TRYING TO BE "MATURED"

Isabella, being an obedient and duteous daughter, 'shared' her piece of steamy roasted goose to her brother. That was because, she really wanted to prove her parents that she was matured enough to do so. Even though, it hurt her inner self which was gradually shattering apart but remained unknown to Isabella. After being over with her 'little supper', she tried to quickly slid into the main hall but the stealthy eyes of her brother reminded her to be in position like a 'sweet and polite' girl. Her parents nudged her, along with her mother who screamed at the top of her lungs,  "Isabella! We want to see your bedroom lights switched on all throughout the night." Isabella twisted her hands free and glanced at her mother's eyes full of fury. "Yes, your mother's right. Try to complete your swotting at the silence of the night", continued her father. "And reduce the time you waste in your sleep." Isabella looked away instantly and muttered a "yes" with a broken quiver in her voice. "Oh, sis! Try to grow up already!," blurted out her brother to which her parents nodded instantly in approval. Isabella did not want to disgrace her family so she forced upon herself and her emotions. She should be matured since she is already twelve and that was also imposed upon by her same family. Her mother had even permitted her to travel alone to school which was on the other side of the town. It was because she thought that her daughter was "matured", "competent" and "responsible" enough to do so even though she didn't dare to care about Isabella's true feelings behind her 'happy mask'. Isabella was working on a scholarship worksheet and had dozed off unknowingly while the lights and lamps were still switched on, lighting her room with a vibrant shade of moonlight.

As the first ray of the Sun peeped in through the windows of Isabella's tiny room, she stumbled down from her chair and opened her eyes to find herself with a pencil in her hand. "Oh, no! I slept again. How can I be so... immature?", was her thoughts as she flipped in through the pages to discover that only seven sums among the several hundreds were done. She closed the test series and stole a glance at her pendulum clock to only find that she had overslept again. Quickly fixing her dress and combing her untied hair, Isabella twirled around in front of the mirror and danced a few steps which she had choreographed. Suddenly, she had a creaking voice from behind and turned slowly with bated breath. "Isabella! How many times do I have to remind you about my rules?", asked Mrs.Quinton, her mother, with a dagger look in her face just like a bird with ruffled feathers. Isabella, then remembered that she had been strictly prohibited from dancing since it created a sort of "passive disturbance" in the household. She still didn't understand what that words meant because it wasn't specified clearly by her mother. She should have been more wary, more vigilant and cautious. But, she was afraid of such a consequence of her vibrant dance steps which were accidentally seen by her mother. She, yet again, proved herself.. "Oh, my! You are so immature! Don't you get it? Dancing is for kids! It creates a disturbance. You are grown up, be matured, darling," blurted out her mother, unknowingly hurting her daughter's softest core of the heart. After a while she informed Isabella about the neighbours who would be visiting that day. "Behave well", reminded her mother, glaring at her and signalled her to get ready as soon as possible.

Isabella positioned herself at the nearby cushion and watched her little brother browsing through the internet. Her mother was sitting in front of Mrs.Simmons, who eventually started talking with a grim and traumatic expression on her face. "Oh, what will I tell you, Mrs.Quinton! I had given my daughter, a pretty doll, on her seventh birthday  which she has lost due to her carelessness. She's a kid, as you can understand. So, she has lost her mind over that doll and refuses to listen to me until I give her the same doll with golden curls", saying this Simmons broke down into tears. This reminded Isabella about her prohibition from playing with dolls and watching any caricature shows on television. "Are you playing with dolls, again? Oh God, she's such an immature! Grow up Isabella", was the comment she received everytime when she was accidentally seen playing or talking with dolls. Even her friends had ditched her for that reason. So, she had thrown away all of them into a dumpster nearby to prove herself "matured" even that meant her own shattered feeling in her heart and her downtrodden emotions. She suddenly smiled at Mrs. Simmons's complaint. "Hey, Isabella? Get rid of this habit!", exclaimed Mrs.Quinton who was as red as a tomato. Isabella frowned and looked away. Her brother interrupted, "Be matured, sis! How can you laugh at serious moments?" She looked at her mother who was fuming with rage. Muttering an apology to Mrs. Simmons on behalf of the rudeness committed by her daughter, she nudged Isabella saying, "Dear, please bake the breadsticks in the oven and prepare a cup of tea for our guest!" Isabella gave her mother an open-mouthed look to which Mrs.Simmons exclaimed and interrupted the long waiting silence, "It's fine! Your daughter doesn't look matured enough to handle the kitchen work. Anyways, I am leaving."