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"Nothing exciting happened?" she inquires with genuine interest.
"Oh, you know, just the usual monotonous drudgery of school life," I remark, my voice dripping thick with sarcasm. I raise an eyebrow toward the ceiling, a gesture that may seem misplaced given the proximity of my mother, but carries the weight of my discontent.
"Well, school is meant to be enjoyable, my dear," my mother counters, her tone gentle yet resolute.
"Not for me," I retort, my voice pulsating with the frustration that courses through my veins.
"Why is that?" she asks, concern knitting her brows together with maternal intuition.
"It's because things keep getting weirder every single day," I replied, my voice filled with resignation.
Mom arched her eyebrows, her eyes filled with concern. "Why do you say that, Skye?"
I sighed and looked down at my hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on my sweater. "It's just... I don't fit in at school. The expectations, the students... everything feels too high for me to reach."
Understanding flickered in Mom's eyes as she reached out to hold my hand. "Oh, darling, I can understand how you feel. I never had the chance to attend a prestigious school like yours. I faced many challenges growing up, especially being poor."
My heart ached for Mom, realizing that her life hadn't been easy either. "But at least you were able to meet the standards of your school."
A small, melancholic smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Would it surprise you if I said that I struggled with fitting in too?"
My eyes widened in disbelief. How could Mom, who always seemed so confident and adaptable, have felt the same way I did? "Yes, I would be surprised. You always seemed to be able to adapt to anything."
Mom chuckled softly, her laughter tinged with a hint of sadness. "Well, we all have our struggles, Skye. And let me tell you a little secret – I didn't always fit in either. But eventually, I had to find a way to make it work within the school's unusual system."
Curiosity piqued, I leaned forward eagerly. "How did you manage to adapt, Mom? I could really use some advice."
Her eyes sparkled with nostalgia as she recalled her own journey. "It was simple, really. I had to break the rules."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Break the rules? How did that help?"
"By starting all over again which wasn't easy, of course, at first," Mom explained. "I had to change myself and my appearance, and people started to take me seriously. Unlike before, I gained their respect."
I was still confused by her words but Mom noticed it and had to elaborate more.
"You know, my dear Skye, you're a truly gifted writer and reader," Mom continued. "Even though I haven't read any of your works, I believe in your talent. You have the power to rewrite your story, your lifestyle, and even yourself. You can begin by bringing forth, telling, and narrating a new chapter of your life, adding a twist to it!"
Her words struck a chord within me, and I felt a surge of inspiration. For the first time, I realized that maybe Mom wasn't so bad after all.
"You mean I can actually rewrite my own story?" I gasped, sitting up on the bed and adjusting my position for more comfort. The idea seemed both daunting and exhilarating.
"Yeah, Skye, it's all on you. Only you can put pen to paper and let the power of words wash over you. And it's only you who can transform yourself into something truly extraordinary, something utterly adorable!" My mom's voice sounded both hopeful and comforting as she spoke.
I couldn't help but ask, "But how? How do I do that?"
Her response was a thoughtful one, filled with a touch of uncertainty. "Honestly, sweetie, my path might not be the same as yours. We all have different choices to make in life."
I felt a sense of frustration building inside me. "Please, just tell me. I feel like I have no choices at all right now!"
My mom settled herself on my bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Even with my headphones on, I could still hear her words, her voice laced with determination.
"Well, for me, I decided to shed my innocent and reserved image and embrace a more rebellious side," she admitted.
"Like a bad girl image?" I questioned, intrigued by the idea.
"Exactly," she confirmed, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and nostalgia.
"Oh!" I couldn't help but let out a surprised exclamation.
