I hated to cry even when it was obvious that I was a crybaby.

Whenever I felt sad or upset, I would cover my face with both my palms and allow salty liquid to flow down from my eyes. It would take some cajoling and petting from my favorite people around me if there is any, to stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks. Then I would have just the puffiness of my eyes to contend with but something soon happened, when I was in my first year in the university and I promised myself that I wasn't going to cry when I was upset again.

It was a Monday morning and just like every other first day of the week, I loved to appear smart. There was a feel to it as if my week was going to indeed start well if I dressed in that manner. So I tucked my black shirt into my pair of white pants and headed out for school.

Unfortunately, as I stood at the junction to take a tricycle, a car zoomed past me, leaving splotches of mud on the legs of my trousers.

It was already a few minutes past 8 am and the class was for 8. If I returned home to change up, there was a possibility that I would not gain access to the class so I went over to a public borehole and rinsed off the legs of my trousers then went on my way.

As I already knew, I was late to the class and the lecturer had begun dictating her notes. She took one look at me after I greeted her and shook her head, lifting her nose in the most disapproving manner she could muster.

“How can you come to class very late and very dirty on a Monday morning?”

The entire class turned their attention to me and instantly, the class felt like there were at least a hundred bees in it.

I followed her eyes and stared down at the legs of my pants. Of course, the mud was gone but the splotches were still very obvious and the mark of the water I used had lined itself with a brown stain as well. I bowed my head trying to explain what happened but my voice seemed too embarrassed to cooperate.

This woman didn't take into consideration the fact that the entire class was already talking about me, she kept the jabs coming.

“A fine girl like you cannot afford to be dirty. When you put on white clothes once you have to wash them, knowing fully well that they easily pick up dirt”

“I washed them before wearing ma!” It seemed like my voice had finally begun to cooperate because it was dangerously higher than normal, but the woman didn't notice.

“Oh, so it's you who doesn't know how to wash?”

I didn't expect the uproar that came from my coursemates. Most of them were holding their mouths and others their bellies from excessive laughter. Me who was once respected had now become an object of mockery.

It was then the tears came flooding down my cheeks.

“You're not just dirty, you're a crybaby too?”

That was the straw that broke the Camel's back. I marched over to the Head of the Department's office and gave a detailed explanation of everything that just occurred in the classroom.

Our HOD then was against student bullying not to talk of bullying by the lecturers themselves. He summoned the woman to his office immediately and demanded that she apologize to me and she did even though it was obviously a reluctant gesture.

It seemed that none of my coursemates minded that my trousers were dirty because all they kept talking about was the fact that I cried in front of the entire class.

It was that incident that made me always hold the tears back no matter how hard it knocked at my eyes.

Sam Feldt’s song made me understand that if I didn't shed them, the tears would not go away meaning that I would hold on to the hurt for a longer time.

This is the part of the song that got to me and I hope I can let go of the tears so I can get Better.