We are all Liars - by Esther Omemu

What do you say when they look at you with sincere eyes, a warm hand on your shoulder, and ears eager to listen? When they sit next to you, their presence like an embrace, their gaze unwavering as they whisper, ‘Are you okay?’ Their voice is so soft that it falls weightless on your ears, like clouds.  What do you say when you’ve taught your mouth to lie and your eyes to rest neatly over the secrets buried inside?You say, ‘I’m fine,’ because you are—if being ‘fine’ means sitting at the feet of anxiety, clutching its hem with shaky fingers. You force a laugh, bitter in your ears but floating like humour. You add a smile, stretching it over teeth that bear the traces of bloodied fingernails. You lower your gaze, avoiding the sincerity they offer because it might give you away. No matter how well you’ve mastered the craft of hiding behind a facade, your eyes can’t lie the same way.‘I’m okay,’ you say, but your voice tilts too high, so you feed them another laugh to bury the tears caught in your throat. ‘Just a little tired,’ you add quickly, so they think you have given them honesty.. ‘But I’ll be fine,’ you say, donning the final mask in your arsenal.Your lips tremble as they continue to search your face, hoping to find the truth. But then they tap your arm, spread their cheeks in a smile, and nod. ‘That’s good then.’You should be relieved—they believe you. But their response tastes bitter as it echoes in your ears. You almost wish they could hear what you can’t say. A part of you screams, Tell me that is a lie! Look at me again!’ But that part is never loud enough. It barely scratches the surface of your mask, so they offer a quick hug and walk away, satisfied that you’re okay.Your face burns, your skin itches. The truth feels like hot coals beneath your flesh. You want to scream your pain to the world, to rip open your chest and put your heart in a glass display. You want their eyes to truly see you, their warm hands to stay, and for this loneliness to release its grip on your neck so you can finally breathe. But how do you do that when you’ve taught yourself to lie for so long that it has built a home on your tongue. When you’ve whispered ‘I’m fine’ so many times that even when you lay broken and bleeding on the floor, your face still forms a smile—not from joy, but from habit. And no one will know the difference. Not even you. You’ll lay there, becoming the facade of calm and composure you’ve worn as a second skin. You’ll wonder if, in convincing others, you’ve finally convinced yourself too.Have you ever found yourself saying, 'I'm fine,' when it's the furthest thing from the truth? Why do you think we hide our true feelings so easily?"

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