chapter one

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

MIA

A soft, chilly breeze sweeps through the window into the car, lifting my curls from my shoulders. I twist my wrist, shaking and aligning the bangles. Tucking a few strands behind my ear, I pull out my phone when I hear the soft ping of an email notification.

My stomach churns as I unlock my phone, skimming through my emails only in time to feel my heart sink to the pit of my stomach when I see another rejection.

One would think after receiving so many, that you would be immune to receiving them. But still, I feel the weight pressing on my chest, the sharp inhale that stings my lungs and the sweat that beads and blooms along my dark forehead.

My mom eagerly glances over her shoulder, anxiously awaiting my news. I peer up at her; I pinch my lips together and shake my head slightly. Besides waiting to see if I'll have a source of income after I graduate, it's the looming fear that I'll become a burden to my parents that keeps the renewed sense of hope whenever I get an email.

"It's okay, Meenamma," she reaches behind and squeezes my arm reassuringly, "You'll get something. Don't give up." Her soft smile is heartening, and her dark brown eyes, similar to mine, fill with sympathy, making me push the pinching in my chest aside.

My mother is a beautiful and confident person. She has the confidence that I wish I had.

Moving to a new country, starting over as a young married couple with only broken English and little money to support them, they built a life for me here, thriving in ways I could only imagine.

Growing up, I always had the liberty to make my own choices. My parents were never strict in that regard, allowing me to do as I please. They were, however, unyielding when it came to my whereabouts during high school. As a result, I was to be home right after school, didn't take up a part-time job, and didn't have many friends to hang out with.

They were often worried about my safety—the most common fear amongst immigrant parents.

I thought this would prevent me from pursuing the renowned arts program at the University of North Cardill—or UNC as everyone calls it. Located across the country in Cardill, Pennsylvania—a small town south of Pittsburgh, I was sure my parents wouldn't allow it, at least to guarantee their ability to ensure I was safe.

But they surprised me by being supportive.

However, lately, I'm finding a strain on that autonomy.

I'm heading into my last semester before graduating with a Fine Arts and Art History degree. As I now apply for jobs, being on the receiving end of rejections and often unanswered job applications, I wonder if I've been a tad bit liberal with my choices.

My relatives chastised me for the lifestyle that I have. They criticized me for not pursuing a traditional job that is deemed well-off. But my parents never took notice of that. Instead, they allowed me the space to make whatever choices I wanted.

Things have been easier for me, and I'm aware of that, so I try not to take advantage. But this caused me to bury many of my thoughts and feelings because I didn't want to appear ungrateful. My problems seemed to be privileged in the grand scheme of things. My cousins are forced to study highly regarded programs that are so financially driven that it doesn't seem right to bring forth my concerns.

Despite not wanting to take advantage, I wonder if I perhaps had. I wonder if I accrued a debt of $80k for nothing. The anxiety that I'll have spent all this time and money on a degree only to get a job that has nothing to do with said degree plagues me. And the feeling is exacerbated with each rejection.

And through all this, my parents have been understanding, not minding if I spent a few months at home unemployed while I took the time to find a job.

But I can't be too much of a burden to them. My parents have already done so much for me.

"This just wasn't meant for you. There's going to be something out there that's going to be perfect. You have to keep looking. Keep trying," my dad's gruff baritone voice calls from in front, speaking in Tamil. I glance up to see his warm eyes meet mine through the rear-view mirror.

"I know, Pa, and I will," I respond warmly, resting my elbow on the car door and staring out at the passing cars.

A thin layer of snow blankets the city, which is quite rare in my hometown, Stouffville, a few hours north of Seattle. The roads are damp as sloshy snow is pulled apart and stomped on by passing cars. The winds are a bit harsh, especially along the coastline. I only ever visit during my winter and summer breaks, spending most of my time at school. But even I can't deny that I miss my hometown, the nostalgia, the salt that lines the air, and the routes I know like the back of my hand.

Moving back here wouldn't be the end of the world, being close to my family. But it's the life I'll be leaving behind in Cardill that has me questioning everything.

"No pouting after going to the temple," my mom sings, turning back to face the front as I flash her a soft smile.

Despite the cold, I'm sweating, which I usually do when I'm wearing a saree; the tight silk material around my skin restricts any leg movement. As a result, sweat pools between my legs as my thighs chafe. I pull on the fabric of my light pink blouse to allow cool air to brush against my damp skin.

We pull into our narrow driveway to see a navy blue Civic parked at the top. I grab my jacket and loop it over my arm as I get out, careful not to step on the pleats and muddy them.

The car door opens, and Devi, my cousin, steps out wearing a pair of leggings and a bulky jacket. Her light pale cheeks reddened due to the cold, and her eyes—light hazel brown, widen with amusement at the sight of me.

Despite being four years younger than me, Devi is my best friend, my sister. I mean, she's technically considered my sister since she's my mom's older sister's daughter.

"Took you long enough," she squeals as she rushes toward me. "Happy New Year, Sithi. How was the temple?"

