Happy Days and Painful Tears

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Do I have bad luck, or am I just terrible at predicting outcomes? Either way, I’m bracing myself to cry tomorrow, again. Guess what? Tomorrow is my birthday. And if history is any guide, I always seem to cry on days that are supposed to be my happiest.

Let’s rewind to my birthday last year. I had it all planned out: a photoshoot, a cute birthday picnic, and a new wig that was supposed to be the star of the day. But at the last minute, the hair vendor bailed. There I was, trying to repurpose an old wig for my “perfect” birthday photos. Talk about disappointing.

Fast forward to my convocation day, another day that should have been all about celebration and pride. Instead, it became a series of unfortunate events. My hairstylist ghosted me. I didn’t have time for makeup. I left the house in such a rush that I forgot my graduation gown. And yes, I walked into the ceremony wearing slippers instead of heels. Not exactly the glamorous moment I’d envisioned.

Let me paint you the scene. I had gotten my newly bought hair installed the night before and it looked great when I went to bed. I was careful not to mess it up, sleeping as still as a mannequin. But when I woke up, I was greeted by what can only be described as a bird’s nest. Desperate, I called my stylist. She asked me to come to the salon for a quick fix.

Upon getting to the salon, I called her, “I’m at the gate,” she claimed.

Spoiler alert: she wasn’t. After waiting for 20 minutes, heartbroken, I gave up and left. Time was running out. I still needed to get my makeup done. But by the time I got to my makeup artist, there wasn’t enough time to get anything done.

She said, "If I start your makeup now, you'll be two hours late for the ceremony". I was already running late, I couldn't afford to be late for an additional two hours. At that point, I was just trying to get ready with eyes clouded by unshed tears.

Frantic, I got dressed, grabbed my things and bolted out the door, only to realize halfway to the venue that I’d forgotten my graduation gown at home.

“Great,” I thought. “Could this day get any worse?” Well, it did.

When I returned home, the door was locked, and I didn’t have the key. I felt the tears threatening to pour, my willpower all drained, I left home for the venue in tears and uncertainty. Eventually, my school department gave me a spare gown. And so I entered the hall with messy hair, a bare face, and slippers on my feet. I had given my friend my heels to hold and she left with them.

As I sat through the ceremony, a wave of sadness hit me. All my plans, all my efforts, seemed wasted. I didn’t know who to blame. The hairstylist? The makeup artist? My friends? The universe? or myself?

I can vividly remember the one thought that stayed persistent in my head, “Why does it seem like the universe intentionally made certain that time would not be enough for me?”. But then I forced myself to shift my perspective. Perhaps the universe was reminding me to find joy in the milestone itself, becoming a graduate, rather than obsessing over looking like a picture-perfect graduate. Still, would it have killed the universe to let me have both?

And now, here I am, reliving that sense of dread. This year again, birthday photoshoot was delayed by a week because of issues with my dress and hair. Yesterday, I finally saw them for the first time, right before the shoot. It wasn’t what I’d envisioned. I wanted to look like a goddess. Instead, I looked like Cinderella’s stepmother, an evil stepmother (the over-glamorous kind) on her way to an Owambe (A Nigerian party) which is a far cry from the classy and elegant aesthetic I had hoped for.

And I tried, I really tried to go with the flow and not overthink. I went through with the shoot, hoping the pictures would grow on me. But the more I looked at them, the less I liked them.

So, here it is: my annual disappointment. Is it the universe conspiring against me? Or am I simply putting too much faith in others to help me execute my plans? I wonder if things would’ve gone differently had I taken control like shopping for a dress and a wig in person. Maybe, just maybe, the outcomes would have matched my expectations if I hadn't depended on someone to deliver good results to me.

Tomorrow is another birthday. And yet again, there isn’t enough time. It's sad that time is not only precious, but also fleeting.

However, I still have 12 hours before my birthday. Part of me thinks, “If one week wasn’t enough to save the birthday, how can 12 hours make a difference?”

And yet, another part of me wonders, “I already have the hair. I can pull a dress from my wardrobe. I own an iPhone and a LED light for good pictures. I have excellent editing skills. What if these 12 hours are a gift from the universe? I mean, it would have been worse if the photoshoot was today and I had no time to save it at all since the birthday is tomorrow. What if rather than wallowing in self-pity, I can be my own knight, take control and save the day?”

All I have right now are “what ifs and a precious gift of 12 hours” and as an optimist, someone who looks at life through a brightly colored lens, I say: 12 hours? I can work with that. I’m determined to not cry tomorrow, and shouldn't that determination coupled with some actions be enough to move mountains?

I already have the most important gift; time. So, let's hope it indeed, will be enough to save the day.

Thank you for reading.

This is my submission for the creative non-fiction inkwell prompt 116.
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