Àárínade sat in her small room, the light filtering through the cracked window casting a pattern on the floor. She held a drawing of the compound's almond tree, its leaves meticulously detailed. Her mother's voice echoed from the kitchen, a blend of love and exasperation woven into every syllable.
"Àárínade, o ti délé nìyẹn? You’re home and still sitting idle? Go and wash those plates!"
Her mother's call pulled her away from the world she had created on paper, a world where her art was understood and appreciated.
The streets outside were alive, a cacophony of vendors shouting, children playing, and the occasional honk of a distant car. Àárínade stood at the edge, watching the world move at a pace she never quite matched. Her brother, Wálé, raced past, laughing with friends.
"Àbùrò mi kò yára rara," he teased, glancing back at her, a smile on his face.
Despite his words, Àárínade knew her brother meant no harm. Yet, the label of being "slow" lingered, a shadow on her mind.
In the quiet of her father's study, Àárínade found solace. Amongst dusty books and forgotten documents lay a weathered sketchpad, its pages blank and inviting. It became her haven, a place where she could pour her thoughts without judgment.
"You better stop drawing all those useless things and face your books," her father's voice echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of the world outside her art.
Àárínade sat beneath the almond tree, the sun casting playful shadows around her. In her hands, a brush danced across the canvas, leaving trails of color that spoke louder than words ever could. Her art was her voice, expressing what she couldn't say aloud.
The realization dawned slowly that her difference was not a weakness but a unique lens through which she viewed the world.
Years later, the streets of Lagos buzzed with an energy that Àárínade captured in her art. Each stroke of her brush was a tribute to her journey, a story told through color and form. Her work resonated with those who saw it, a testament to the strength found in embracing one's true self.
In a gallery filled with admirers, Àárínade stood before her painting, a vibrant depiction of the bustling streets and serene moments of her past. Her journey from the misunderstood child in Ibadan to a celebrated artist was etched into every canvas.
"I see the world differently," she said softly, a smile playing on her lips, "and that makes all the difference."
