Life Challenges, No. 11: Fake Life

Toyin Falola

The Life We Borrowed from the Mirrors

I pity the child
who learns too early
that appearance is currency.

I pity the young man.
who believes poverty is shameful
but deception is respectable.

I pity the woman
who measures her beauty
against edited faces.

I pity the old man
still competing with boys
because he never learned
how to become enough.

But most of all,

I pity the person
who succeeds completely
at creating a fake life—

because one morning
he may wake
and discover that everyone believes the lie except him.

And there is no loneliness.
greater than being admired
for someone you have never been.

Ká má purọ́ fún ara wa.

Let us stop lying to ourselves.

The grave has no Instagram.

The coffin has no designer label.

Death does not ask
how many followers came to the funeral.

When the final cloth covers the face,
nobody photographs the bank account.

They will say:

Ó ti lọ.

He has gone.

She has gone.

And suddenly
all the things we nearly killed ourselves to display
will look terribly small.

We constructed our homes within mirrors

and named the reflections palaces.

We stole laughter from magazines,

scribbled joy upon scarred faces,

and went into the streets yelling:

Mo wa dadaa! I am fabulous! 

Night knew we were lying to ourselves. 

Our pillows knew. 

Ceilings knew. 

God knows. 

The darkness that embraced us when we cried into our pillows

until sunlight peeked through, confirmed it too knew.

Ayé irọ́, —

Life woven in patched clothes,

life trying on another person’s son setters,

life crying poverty in the bedroom

and smiling radiance on Facebook.

We have grown into masquerades

who have forgotten the faces under our costumes.

My mother once told me:

“Bí irọ́ bá lọ ní ogún ọdún, ọjọ́ kan ni òtítọ́ yóò bá a.”

If you tell a lie for twenty years,

only one day will come along to expose you.

But we laughed. 

We purchased vehicles to show off to people

Who wouldn’t give us five hundred naira

when we lost our jobs.

We took loans to celebrate birthdays,

rented fabrics to attend weddings,

pretended for birthdays until our hips became swollen syllables,

reconstructed our smiles for Instagram,

toyed with English accents around guests,

borrowed confidence for seminars and panel talks,

fabricated joy for social media.

Only our pain remained authentic. 

Only our tears were ours alone. 

Ẹni tí kò ní aṣọ ń wa ìgbékíyà. 

The one without cloth wears pride instead. 

Watch us—

kids of vanity,

inhabitants of “What will the neighbors think?”

We would rather die fabulous

than live with integrity.

We would rather buy soda

than tell our guests there is no drink in the house.

We would rather take pictures …

with another person’s better life …

than sit under our own measly tent and whisper:

I do not have much, but what I have is real.

Ah!  What did happen to us? 

Once upon a time,

a man stood tall upon his name. Orúkọ rere sàn ju wúrà àti fàdákà lọ.

Having a good name was more priceless

than wealth.

Now wealth has consumed the name. 

The poor man borrows wealth

to act like poverty is foreign to him.

The wealthy man pretends he is happy

to act like fortune fixed his heart.

The married girl posts photos of flowers

while her heart withers in marriage.

Her husband says: “You complete me.”

Then goes home to bed, his phone.

The Graduate displays degrees on his wall

while fear grips his small waist.

The man of God screams salvation

into the ears of the impoverished

but whispers to his wife, “Darling, please help me pay bills next month.”

Nobody is being real.

Everyone is watching someone. 

No one knows when the audience will get up and leave.

Ayé!

Cruel marketplace!

You have taught us
to measure existence by applause.

So, we manufacture applause.

We count followers
because we have lost friends.

We count likes
because we cannot count
the people who truly love us.

Ten thousand people know our photographs.

Nobody knows our pain.

Five thousand people say:

“Congratulations!”

Nobody asks:

“Ṣé ọkàn rẹ balẹ̀? ”

Is your heart at peace?

And because nobody asks,
we continue performing.

Click.

Smile.

Post.

Cry.

Delete the tears.

