2
By the time I was being lifted onto the operating table, I had already stopped breathing.
The doctors in the ER were performing CPR, but my soul floated over to Mom’s side.
Mom looked furious.
“I just scolded her a little, was that really worth jumping? Finals are in just a few days, I’m so worried!”
Mr. Harrison tried to console her. “Lily is a very diligent student. As parents, you shouldn’t push your child too hard.”
Mom’s voice rose. “Diligent? She bails at the first sign of a little illness. Kids these days are too pampered!”
My soul hovered nearby, tears streaming down.
Mom was an Ivy League graduate who’d come from humble beginnings to make it big in the city, truly climbing the
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social ladder. In her mind, scores were everything. If you didn’t study until you dropped, you weren’t studying hard enough.
So, from a young age, I was cooped up in my room, doing endless math problems while other kids were out playing.
I remember in fifth grade, I got my first period. The abdominal pain was unbearable. Mom only ever focused on my studies and had never taught me anything about it.
I called Mom, but before I could even speak, her scolding voice blasted through the phone.
“Lily, why was your weekly test score so low last week? So, if I don’t supervise you, you just won’t study, huh?”
To punish my declining grades, Mom turned on the monitoring camera and made me go to the hallway to recite my
lessons.
It was freezing, around 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and I stood shivering in the chilly hallway in just my thin pajamas. Mom’s voice came through the monitor: “Don’t even think about slacking off. You kids don’t know what real resilience is, not like our generation!”
That night, I recited books in the dim hallway, and fresh blood stained my entire pants.
From then on, every time I had my period, the abdominal pain was excruciating, and even medication didn’t help. The doctor said it was a childhood illness, hard to cure. But Mom just brushed it off. “You can’t even handle this little bit of discomfort? How are you ever going to get into college?” I clutched my aching abdomen, my head bowed low.
Back to the present.
Mom was still complaining endlessly to Mr. Harrison.
“Lily’s math is weak, so please, Mr. Harrison, give her more attention, more homework. Don’t worry about tiring her out!”
“When she becomes a public servant later, I’ll make sure she brings gifts to visit you.”
Hearing the words “public servant” made my heart ache.
Mom had no idea that because of her, I had long lost the qualification to pursue a public service career.
In ninth grade, my deskmate, Chloe, invited me to her birthday party at a karaoke bar. Under Mom’s strict control, I had never watched a movie, played a video game, or even had dinner with friends. Thinking my last mock exam score was decent, I mustered up the courage and accepted Chloe’s invitation.
Just as I was happily holding the cake, celebrating with Chloe, Mom burst in.
The music screeched to a halt.
My classmates exchanged bewildered glances, staring at the furious stranger.
Mom, in front of everyone, slapped me more than ten times.
Mom’s hysterical shouts filled my ears: “Lily, how could you be so depraved? Now you dare sneak out to play behind my
back?”
“What kind of place is this? What are you doing hanging out with these losers?! Shameless!”
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The air fell silent, only Mom’s ragged breathing could be heard. I stood there, embarrassed, wishing I could disappear
into the floor.
Mom glared at me. “What are you standing there for, dumbass? Get over here, by Mom’s side! First year of high school is crucial for building a foundation. Hanging out with these losers will ruin you, eventually!”
Chloe, my deskmate, was upset Mom had ruined her birthday. “Auntie, what do you mean by that? What do you mean ‘losers‘? How did we, who aren’t great at studying, ever bother you?”
Mom was already fuming, and Chloe’s words were like lighting a fuse. Mom lunged at Chloe, and they started tearing at
each other.
“Mom, stop fighting!”
As I stepped in to break them up, Mom’s swinging elbow hit me squarely in the eye.
My vision instantly turned crimson.
Seeing the situation spiral out of control, the other students called the police.
my vision
Mom was detained for half a month for disturbing the peace. The corner of my right eye was ruptured, and decreased. There were vision requirements for joining the police force, and my lifelong dream of becoming an officer was utterly shattered.
The day I picked Mom up from the detention center, she said nonchalantly, “If you can’t be a cop, you can go for a government job. It’s the same, working for the government, it’s just as respectable.”
I forced a bitter smile.
