surprised? Yes, you should be, since every other person becomes an adult right from eighteen, but here I am just being acknowledged as an adult at 21. It wasn't as if I didn't fight for it, I did, but who wanted to listen to the cry of a child;that's the family I found myself in. My family was one that was overly protective of me, from my parents, to all other family members I knew of.
And according to them, that has been the trend right from my ancestors, I know mine was extreme, because, I was the only child of my parents.
As I stood before my family, awaiting their acknowledgment, I couldn't help but think about the countless times I'd felt suffocated by their protection. The whispered conversations, the hushed tones, the constant reminders to 'be careful' and 'stay safe.' It was as if I was fragile, breakable. But I wasn't. I was Adeseuwa Modupeoluwa Àkànjí, and I was ready to shatter the glass cage they'd built around me.
As I turned sixteen, my classmates were abuzz with excitement. Girls who'd once been my friends in primary school were now flaunting their new boyfriends, flashing designer labels and gifts they had got on Valentine's day Although, my parents were rich and could afford those gifts and more, but it still felt different; they seemed not to get it, I just wanted to feel among my peers. My friends would giggle about late-night parties and weekend getaways. Meanwhile, I was stuck at home, my parents sternly reminding me that I was still a 'baby.' The whispers from my classmates only added to the frustration: 'Mommy's pet,' they'd say with a smirk, or 'Daddy's little princess.' It was as if I was trapped in a glass jar, watching the world move without me.
The memories of my SS3 prom still linger, a night that should've been mine to own. My friends were ecstatic, planning their outfits, and rehearsing their dance moves. But for me, it was a different story. My parents deemed it too early, too reckless. 'You're still a baby,' my mother would say, dismissing my pleas. 'Who even thought of this prom nonsense?' she added, her voice firm, final. I was confined to my room, phone my only lifeline. The 'gist' from my friends was a poor substitute for the experience I longed for. As I lay in bed, listening to the music and laughter drifting from afar, I felt like I was missing out on a part of my life. Comparing my life with that of my friends, I mostly couldn't help but weep in the comfort of my room. The hunger and taste for freedom has always been my watch word, I would cry and cry thinking it will change my parents' view, but it only got them angry.
My valedictory service wasn't an exception to my cry for freedom but it proved abortive as usual. What was I thinking, that I would be granted freedom for just completing secondary school? This thinking was bitter-sweet for me. It was bitter, because, my pleas fell on deaf ears; was sweet because I had just completed my secondary school education.
As I walked out of the valedictory service, my friend Ngozi caught up with me, grinning mischievously. 'Adesua, how far? We're going for an after-party at the hotel, you have to come! It's going to be lit! Abi, you are still doing Mummy's pet and Daddy's little princess? Better grow up, you are sixteen, girl! You're not ten, you're not seven, you're not six anymore. Look at me, I'm living my best life. Look at you, Adesuwa, you're beautiful, but still, you're stuck in that princess mode. You're still a baby, oh! Better grow up, are you growing or not?' Her words stung, but I felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of joining the party. 'Don't worry, I'm coming,' I said, trying to sound confident. I rushed to my parents, eager to share the news, but they shut me down once again. 'We will have a befitting dinner at home,' they said, dismissing my pleas. I felt a pang of disappointment, despite my achievement. Why couldn't I enjoy the freedom my friends took for granted?
As I prepared to leave for university, my heart was set on the University of Lagos, where I would study music. I had always been passionate about music, and the thought of honing my skills and pursuing my dreams was exhilarating. But my parents had other plans. One evening, as we sat in the living room, they revealed their decision. 'Adesuwa, we've decided that you'll study law at the University of Massachusetts in the USA,' my father said, his voice firm. I felt a surge of disappointment and frustration. 'But why?' I asked, trying to reason with them. "I'm sixteen, almost seventeen. Can't I make my own decisions? I love music, not law. You both were cool with the whole idea from the start what is going on now?"My mother's expression was unyielding. 'There's nothing you can do about it, Adesuwa. You're studying law, and you're going to the University of Massachusetts.We are your parents and we know what's the best for you. We will take care of all they arrangements. You just need to focus on preparing yourself and making sure you excel. Everything you need will be provided for you."I felt a sense of helplessness wash over me. Why couldn't they understand my passion for music? First, it was my freedom, now it's my decision. Do i really deserve all these, why me and not Ngozi, or Dara or Divine, were their parents from another world to mine?
Knowing, there was no way forward other than going to the University of Massachusetts, I knew I had to find a way to compromise with my parents. I didn't want to give up on my passion for music, but I also didn't want to disappoint them. After much negotiation, we reached a tentative agreement. I would study law as a full-time student, but I could take music as a part-time course, as long as it didn't affect my grades. My mother emphasized that I must prioritize law and become a practicing lawyer, not a musician. I reluctantly agreed, feeling a sense of compromise. 'You'll excel in law, Adesuwa, and music can be a hobby,' my father said, his voice firm but slightly softer than before. I nodded, but deep down, I knew I had to find a way to make the best of it. I would study law, but I wouldn't give up on music completely. I would find a way to make it work, even if it meant doing it in secret.
As I prepared to leave for the University of Massachusetts, a mix of emotions swirled within me. I was excited to finally have some independence, but my parents' next revelation crushed my hopes. 'You'll be staying with your aunt,' my mother said, her voice firm. I felt a surge of frustration. 'But why?' I asked, trying to reason with her. 'I'm a young woman, I can take care of myself.' My mother's expression was unyielding. 'You get all the space you need in your aunt's house,' she said, dismissing my pleas. I turned to my father, hoping he would understand. 'Daddy, please, can't I have my own space? I'm a lady, I need my independence.' But he just shook his head. 'The world out there is dangerous, my dear. We can't let you live on your own. Just stay with your aunt and be a good child.' I felt defeated, trapped. My aunt was even more overprotective than my parents. I was trading one cage for another, perhaps an even smaller one.