I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 4.1 - Brandon

"I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process."

- Vincent Van Gogh

"I was thinking maybe I can be a singer when I grow up."

My parents dropped their forks and stared at my little sister, Hailey, with such intense glares that they could've melted the ten-year-old in an instant. I, on the other hand, continued eating, keeping my eyes on my plate.

"Sweetie, that is an unstable job. Very many people grow up with dreams of being a star, but most of those dreams are ruined. Only a few are discovered," my mother explained.

"But Brandon can sing, so maybe I can sing too," Hailey protested.

My parents both looked to me. I stared at my food. "Brandon only sings sometimes, but he's going to be a software engineer," my mother clarified. "That's his main goal."

My family and I are eating dinner. Eating dinner in your room was prohibited by my parents, for they say dinner is the time for us all to refresh and discuss with each other. And so, we sat on newly furnished chairs with bamboo seatings that rustled under our weight, by a recently waxed wooden table the color of caramel, our cutlery clashing against our plates as we snatched up food to satisfy our stomachs. There was even a glass of fresh flowers placed in the middle of the four of us for decoration. From the window, I could see outside the sun is setting, blowing color onto the sky.

"But can it maybe be my main goal?" Hailey suggested.

My parents were as still as statues. "Maybe, but they are definitely better options for you."

"But singing seems fun," Hailey complained. "Don't they travel the world, and meet and see new people?"

"No, darling. Maybe once you have the money, you can try pursuing it. But it definitely won't be fun when you're living in a house as small as our bathroom, and your meals are an eighth of what you're eating now."

"But I thought singers get even more money than most people?"

"That's only the famous ones, sweetie. Most singers are young and imaginative, but lack the support they need to reach what they want. They stay poor until either reality or a good manager finds them."

"But I'll have support, right? You guys will support me."

My mother, who had just resumed eating, placed her fork down once again, cupping her hands in front of her while suppressing a sigh. "We will support you, whatever you decide. But I wasn't talking about our support. It's not enough."

Nothing seems to be enough for you, Mother. I wanted to say it, but let my words be consumed along with my food.

"Then what were you talking about?" my sister asked.

"The public, darling," my mother answered. "They have the power to drop or raise an artist, no matter how talented they are, no matter how good of a person they are. The public is like a storm; it's chaotic and unpredictable. You don't want to put your career on its foundation."

"But what about software people? Don't they have to be hired by the public too?"

"Software engineers, sweetie. And yes, they do. But their talent is not as easily discarded due to the public's tastes as an artist's is." My mother seemed to be getting annoyed, a hint of irritation appearing in her voice.

"Then I'll do what you said. I'll find a good manager."

"That's harder than you think."

"And there is also the fame," my father chipped in. This was the first he had said in the discussion. "Once you lose your privacy, you can never get it back again. You'll never be able to eat like you are eating now in peace ever again."