Being Her

I think I’m her.

No, not her, her.

Every time my Mum gets into our car after a family visit, she says, “Remember her?”

After my Dad gives a blank look, she continues, “You know? That girl with the dyed hair? The one that wants to major in fashion design?”

Ah. Her.

Her is the Disrespectful One. The Modern One. And mostly The One That Doesn’t Want to Be a Doctor or an Engineer.

And to my family’s greatest disappointment, I might be turning into one.

Ever since I declared that I want to major in English literature, mysterious emails have been popping up in my inbox. ‘Bankrupt Writer Found Living in an Abandoned Porta-Potty’ and ‘Writing Found to be Disastrous to Mental Health’ being some of their subjects.

At their mention to my Mum, she says, “Don’t give up on your dreams dear. But if success is what you want, then I recommend you become a doctor.” Huh?

All confusions cleared after our last family visit though. “What do you want to do after you’re done with school?”, my uncle’s-dad’s-niece’s-son-in-law asked me. Before I could say a word, my Mum piped up, “Oh, she hasn’t decided yet.” Then she don’t-say-a-word glared at me. I chose to be say the truth. “Actually, I want to be a writer.” All eyes around me turned as wide as saucers.

When it was finally time to leave, I heard my uncle’s-dad’s-niece’s-daughter say, “Did you see her? The one wearing makeup? She wants to be a writer!”

Oh. I just love being her.