I baked a cake for your birthday recently—or better yet, I tried

The ingredients for this cake were like no other:

1 and 3/4 cups of sugar, 2 cups of i-love-you (my mother warns me that is too much / what is the use of loving someone so much other than your direct family?), 3/4 cups of dark cocoa powder, 2 cups of flour (this, my mother is okay with), 1 tablespoon of anxiety (are you sure that's enough?), some sprinkle of baking soda, baking powder, and salt, 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract, 2 tablespoons of anger and resentment (you will need more sugar to balance out the bitterness), 3 large eggs, 1 cup of buttermilk, 3 cups of i-hope-this-year-treats-you-better-than-the-last (a frown marks my mother's forehead for always giving too much of myself away / she sees herself in me and she does not like it), 3/4 cup of vegetable oil, 1/2 strongly brewed coffee, and lastly, 1 cup of i-am-proud-of-you (who is proud you, my mother looks me in the eye and asks / my mouth is sewn shut)

I take the frosting out of the fridge—because really what is a cake without the frosting;

(because really what I am without celebrating the day you were born)

I flip a Tupperware to build a make-believe cake box

(my mother looks at me with pointed skepticism laced into her stare / it's a hack I saw on Instagram, I tell her / she finds it absurd, the miles I am willing to go for you)

I press the Tupperware shut and wonder if you, too, will feel the same

Rubina Nusrat Puspa is a part-time writer and full-time student with question marks floating around her head. You can reach her at rubinanusratpuspa@gmail.com.