There was a message blinking on my phone.
It wasn't his.
It was Yaa.
Someone I hadn't expected. Someone I never really thought would check in. Maybe that's why it made something shift inside me. Just a little.
But not enough to stay.
Not enough to matter.
"Ik you are not okay. Take rest. And needless to say at this point… But if you need anything else, I'll try to help."
That's what Yaa wrote.
It wasn't a dramatic message. Not loud. Not performative. Not even trying to be savior-like. Just honest.
Something in me wanted to scoff.
Something else wanted to respond.
"Yeah. I do have questions," I typed before I could overthink it.
"Ask ahead."
And I did.
I didn't sugarcoat it. I didn't make it soft.
"I never pity myself. I always believe whatever happened is my fault. And when sometimes I do pity... I feel evil. I feel like it's all me. I don't believe in God or karma. I don't know anything. But I believe maybe if God exists, he doesn't help me because in his story, I'm not the victim. Maybe I'm the issue."
My fingers stopped trembling after I sent it.
There was something strangely calm about letting those thoughts loose.
Yaa replied:
"An interesting take, honestly.
But have you ever thought why your first thought process is to blame yourself if anything goes wrong?
Tell me if you can. Why feel such a way?"
I stared at the text for a while. Not because I didn't know the answer, but because I did. And saying it out loud—even in a message—felt like admitting something ugly. But still, I typed:
"Because I just feel I had the power to change things.
I could've chosen to be a better kid.
I could've chosen not to go to people who hurt me.
I could've chosen to be single.
I had the options.
I made choices.
I can't blame anyone for anything.
And also, because when sometimes I do blame, my father says I'm ungrateful. That I never appreciate anything."
There was a pause before Yaa replied again.
"You know,
Your spirit is strong. Much, much refined.
But your esteem is not.
Why blame yourself when it's not your fault?
Not everything in this world happens through our free will and only our choice. Environmental factors like peer pressure and such are very significant contributors.
Tell me now—if you had the options and made a choice, then shouldn't you also make space to understand why that choice didn't work?
You can't always just end it by blaming yourself."
And then another message followed.
"You are as strong as a hundred men and women.
And you're better than many of those who think they're better than you.
You just have to realise it."
I didn't know what to say.
So I didn't say much.
Just:
"Hm."
Because I didn't believe it. Not really. Not deeply. I could acknowledge the words, but they slid off me like water on cold glass.
Yaa sent another one.
"In my opinion… burn it all down."
I blinked.
It was funny. I almost smiled. I knew what they meant. Not in the literal sense. But in the sense that I didn't owe the world my silence anymore.
Still, I replied:
"I get it.
But it's not easy.
When you've always done this.
When you only explode once a year and even then it's deemed unreasonable."
Another quick reply came:
"Tell me—is blaming yourself easy?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Yes.
It's easier than questioning why someone would hurt you on purpose."
That was the truth.
I'd rather be the reason behind the chaos than believe someone I love could look at me and still choose to hurt me.
There was something more comforting in the control of self-blame than in the chaos of someone else's cruelty.
Yaa's next message caught me off guard.
"But is it efficient?
Because that's the thing, right?
You still have sleepless nights.
You still have the uncontrollable gut feeling.
You still go numb and get lost.
And yet, amidst all of that,
You wake up and carry on with your day.
No wonder Aurora wants to be like you."
Something twisted in my stomach.
Those words—"Aurora wants to be like you"—felt like a taunt, not a compliment. Like they were saying I was the problem. That Aurora admired a broken blueprint.
I didn't reply.
But Yaa continued:
"It's not the 'it girl' she sees in the conventional sense.
It's the kind of 'it girl' who refuses to back down—even while blaming herself and injecting toxicity into her own veins.
That kind of strength... is what she sees.
She sees trust in that strength.
That the world might be burning,
And everyone might be evil and blaming her,
But she stands strong.
Smiling.
Tell me now—
Is it not better to flip the script?
Be the wildcard?
You've been on defense this entire time.
Don't you itch to be on offense?
Instead of tolerating the bickering of the world,
Don't you wish to shout back,
'Shut the fuck up!'
To the entire fucking world?"
I did.
God, I did.
But…
"I do want all that.
But for that, you need power.
And freedom.
I don't have that.
I can't scream.
I can't storm out of my house.
I can leave, sure…
But the love I get from him is all the love I have.
And it's all the love I want.
I love Nigel.
A lot, to be honest.
And I do see a future with him.
And maybe sometimes… he needs space.
He has his own issues.
I can't always blame.
I can't always expect him to be there.
Right now, when I'm blaming him…
He doesn't even know I'm breaking.
He doesn't know.
Maybe if he knew… he'd stay.
I don't know.
So what's there to change?
The way I think?
I do that every time.
So much so…
I don't know which one is my original thought anymore."
The screen stayed still for a while.
Then Yaa wrote:
"Makes sense.
But at one point, you'll have to rebel slightly."
I stared.
"How?" I typed.
"Depends on you.
And your tactics.
I'm not interested in your dynamic with him.
I'm interested in you.
So if I say you can rebel…
You surely can."
I didn't know what to say.
So I wrote:
"idk"
And that was the truth.
I didn't know.
I didn't care.
I didn't want to.
I wasn't sure.
I wasn't ready to let go of my pain just yet.
I was still waiting for Nigel's message.
Still waiting for the tiny ding to prove to me that I was overthinking.
That I wasn't being neglected.
That this heartbreak was only inside my head.
That maybe—just maybe—I wasn't too much to love.
Because if he texted…
It would mean I mattered.
And if he didn't…
Well.
It would just confirm everything I was already afraid of.
I didn't tell Yaa that.
Some words are too broken to share.
Even with people who want to help.
Yaa meant well.
And maybe, somewhere inside, a seed was planted by their words.
But I was too tired.
Too tangled in my own loops.
Today, their support didn't feel like a life raft.
It felt like a whisper in a storm.
And I… I was still drowning.