THE BLACK GIRL IN ME

The oppressive silence at the dinner table was as familiar to me as the sound of my own heartbeat. My parents sat across from me, their gazes heavy with expectations I couldn't meet. The smell of jollof rice lingered in the air, but I had no appetite. Tonight, they'd talk about my future again. Medicine, law, or maybe engineering if I felt particularly rebellious.

But I didn't want any of that.

"What have you decided, Amara?" my father's voice cut through the quiet, low and commanding.

My fingers tightened around my fork. "I'm still thinking about it," I mumbled, eyes fixed on the speck of tomato sauce on the edge of my plate.

"Thinking?" My mother's voice was sharp. "You've been thinking for two years. Your mates already know what they want to do with their lives. You should be preparing for law school by now!"

Law school. The words felt like shackles around my neck. I didn't know how to tell them that I couldn't see myself arguing in courtrooms or flipping through legal textbooks. I didn't know how to say that my heart ached for something else entirely—singing.

I had tried before, once. A shaky confession at the age of thirteen about wanting to pursue music. I still remembered the laughter that followed. My father had called it a joke, and my mother had dismissed it as a phase. The ridicule stung so much that I learned to keep my dreams buried deep, hidden even from myself.

"I'll decide soon," I whispered. It was a lie, of course. I already knew what I wanted, but I also knew they'd never approve.

The conversation moved on, my parents discussing the latest happenings in the church and my siblings' academic achievements. I sat there, silent, counting down the minutes until I could retreat to my room.