There's the downside of having a good reputation no one speaks about.
It follows you everywhere.
It haunts you when you can't uphold it. It lurks in the shadows, it hides behind every commendation you are given.
"Oh, she's a good girl."
"She's very intelligent."
"She's so smart."
And when you fail? It pounces and tears you apart.
That was exactly what was happening to me.
I picked up my bag and dropped it over my shoulder. I looked ready but I didn't want to go.
"I don't want to go to school today," I told my mother. She looked at me and laughed.
See what I'm talking about? The downside is rearing its head.
"You? You don't want to go to school? Why?"
"Because of the exam at the tutorial today," I answered and let my bag slide down my shoulder, ready to plead my case.
I've spent a good part of my school life writing exams but it didn't make it any better.
"Okay. Why don't you want to write it?" I sighed and arranged my words in my mind. There are two ways this conversation could go.
It's either she allowed me to stay at home for the first time in my life- not likely but I did believe in miracles- or she refused.
"I'm not ready for the exam." She chuckled and shook her head.
"It's just an exam, Ruth." Irritation rose in me and the worst words came to my mind but I swallowed it down. I didn't say it. I couldn't. I wanted to stay at home.
I shifted on my feet and gathered my points for the argument. I reached for my hair, to pull something, like the characters I read in books but I stopped myself.
My hair is plaited with threads, they're all wrapped in threads. I can't do that.
I sighed and said, "I'm not ready for the exam so I don't want to write it."
She laughed like I said something funny but it wasn't.
My reputation was at stake and I'd rather not try than fail.
"It's just an exam, Ruth." Those words again. I swallowed and shook my head.
It's not just an exam.
And the truth is: it's all my fault. I caused it.
While my friends decided to go to smaller tutorials where the teachers and students were close friends. I chose to go to the largest one in the area.
Why? You might ask.
Competition. That's why.
I am very competitive and I knew I wouldn't push myself if I went to a smaller tutorial. I'd just put in a small effort and get the highest grade there but in a large tutorial, I'd have to fight. I'd have to put in time, sweat and maybe a little tears to be the best.
I sighed. I caused this.
"I can't write it. I'm not ready. The first month I joined, I was among the top students in Chemistry and now there's another exam, and everybody expects me to make the list again. I have to prove that my success is not an accident and I'm not ready enough to do that."
What did my mother do?
She laughed. She just laughed.
"Go for the exam. Even if you score zero you have to write it. I paid for that tutorial and you know it's very expensive. You have to write it. Go already."
I went for the exam against my will and got to the exam hall shaking with anxiety.
I smiled at everyone as I selected my seat. My classmate tapped me and said, "Ruth, I'm sure you'll crush this exam. I can see your brain on fire already."
I managed to smile at her and walked to my seat. "I slept all night. I barely revised." I brought out my writing materials and prepared myself.
"There's nothing in my brain."
The invigilator shared the exam script and we began.
I wrote to the best of my ability and by the time we were done, I was sure of at least 50 marks.
"I tried," I said and shrugged.
Two weeks later, the results were released.
I was among the top ten students in both Chemistry and Biology.
It was amazing.
It felt amazing.
I got the prize money and took it home to show my mother.
"How? I thought you said you weren't prepared?"
"I wasn't." I brought out the money and used it as a fan for my face. She smiled.
"What if you didn't start and finish this exam? That's how you'd have missed out on the gift."
"True."
"Since I'm the one that encouraged you, you have to pay your tithe." I watched as she slid a thousand naira note out of my hand.
"Mummy!"
Here's my entry to the inkwell Creative nonfiction week #48