“Baby, you are strong. You can do anything you want. You can be the best. Only if you believe in yourself.”
Those were Mama’s words every morning. I woke up to the sound of them. They seemed to energize me and spur me into action each day. On the wall in my room hung my medals, awarded to me for excelling in each class.
My dressing table held my awards; they stood tall, telling tales of my success: Best in this and best in that. The biggest of them boasted to everyone that I had recited Psalm 119 in Sunday school.
I faced my opponents the same way, looking them in the face and saying, “I am your fear” as Mama taught me. And they’d all scramble like rams, letting me emerge the winner. I never knew I could do all that, but Mama said I could.
But what about me? What was I saying? Deep down lay great fear. I jumped the rod not because I believed I could; I jumped it because I was afraid I couldn’t. I strained myself because I was afraid to fail. I hated to see the disappointment on my mama’s face.
I waited to hear my name each time, knowing nothing but excellence would be enough. I could see the heights of expectancy on her face, and they’d wear off by inch if I wasn’t called yet. Then they would rush back in a moment when I was announced as the overall best in my class. I cried each time, not tears of joy, but tears of fear that I could have failed altogether.
“Baby, you are strong.”
“No, Mum, I’m not!”
“You can do anything you want.”
“I do them all for you.”
“You can be the best!”
“I’m so scared I won’t be.”
“Only if you believe in yourself.”
“I can’t even find myself.”
My voice was so lost in hers; my world revolved around her. Maybe because I never saw Dada; he died the day I was born. I was told too much joy killed him; he never believed he could be a father. He had a disability that confined him to a wheelchair just before he married my Mama. I only have a picture for keeps, and I praise Mama for her bravery.
I wished I could find my own place too, and make her proud in my own way. I wanted to get to the top not for the money or for the fame but simply because I loved it. I really wanted to believe in myself. I wanted to go beyond my room and be the best in my own way.
But what I wanted didn’t matter unless it was what Mama wanted. My choices were pointless, my dreams nightmares unless Mama said otherwise. She had planned out my life already.
“At 22, you should be a barrister. The world would applaud you for being so young. People would bow to your wisdom,” she said.
It sounded welcoming, and I’d do it for her.
****
The goodbyes were slow, so slow that they drained me. College called immediately after high school, and I had to leave. I wouldn’t see Mama until summer break. The car moved slowly too; we waved and waved until we were out of each other’s sight. I wiped my tears and promised I’d make her proud.
I lied. I failed. Two weeks went by, and I was in the other queue picking up a transfer form. I did not want to do law anymore. The wig and the gown never attracted me, but equations and formulas did.
I called her.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I have to disobey you this time. I know you won’t be proud, but please allow me to feel that pride even for once. Allow me to see my reflection in the mirror,” I said.
She was not happy. Her voice sounded so low on the phone. She didn’t say “Baby, you are strong” in her usual way.
I failed so many times. I had carryovers and stayed on probation. What happened to the usual overall best student? My medals and awards would be damned. They would walk off if they had the chance.
Mama said it wasn’t too late to quit, and that I could still go back to my first course, but I wanted Mathematics, and I was ready to fight for it. I would conquer mathematics and physics to the end. I needed to jump this rod with so much faith. I needed to be me.
But the end came too soon. It was convocation morning, and nothing had changed; I had been conquered. I sat in the back seat, according to our CGPA. I wasn’t the overall best. I wasn’t the best-graduating student.
Tears stood in Mama’s eyes. Even when she smiled at the camera, they were still visible, but I wasn’t moved. For once in my life, I was ready to face the world with courage.
I faced my post-college education. This time, I finally understood myself; I saw that failing wasn’t that painful. Failure is just a scratch. Mama’s words finally made sense. I am stronger than the ground. I can conquer fluid mechanics. I can do it because I believe I can.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5—57 times and eureka!
I proved the existence and smoothness of the Navier-Stokes equation. I did what other students couldn’t do. I solved a millennium mathematics problem. Now and forever, my name is written in gold in the hall of fame of mathematics.
Mama said with pride this time at my convocation, “Never forget, baby, that you are strong.”
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