Apply powder.

Post again.

Sometimes at midnight
the mask becomes heavy.

You remove it.

And there—

behind the expensive perfume,
behind the designer agbádá,
behind the imported shoes,
behind the titles,
behind the photographs taken beside important people—

sits one frightened human being
asking:

“Ta ni mí?”

Who am I?

No answer comes.

Because you have pretended for so long
that even your Orí
has forgotten your face.

Orí mi, má jẹ́ kí n di àjèjì sí ara mi.

My inner head,
do not let me become
a stranger to myself.

But perhaps
we are already strangers.

We wake beside ourselves.
and do not recognize the person breathing.

We enter bathrooms,
lock the door,
look into mirrors,

and negotiate with sadness.

Please, not today.

There is a meeting.

There is a wedding.

There is a lecture.

There is a photograph to take.

There are people to deceive.

There is another beautiful lie.
waiting to be uploaded.

So, sadness waits obediently.

But sadness is patient.

Ikú náà máa ń dúró.

Death, too, knows how to wait.

One day
the rented car will be returned.

The borrowed cloth
will leave our bodies.

The titles will become old paper.

The followers will follow somebody else.

The photographs will sink.
beneath newer photographs.

Those who envied us
will discover there was nothing to envy.

Those we tried to impress
will barely remember our names.

And the mighty performance
called reputation
will close its curtains.

Then perhaps
we will finally understand:

Ilé ayé, ilé àrò.

The world is a house of impermanence.

We spent our brief afternoon.
decorating shadows.

We watered plastic flowers.
while the living plants inside us died.

So tonight,

before sleep comes,

remove the mask.

Remove the borrowed smile.

Remove the imaginary crown.

Remove the desperate hunger.
to be envied.

Sit beside your own soul.

Even if the room is small,
let it be your room.

Even if the food is little,
eat without shame.

Even if nobody applauds,
breathe.

Even if your clothes are ordinary,
let your dignity be expensive.

Because—

Ẹni tí ó bá mọ ara rẹ̀,  kò nílò ojú ayé láti sọ ẹni tí ó jẹ́ fún un.

The one who knows himself
does not need the world
to tell him who he is.

Yet how tragic
that many of us will understand this
only when evening has arrived,

when our hair has become white,

when the crowd has disappeared,

when the mirrors have cracked,

and when we finally stand
before the ruins of the beautiful lie
we called our life.

Then we may whisper:

“Ayé mi, kí ni mo fi ọ ṣe?”

My life, what did I do with you?

And life—

wounded, exhausted, almost gone—

may answer:

You spent time trying to convince strangers that you were living.

Long before this generation, some ideas were outright laughable and unfamiliar to people. Such ideas have now become nuances that shape relationships and social interactions. One such strange idea that has gained ground in this time is the idea of a soft life. Our parents and those before them would have dismissed such desires and probably equated it with building a castle in thin air. Our parents and grandparents rarely spoke about work-life balance or protecting personal peace. Life, as they knew it, was more about survival. They worked and made sacrifices so the next generation could have it better.

And now that we are here, the language has changed. Our conversations are now centered on boundaries, rest, financial freedom, and emotional well-being. We desire long vacations without thinking of the cost, taking time off to enjoy the evenings with our families, sleeping without anxiety, and enjoying the rewards of honest labor. These desires have taken a better part of our aspirations and have informed what decisions we make. Without doubt, desires of this nature may be understandable. In fact, it has become a major drive for a lot of people after many years of economic uncertainty and relentless pressure for survival. Humans across all generations have never sought soft lives like this generation.

Yet for some reason, the desired soft life strangely remains out of reach for many. The reason for this is not that people are lazy or unwilling to work. In fact, the working population across Africa is surprisingly industrious. Every day, millions wake before sunrise, navigate the unavoidable hours in traffic, work long days, and return home long after dark. They do this continuously, while saving, planning, sacrificing, and living in denial of small pleasures because they believe a better season is coming. They believe their sacrifices, commitments, and denials would be worth it when the next phase comes. The average person in this case ties every sacrifice to the hope of a better future.