Government jobs required thorough background checks, and Mom’s arrest record had already ruined my future.
2
The doctor placed the defibrillator on my chest, trying to restart my heart.
Meanwhile, Dad rushed to the hospital.
Seeing the ER light on, Dad lowered his voice. “Eleanor, if you have something to say, say it behind closed doors. You making a scene at school was so embarrassing.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “I carried her for nine months and gave birth to her! What’s wrong with scolding her a bit? I gave
her life!”
Whenever I was disobedient, Mom would use that line to shut me down. In our living room sat a wicker basket, overflowing with broken wooden rulers. Each ruler was as thick as three fingers pressed together, and they stung fiercely when used. From elementary school to high school, whenever I “defied” Mom even slightly, those stinging rulers would come down on me: “I gave you life, so it’s only right for me to punish you!”
Dad never stopped her. He’d hide in the bedroom when Mom was hitting me, only reappearing with ointment once she was done. “Lily, your mom had a hard time raising you. You mustn’t resent her; she’s only doing it for your own good.” Dad pulled up my sleeve and applied the ointment to my wounds. “Lily, respecting your parents is a sign of good upbringing. We not only need to study well but also be well–mannered children, right?”
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I bit my lip, saying nothing.
Dad sighed. “You’re such a stubborn kid; you’ll be the death of yourself.”
And now, the same judgment echoed.
In front of the ER, Mom’s voice rose. “Lily’s such a stubborn kid. If it weren’t for my discipline, she would have long been addicted to entertainment and ruined her future!”
Mom’s last words triggered a memory.
In eleventh grade, Mom decided I was addicted to entertainment. Teenage girls‘ celebrity obsessions were a huge threat in her eyes. When Mom found a few celebrity postcards in my backpack, the air pressure around me dropped several notches.
“Your mock exam score dropped by one rank this time–is it because of this?”
“What’s the point of obsessing over these celebrities all day? Do they even care about you? A plain Jane dreaming big!”
Mom tore the postcards to shreds right in front of me.
“So young and already messing up, doing these shameless things. Wouldn’t it be better to spend your time honoring your parents instead of chasing celebrities? You ungrateful child.”
I watched those cards, which held so much hope and dreams, turn into scattered fragments, buried before my eyes.
In a fit of pique, I didn’t eat for an entire day.
At dinner, Mom knocked on my door for a long time. When she got no response, she grabbed a kitchen knife. The violent banging on the door echoed, and I cowered on my bed, trembling with fear.
Mom was furious. “I raised you for so long, and now you dare lock the door? Are you trying to fly to the moon?!”
Dad anxiously yelled from outside the door, “Quick, apologize to your mom! Apologize, and it’ll all be fine!”
I was so cold with fear, not knowing how to react.
The door burst open.
Mom charged at me, raising the kitchen knife, its sharp blade mere inches from my face.
“Lily, apologize now! Why are you so stubborn?!”
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a warmth spread across my cheek.
The sharp blade sliced my cheek.
Seeing blood gush out, Mom suddenly froze.
“Are you stupid? Why didn’t you dodge?”
Warm blood flowed down my cheek to the corner of my mouth, salty and bitter.
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“See? You’re obsessed with celebrities, so obsessed you don’t even dodge a knife! These entertainment stars are truly
harmful!”
But Mom, I wasn’t trying not to dodge; I simply didn’t dare. Years of beatings had taught me that dodging only led to harsher punishment.
After Mom left, Dad sighed, wiping my wound, still rambling on with his endless lectures. He said, “Your body was given to you by your parents; acting out like this and not eating is disrespectful to them.” He said, “Every family has its struggles, and sometimes things get messy. Kids argue with parents, it’s part of life, and children need to understand their parents‘ hardships.”
I quietly looked at Dad, swallowing all the words I wanted to say.
From childhood, Mom was always the strong one, while Dad just tried to smooth things over. They had never truly listened to my heart.
Actually, those celebrity postcards were a reward from my teacher for helping organize homework. My teacher told me she used to be a fan too and understood the meaning of an idol to a person. She said everyone should have their own hobbies, as long as they didn’t affect their studies.
But Mom would never understand any of that.
