Random Shots

Are You Satisfied?

The air was thick with the scent of lavender in the grand Araneta mansion, a smell that normally soothed Irene Marcos Araneta's nerves. But today, there was a different kind of tension in the air—one that the lavender couldn’t mask. The weight of perfection loomed over every room, especially in the small, pristine study where Adriella sat hunched over her books. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched her pencil, its tip grinding into the page of mathematical equations that blurred together after hours of study.

Adriella Araneta, Irene’s daughter, was a walking contradiction. Petite and frail, with thin limbs that seemed to have forgotten how to rest. Her eyes were constantly red from late nights spent memorizing formulas, reciting speeches, or perfecting the details of yet another academic project. Bloodied tissues littered her desk, remnants of her constant nosebleeds—a symptom of the stress that burned through her like wildfire. She was the model student, her brows knitted in a perpetual state of concentration, as if the weight of the world’s expectations rested solely on her slim shoulders.

And in many ways, they did.

"How many times have I told you, Adriella? Hindi ka pwedeng magkamali." Irene's voice sliced through the silence of the room like a sharp blade. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her face devoid of any softness. Irene was a vision of elegance and poise, a woman who had been raised under the shadows of greatness herself and had learned to survive by mastering the art of control—over herself, her family, and now, over her daughter.

Adriella swallowed hard, the words on the tip of her tongue stuck there, trapped under the weight of her mother’s cold, expectant gaze. "I’m... trying, Mama."

"Trying isn't good enough," Irene responded sharply, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she approached Adriella’s desk. She leaned over her daughter’s shoulder, her eyes scanning the equations with a critical eye. "Look at this. You’ve miscalculated. This will cost you your perfect grade."

Adriella’s fingers clenched around her pencil, her heart hammering in her chest. She could feel the pressure building behind her eyes, the familiar burning sensation creeping up—another headache, another nosebleed. She had been at this for hours, and yet it was never enough. A lifetime of medals, plaques, certificates lined the walls of her room, but they were nothing more than reminders of a race she could never stop running.

"I'm sorry, Mama," Adriella whispered, barely able to hide the tremor in her voice.

"Sorry won’t get you into the top universities. Sorry won’t get you that scholarship. You need to push harder, Adriella. Do you understand me?"

Adriella nodded weakly, the words "I understand" escaping her lips, though they felt empty. She had heard this all before. The expectations, the constant pressure to be perfect, to be better than everyone else. It was a never-ending cycle, and no matter how many accolades she gathered, it was never enough. Her mother always wanted more.

Irene turned to leave the room, her silk dress swishing as she walked, but she paused in the doorway. "You have your recital tomorrow. Don’t embarrass us."

Adriella’s heart sank further, the weight of the upcoming event adding to the mountain of pressure she already carried. She watched as her mother disappeared down the hallway, her figure fading into the shadows of the mansion. Alone in her study, Adriella let out a long, shaky breath, wiping away the blood that trickled from her nose. She glanced at the clock—2:15 a.m.—and sighed. She didn’t even have time to sleep, not with everything that was expected of her.