The Way We Mend | Book 1 | Author AifiHwa

(2) Weight of expectations

The harder I tried to understand, the further the meaning slipped away. Doubt slithered quietly into my thoughts, whispering poisonous truths.

You don't belong here.
You're not smart enough.
You'll never catch up.

The whisper turned into a hiss, coiling tighter like a snake winding itself around my throat. I could feel it constricting, each breath harder to take than the last. My chest started to feel tighter and burned. I wasn't sure if I wanted to flee or vanish entirely. I would do anything to escape the weight of my own mind pressing down on me.

And in that moment, surrounded by brilliant minds and confident voices, a hollow certainty settled in my chest.

"Nothing to be surprised of you should get that kind of result anyway."

A memory surfaced; my mother's voice, calm yet unyielding, telling me what was expected of me. There had been no room for congratulatory in her tone, no softness nor understanding. Just certainty.

At the time, the house was full of worry, not for me, but for my fourth sister. Who had failed to qualify for A-Levels, her dream of graduating as A-level college student dissolving before her eyes. Everyone rushed to comfort her, to reassure her that she still has a future. Leaving the rest of us to tiptoe around her heartbreak. They comforted her with soft words and assurances. No one noticed me, who just got her O-level result.

That night, I made the decision quietly, while the rest of the house murmured around my fourth sister, discussing alternatives and consoling her disappointment. I sat alone in my room in front of the computer. The glow from the screen painted my hands in pale light as I typed out an application to Ceridian University.

No one helped me nor asked what I was doing. I searched for every requirement, filled every form, and wrote every email on my own. My sister needed the whole family to rally around her, to find new paths and backup plans. I know I had only myself and it has been this way since childhood.

I settled on the Foundation in Geoscience. It sounded respectable, promising, something my parents and siblings would approve. A field with weight and a future.

But deep down, I wanted something else.

I wanted to study fabric making; the art of weaving stories into texture by turning imagination into colour and form. My school's art teacher, Mrs. Rania, had stared at me in disbelief when I told her I was applying for science instead.

"You have hands that understand beauty," she'd said softly, brushing her fingers over one of my sketches. "Why would you abandon that?"

I didn't know how to answer her then. I still don't.

I told her science would give me stability and that art was just a hobby. A thing to be set aside when life got serious. But even as I said it, I could feel the lie sitting heavy on my tongue. The truth was far more painful: I didn't choose Geoscience. I chose approval.

I chose to be the daughter my parents could be proud of.

When the acceptance letter came, there were no cheers or embraces. Only silence from my mother and a faint smile from my father. Then came the remarks, sharp and deliberate - disguised as concern. My siblings' voices carried the same undertone: I didn't belong there. Ceridian was for people like Vanessa who is brilliant and graceful; the golden one. Not for someone like me, fumbling through formulas and fighting to breathe in lecture halls.

"You'll waste Father's money", one of them had said.
And maybe they were right.

Still, I fought for the past three years. Every night I would fight my creeping depression of my self-doubt, countless sleepless nights and the thoughts of disappearing. I fought to prove I could do this, that I was more than a mistake they tolerated. But beneath that defiance, I was like a thin thread stretched too far. The thought of quitting clawed at me sometimes, whispering how easy it would be to let go, to go home.

Home.

The word itself tasted bitter. I'd imagined about going home once or twice, back to my parents in the Middle East but the idea made my skin crawl. The still air, the endless heat and the quiet judgment hidden behind polite smiles. I hated it. I hated how small it made me feel. The thought of living every day's life with my parents would put me in better mental condition but I couldn't. I can hear the endless sneering I would receive from my siblings when they know I went back to my parents.

Here, in the country I was born to; this humid air that clung to my skin and carried the scent of rain-soaked earth, I could breathe or pretend to. At least, I feel belonged.

Now, I feel like I'm adrift on a small boat lost at vast ocean, the stars above offering no direction. The water is calm, yet the uncertainty beneath is pulling me mercilessly. I keep rowing and hoping that somewhere ahead there's land. Or at least, a reason to keep afloat.

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor pulled me back to the present. The lecture had ended. Laughter broke out in small clusters, backpacks zipped and endless chattering. I moved slowly, packing my things with deliberate care, hoping no one would notice the tremor in my hands. My throat ached, and I forced myself to breathe through my nose, counting silently. In. Out. In. Out. But the rhythm only made me more aware of how fast my heart was beating. I shifted my bag and pulling the non-existence snake that coiled on my neck.

"Hey, you okay?"

I turned to find a guy towering beside me, the one who always sat two rows back, I guessed it was due to his height. His expression was kind mix with worry, his voice deep and soothing.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Just tired."

He smiled, the smile that didn't quite believe me but was kind enough not to press. "It's a lot. Dr. Sophia moves fast. Took me a few weeks to catch on."

He nodded, understanding more than he said. "It's a tough class. Don't worry, it gets better."

The phrase landed like a weight on my chest. I nodded and forced a thin smile. "Yeah. I'll get there."

The classroom emptied quickly, few students went to see Dr. Sophia to ask questions. Some already left, leaving behind the faint echo of laughter and the smell of damp air.

"It's gonna rain", the guy said while looking out of the window.

"Hope it does." I replied.

He slung his bag over his broad shoulder, turned and looked at me. He gave me a light pat on the head and smile.

"I'll see you around". He gave a small wave before melting into the crowd. I caught a faint smell of pepper, not spicy but soothing.

I waived back weakly and nod at him.

"Thanks stranger", I murmured to myself.