Someone called me bitter

“Aswear! You will die single.”

Before I get to this gist, let me give you a backstory: I’m not much of a talker. I am not just an introvert, I’m a shy introvert. I avoid conversations the moment I step out of my house—or anytime I’m not comfortable with the person or place. Because of this, I intentionally surround myself with people that can actually talk. Not talkative people (I can’t stand plenty talk), but those who know how to hold a good conversation—people who can engage with others when I just want to mentally detach from my surroundings.

And if people I am comfortable with are not around? I remain stoically silent with a strong face as if I just swallowed a bag of corn-starch.

Okayyy, now that you know this, it's time for the gist:

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On the day I was called bitter, I was walking home from class. My sisters had graduated (let’s not talk about how terrible it was for me). So, I was walking alone —or, to be more truthful, I was running home because I tend to move very fast when I’m by myself— when someone called me.

Blood of Jesus! Who knows me?

I turned back, almost missing a step, to see him. Let’s call him Jude. Jude is not someone I talk to, he is just someone I exchange hi-hi with, occassionally. But that day, he was ready for more than greetings because he was gesturing for me to stop and wait for him:

Why?! Why?!!

He walked up to me.

He smiled.

I smiled back.

He looked at the files in my hand and said, “Wow! You are in your finals. Are you coming from your supervisor’s office?"

"'Yes," I replied as we started walking home together.

His house is just a stone throw from mine. The problem is that we still have a long way to go and he really wanted to talk.

"Final year and stress." He really wanted a conversation and I had no other option.

“Omo! I’m tired but what to do? Soon, I will be done and free."

He chuckled and asked what I would have to call the premise of the insult, "What are you writing about? What's your topic?"

“I’m writing about women, how they are marginalized in our society using two Literature texts as my case study."

"Wow! That must be in Indian, right?"

"No, in Africa. Nigeria, precisely"

"Don't tell me you are senseless and clueless!”

Hold on, is there someone else he is referring to?

Be calm! Be calm!

He continued with veins already popping out in his throat, "How are women being oppressed in Nigeria? Are they being gang-raped or what? I don’t understand people, don’t you have better things to write about? Don't you…" He paused and stopped walking, "Wait! Are you a feminist?"

If I said that I wasn't already annoyed with the conversation, then you can tag me the most patient dog in the world, but where's the bone? I couldn’t see any.

"Yes, I am." I replied, still walking. If he expected me to stand, I would never do that.

He squeezed his face like he wanted to throw up, his voice dripping with venomous anger as he said, "Aswear! You will die single."

"Who said that I won’t get married?”

"You are bitter. How can you get married when you are feminist? You are a …”

To me, he sounded bitter, not me. He sounded bitter and angry. He talked and talked about how much nobody would want me and how much I would end up alone. He quoted bible verses for me and said he would even like to invite me to his house to explain more.

Like I was a fool.

I kept telling him he was missing a point, but honestly, I was a fool to argue. The moment my brain hit the reboot button, I excused my "bitter" self from the extremely dumb conversation— because who talks like that?

From that moment until we parted ways to our separate apartments, everything felt like a blur. I said nothing to feed his wounded ego, but what I can never forget was the throbbing vein on his forehead and neck, rising and falling with each frustrated breath. The best part? He was the only one fuming while I walked home with a bold smirk.

To be honest, I had already forgotten about this conversation; there was no point of storing it in my brain. But while reading None of This is True, this conversation made me laugh and remember this uneventful event. It’s a conversation between two women who are both 40 years —one very successful and the other the complete opposite.

‘You don’t ever think that your life would be better if you were on your own?’ (The least successful asked)

‘No, no, I don’t.’ (The successful one)

‘And yet you call yourself a feminist.’

‘Yes. I do. And I am. You can be happily married and a feminist.’

‘I don’t think so. I think you can only be a feminist if you are single.’

(None of This is True, Lisa Jewel).

People always assume that feminists are bitter people that vehemently hate love and would die single, so, I don’t blame Jude for his nonsensical notion. But thunder will fire him for his big mouth and disrespectful way of talking to me.

However, I’m raising a glass to leaving him unfulfilled in convincing me to his dumb thoughts. Here’s to more…