"Happy New Year, ma. Good. How long have you been waiting here?" My mom heads towards the front door as my dad stays back to park inside.

Devi waves her off as she trails behind me, "Not too long, maybe an hour," she answers in English.

"Sridevi," my mom sternly warned. I snicker at the mention of her full name, which she hates.

"Don't worry, Sithi. I had the car started, and I was studying." When my mom turns to arch her brow at her playfully, Devi lifts her hands by her sides, "I swear." My mom knows Devi well enough to know that isn't true. She spent most of her time at my house anyway growing up.

As my mom turns towards the kitchen, Devi turns to me and shakes her head mouthing hell no. I roll my eyes as I kick off my shoes and jog upstairs to change.

Throwing my jacket over the back of the chair, I head over to my vinyl player and turn it on—the soft melodic voice of Foals singing Spanish Sahara filters through the room.

Devi drops down onto my bed with her jacket still on.

"So, I've been thinking," she starts, and I chuckle, "Oh no, that doesn't sound good."

"Shut it, Mia," she throws a pillow in my direction just as I unpin the top from my blouse, unwinding it around my waist.

"Okay, go on." I throw on a pair of sweatpants under my underskirt.

She sighs heavily and mutters, "So I'm thinking of dropping out of school."

My hands freeze on the hanger, and the material of the saree slips through my fingers.

"What?" I face her, confusion evident on my face as my thick brow arches high on my forehead.

She glances up at me sheepishly. "I'm thinking of dropping out of school."

I blink slowly, wondering where this is coming from, "Thinking? Or decided."

She grimaces, pinching her thin lips together, "80%."

"But—" I stutter, "You have one semester left to graduate high school. Why now?"

She shrugs, and strands of her straight hair fall from her bun. "I don't know. I've been thinking about it for some time, and I can't shake it. I want to travel the world, take pictures, explore, and learn new cultures."

Devi is an avid photographer and never goes anywhere without her camera. She also has a good eye, but I didn't think she would drop out entirely to focus on this.

"Why not finish school and then travel? You need money for that, resources, and right now, you're living off your parents." My aunt and uncle are not as supportive as mine are; they are super competitive and often compare Devi to our other cousins. They would never support her travelling, especially if it comes at the expense of her education.

"You know how they are. They'll never let me study photography. That's why I need your help. Can you, maybe, talk to them about the possibility?"

"What?" I exclaim, "No way."

"Please, please. It's not for sure, but maybe bring it up to see what they would say," she pleads, kneeling on my bed. She clasps her hands together and tucks her hands under her chin.

"I already know what they're going to say." Something along the lines of 'mind your own business', 'that's absurd', and 'you're crazy'.

"Okay, maybe not dropping out, not yet, but getting a part-time job so that I could at least save money of my own. They won't even let me apply, thinking it'll distract me from school."

I let out a heavy sigh, knowing that though she's ditched the topic of dropping out, for now, it'll come back to haunt me.

But the idea of convincing them to let her get a part-time job will be a lot easier than letting her quit school entirely. While they could never understand why I decided to study arts or why my parents allowed for it, I'd like to think that they still respect me enough to listen to what I have to say, which is why I have to pick and choose my words carefully.

But was I really going to take this on while I had my own issues to deal with? Even before I finish the thought, I know the answer is yes. That confidence I was talking about also went hand in hand with my ability to say no.

I was a certified pushover. Through and through.

"Okay, I'll talk to them before I leave this weekend."

I throw on an oversized t-shirt, padding across the hardwood floor towards my dresser. I take off my bangles, earrings, and gold necklace as I contemplate how I will handle my own confession; that I want to move back next year.

With my friends, life, and connections there, I want to be in Cardill. I have more opportunities there. As Stouffville is a smaller town, I will have to commute to Seattle every day if I want an art-related job.

But staying in Cardill also has a disadvantage. Any money I would make will be going straight to rent and necessities. And I wouldn't be able to save anything, as whatever's left will go toward my student debt.

Whereas if I came back home, my parents wouldn't ask for a single penny for rent, food or even the commute to Seattle. I would also be with my family.

There are benefits and disadvantages to living in either place, but my heart's in Cardill. And I don't know how to tell my parents without hurting them and burdening them more. I'm their only daughter. How can I say I want to live more than 2500 miles away from them?

It's not a matter of them saying no. They'll want what's best for me, but the thought of how they would react breaks my heart. My fingers linger over the gold necklace my parents got for my 18th birthday with a bird charm that I haven't taken off since.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Devi breaks me out of my trance, tackling me with a hug. The warm sugary scent of strawberries and coconut feel my nose. "I don't know what I would do without you," she mumbles into my curls.

I have had that thought many times myself growing up. My aunts tend to speak their minds on matters that have nothing to do with them. And unfortunately, my parents haven't been able to speak up in that regard, either to defend me or my choices. So, without Devi by my side, I don't know what I would have done.

This is the least I could do for her. And now, if only I could muster up the courage to talk to my own parents.


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net