A Collection of Short Stories

For Her Future: The Girl's Point of View

Every morning was tinged with a mechanic structure as the girl woke up to the incessant beeps of her alarm. Although she could easily count the years in which she had been doing this same routine, she felt like she was stuck in a universe where the start of every single day would be marked by annoying beeps and the eventual diving into the same schedule: Wake up. Go to School. Study and do work. Go home. Study and do work. Sleep. Wake up. Go to School. Study and do work. Go home. Study and do work. Sleep.

Over and over again.

This schedule had become so second nature to her, it became her reality. Anything that strayed from this, an impromptu road trip or even a trip to the shopping mall, drew out hostility within her. She came to loathe anything that intervened with her study time.

And the fact was, she wasn't doing this for herself.

Yes, she was doing it for the sake of getting into a university course which would ultimately get her into a good paying job. But she felt more like she was putting in the effort for her parents. Even the job she aspired to obtain wasn't fully her decision. Although she did enjoy what was required in the job she planned to take, she felt like her skills could be used in a better way elsewhere.

Her parents varied in terms of the level of monitoring they did on her education. Sometimes, they would make a little comment about her work, or ask her how her studies were going, without asking for further details. But most of the time, they would probe her until she spit out meaningful responses to their questions. Her parents did have the right to ask her these things, but sometimes she would think they were border lining on excessive.

On one occasion, the family was having dinner on the table. Her parents had finished eating - her mother was feeding the baby and her father was washing the dishes. The girl had a lot on her mind, due to the upcoming exams. She had no appetite. As she miserably tried to finish her food, her father asked the question. "So how was school?"

Now, usually, the girl could get away with "It was good", because when she did answer in full, lengthy detail, her parents would lose interest. Which was fine with her, because it meant that she got more study time. So the girl replied "It was good, same as always."

The father tried again. "That is not a proper answer. How. Was. School.?" At this point, the girl was critically analysing her answer. What she said wrong. How else would you answer the question, except with the words good, bad, boring, etc.? She wanted to say boring, but she did not want to communicate the idea that her education was not appreciated and, thus, she was wasting money. She did not want to say bad, because her parents would criticise her for her pessimistic attitude and would immediately tell her that she had a 'bad' attitude and that it must change, for it would ruin her future. No. So, she attempted to answer the question again in the same way, because she thought that it was an answer appropriate to the question. "It was good...?"

Her father abruptly cut in. "What is GOOD?"

"It was just good. School was good. I did good." The girl answered, puzzled at what her father was getting to. Being from a non-English speaking country, she knew that his English was not up to scratch, but normally she would be able to decipher his broken English. Right now, she was more confused than ever.

"What did you do?"

"I just did exercises in math. Read text in English. The usual."

"And how did you find it?" Her father asked, pressingly. There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice, for some odd reason.

"Umm, it was okay."

"What do you mean it was okay?!" Her father vented.

The girl realised that the reason why she was giving such vague answers was because she felt that she needed to be a perfect child, giving perfect answers to her parents, especially to her father. She did not want to hint at big problems that were looming behind her temporary, composed mask. The last time she expressed concern at her education was when she noticed that she was repetitively getting average marks. Her mother told her to listen more attentively and to ask questions, to which the girl replied that she did do those things, but they still did not make sense to her. And what was her mother's response to that? "Well, if you don't understand it, you don't understand it." Shouldn't her mother be a bit more concerned? No, her parents were more concerned about her marks.

The girl desperately wanted to cry out for help, but with all the pressure of her parents to turn her into a perfect diamond, she felt that she had no right to do so. In another instance, meetings were held at her school. Each student, with their parents, were to have a discussion with their year advisors about their study life and how they were to achieve their ATAR. One of their tips was to create a study timetable. The girl happily agreed, thinking that it was an easy task to do, and that she would be able to adapt to it straightaway. As the girl began to structure this timetable, she realised that her schedule, as soon as she arrived home from school, was not structured. She attempted to account for the impromptu calls for help to take care of her baby brothers and the dinner times that started at different times, from 6 to 8 pm. She could not do it. So she left that idea in the dust, and continued on to whatever inbuilt schedule she had previously.

Her parents picked this up, and asked her where her timetable was. She told them that she did not have one. Her father advised her to make one up, because it was very important to her study life. And at that he left. There she sat, miserable, no knowing what to do. Again, they asked, to which she replied no, for she did not know how to make one. Her father absolutely destroyed her, calling her out on her laziness to do anything productive. And there she sat, trying to be a perfect, respectful daughter. A daughter who did not oppose the ideas of her parents, the people who had earned money to pay for everything around her. A daughter who absolutely and utterly understood everything that came out of her parents' mouth. She could not speak up for herself, for she would immediately be scolded for talking back. There she sat, tears welling up in her eyes. Her father noticed that she was crying, and he toned down his voice only just a bit. But he assumed that she was crying out of guilt.

"Umm, well-" The girl was abruptly cut by her father's raging voice. This was all to familiar. Her mind automatically filled with images of the next subject in which she was going to have an exam in. She really needed to study, because she did not have the time, what with all the homework each subject managed to shove into her hands, during the exam period.

"Can't I have a conversation, a normal conversation with my daughter?! As a father to my daughter? DO I NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO ASK YOU QUESTIONS? WE CAN BE HERE ALL NIGHT UNTIL YOU ANSWER MY QUESTION PROPERLY! IT IS NOT THAT HARD ALRIGHT! NOW. HOW. WAS. SCHOOL?"

Tears started to glaze over her eyes, making the world blurry. Surely her father noticed. But he went straight back to doing the dishes. She clenched her throat and desperately tried to hold them back. She could do this. So the girl went into elaborate detail of what she did in each subject, adding odd things that happened during the day in order to pique his interest.

"SEE, THAT WASN'T SO HARD, NOW WAS IT? Give me your plate and go do your work." She obliged and trudged up the stairs, defeated.

The girl was very much jealous of other families. She felt that she, in the whole entire world, was the only one bearing the weight of the pressure forced by her parents. She felt this burden every day, not just on school days. The way she would conduct herself publically. The way she would talk to her parents - she had to use the right tone, otherwise she would be accused of talking back.

This pressure was too much for her at times that, in her room, her only solitude, she would first get angry then dissolve into tears. She would blame her parents at first. Then, she would crush herself with thoughts so depressing, she would often think of running away or committing suicide. Why couldn't she be like other people, who understood concepts so thoroughly and at once? Why wasn't she good at academics, the only subject that was of worth to her parents? They disliked that she was a creative soul. Like all other parents, they wanted her to be a nurse. An engineer. Being an architect was borderline. But even then, her mother still disliked this.

Her mother compared her to her friends, who were aiming to get into the medical field. "Why can't you be a nurse like so and so?" "You should get a job that helps others. Being an architect does nothing." "Being a nurse or a doctor helps thousands of lives. You should do that." Her mother wouldn't care that she had picked the wrong subjects for getting into a medical course. At some point, her mother said "See, your friend has more sense then you." or "Your friend is smarter than you.". The girl's heart utterly broke.

It seemed that she would never be able to satisfy her parents.

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