Unfortunately, life is not linear. It does not follow any fixed approach. For every phase are new and greater responsibilities needed to maintain that position; so, when the next phase comes, it brings longer hours and greater responsibilities.  It is as though one burden disappears briefly, only to be replaced by a heavier and more demanding one. For example, a new promotion at work is expected to bring about longer hours, more commitments, and greater responsibilities. Marriage comes with demanding commitments to families, financial obligations, and responsibilities, among others. This pattern allows us to question how flimsy the thoughts of a soft life are.

Over time, a pattern emerges as people begin to feel as though they are chasing something that keeps moving away from them. Not that they fail to achieve their goals, but because for every achievement, we instinctively move the finish line. By illustration, we shift the goalpost every time a goal is scored. This realization is just but one part of the story.

The other part of this is more difficult to admit, as it has so little to do with the economy or individual circumstances. It has to do with us. Humans are extraordinary beings. We have a rare ability to get used to answered prayers. We are wired in a way that makes things we so much long for become ordinary when we get hold of them. Imagine the excitement of a young graduate upon receiving the first salary. The excitement is something many have felt. However, it dies down as the salary becomes constant and we get used to it. Before we can finally appreciate one milestone, we have moved our attention towards another. And without realizing it, we once again move the finish line ourselves.

When this happens, we begin to seek peace elsewhere. We seek peace and believe it will come with the next achievement. The next milestone. We convince ourselves that we will finally slow down, rest, and enjoy the moments when everything falls into place, forgetting that life has never been linear. There will always be something to alter and shape the narratives.

Perhaps that is why the idea of a soft life is unrealistic and mostly unattainable, as the circumstances of life genuinely make it difficult to attain, and when life genuinely brings softness, we sometimes fail to recognize it as we have already moved the finish line.

This is not intended to drive people away from ambitions. Ambition, dreams, hard work, and aspirations matter. It is noble and signifies that one strives to improve one’s circumstances, and nothing dignifies suffering. When people achieve their dreams, society potentially becomes better. The problem only begins when, in the pursuit of a better life, we quietly postpone living life itself.

Many people have spent years preparing to live without noticing that life never stopped to wait for them. They postponed holidays, family vacations, personal treats, hoping to have them when work became less demanding, only to discover that time had quietly made that promise impossible. There is nothing as elusive as the idea of a perfect time. Nothing of such exists.

The truth is that only a small number ever arrive at a place where every problem has been solved. Even those whom we look up to as living the soft life carry burdens that are kept away from public view. Without doubt, certain provisions like wealth, social capital, and connections may reduce certain struggles, but they cannot eliminate the uncertainties or the responsibilities that come with being alive. The perfect life we imagine often exists only from a distance.

Perhaps the soft life we envision may not be a permanent destination, but a series of moments scattered throughout an imperfect life. It could reflect in the memorable moments shared with family while growing up, the laughter we remember when we think of old friends, and many other similar scenarios that bring joy and relief to the heart. A soft life in another dimension could be the satisfaction in paying one’s bills honestly, the quiet pride of helping your parents. It could also reflect in the peace you feel every time you sleep through the night without fear, amongst many others.

Many out there are persistently working towards a better tomorrow. This is noble, and I encourage more people to do the same. This is because chasing better opportunities, financial stability, and emotional peace are worthy pursuits that contribute to the quality of life we desire. But while we are at this, we should be careful not to become strangers to the life unfolding around us. We should learn not to postpone every moment of joy until our problem disappears, as we may end up spending our entire lives preparing for a time and moment that was never meant to exist as a standalone.

The most challenging aspect of living exclusively in search of a soft life is not simply that peace is difficult to find. The challenge is that somehow, the finish line moves at every point by design or human efforts. And somewhere between those two realities is our imperfect and often demanding life filled with the moments and experiences we desire. Unfortunately, we fail to recognize them and keep pushing through.