At age 10, my parents expelled me for bad grades, said, “You worthless girl, get out!” But after 15Y
Independence and Rebellion
Arriving at Molina’s, her bright smile and joyful exclamation, “Yay! I’m so happy you’ve come to stay with me,” solidified my decision. At that moment, I vowed to build a family with Molina, one filled with pride and mutual respect.
Starting anew with Molina brought its own set of challenges. Financial support from my parents was minimal, and I had to switch from a private to a public school. Despite these hurdles, every day was a celebration of small victories.
When I struggled with homework, Molina would sit down with me, diligently sifting through textbooks to solve problems together. Whenever I scored 95% on a test, she would beam with pride, saying, “95 points is amazing! You’re something, Flora”.
With Molina’s encouragement, I became more confident and sociable, making friends and enjoying school without the pressure of cram sessions. Surprisingly, my grades improved effortlessly, and I maintained top marks.
The chronic stomach pains and fatigue that had plagued me disappeared, a clear sign that the stress from my parents’ stringent expectations had been affecting me deeply. By sixth grade, I had grown significantly in confidence and emotional strength, distancing myself from my parents’ restrictive views.
As my sister grew older, she began sneaking out to visit me at Molina’s place, maintaining her academic excellence and making our parents proud while also showing where her true loyalties lay.
Together we celebrated a new kind of family, one built on support, love, and understanding, far away from the critical eyes of our parents.
Ten years swiftly passed since I began living with Molina, and during that time I blossomed into an independent young adult. I enrolled in the architecture department of a prestigious National University.
Drawn not only by my passion for design but also by a generous grant-based scholarship that allowed me financial independence. I no longer needed financial help from my parents nor did I impose any financial burden on Molina.
On the day I received my university acceptance letter, Molina was overwhelmed with happiness. She cried tears of joy and prepared my favorite dish, Seafood Paella, to celebrate.
That evening as we enjoyed the meal, Molina opened up about her tumultuous past. She revealed that she was born from her mother’s affair, and although her father initially accepted her as his own, societal pressures eventually made him withdraw his affection.
Despite her early longing for parental love, she entered a rebellious phase and became estranged from her parents, who were also my paternal grandparents.
“Flora, you’ve turned out so well,” Molina said with pride, her eyes glistening with emotion. “You didn’t follow the troubled paths I did, and you’ve grown so much”.
By then, the flamboyance of her youth had faded, replaced by a serene and mature gaze.
“It’s all because you were there, Molina,” I replied, deeply moved. “Without you, I don’t know where I would be”.
The thought of my life without Molina’s intervention made me shiver. A year into my university life, on a spring day, an unexpected confrontation occurred at my apartment.
My parents arrived, visibly upset and angry.
“Did you two deceive Penny?” they accused, catching me off guard.
“What happened to Penny? Which medical school is she going to?” I asked, trying to understand the reason behind their anger, which only intensified their fury.
“Don’t joke! You must know about it; Penny has gone off to do her own thing,” my father said, too agitated to continue.
“Ah, it seems Penny has enrolled in culinary school,” I calmly responded, guessing the cause of their dismay.
“Did you put her up to this? You’ve given her these bad ideas,” they continued to accuse.
In reality, while Penny had let our parents believe she was preparing for medical school, she had secretly pursued her passion and was accepted into a nutrition program, starting her studies that April.
“You think you’re in a low place, so you’re jealous of your sister becoming a doctor? How wicked,” my mother spat angrily.
“That’s not true. Penny chose her path on her own,” I defended her, withholding that Penny wasn’t aiming to be a nutritionist as her ultimate goal, which I kept to myself.
My parents had never truly understood Penny or her desires. As my mother stomped her foot in anger, blaming me for Penny’s career choice, Penny and Molina suddenly appeared behind me.
Surprised to see Penny, my parents’ anger turned towards Molina.
“Molina, is this your doing? Did you lead not only Flora but also Penny down the wrong path?”.
Despite the harsh accusations, the presence of Molina and Penny by my side gave me strength. Together we faced our parents’ misconceptions and criticisms, united by our choices and the support we found in each other.
The paths we chose may have been unconventional to our parents, but they were true to ourselves, crafted with care, passion, and the freedom that Molina had given us both.
“I think that’s none of your business,” I asserted firmly, stepping in front of Molina to shield her from my father’s aggressive posture.
Penny, ever supportive, moved forward to intervene.
“Don’t blame Molina. It was because I showed an interest in cooking that she offered her kitchen to me”.
Indeed, it was during her visits to Molina’s house that Penny discovered her passion for cooking as she assisted in the kitchen.
Her love for culinary arts grew even though our parents, focused solely on her academic achievements, failed to notice the signs, even when she returned home with a scent of sesame oil lingering on her clothes.
Considering culinary school initially, Penny faced the obstacle of needing a scholarship to leave home. Thus, she opted for nutrition instead. Like me, she secured a grant-based scholarship, which empowered her to finally confront our parents about her ambitions to become a chef.
Frustration etched across his face, my father’s lips quivered with anger.
“Penny, I’ll accept you taking a gap year. Withdraw from the University immediately and enroll in a preparatory school,” he demanded.
“I absolutely refuse,” Penny countered firmly, standing her ground against our father’s demands.
Attempting a softer approach, my mother tried to reason with her.
“Penny, going into a profession like nutrition or cooking, which anyone can do, isn’t worthy of your talents. Everyone is expecting you to become a doctor”.
“In that case, Mom, can you cook? What if anyone can do it? Do you know how to perfectly fry popcorn shrimp or make a vinaigrette?” Penny challenged.
It was clear my mother lacked culinary skills. She had always relied on deli foods and delivered meals. Caught off guard and at a loss for words, my mother faltered.
Penny continued, her tone icy.
“It’s ironic to live relying on others to cook for you and then look down on chefs. Instead of forcing me to become a doctor, it would be better to give my place to someone who truly desires to be one. It would contribute more to helping others. That’s just an excuse. Mom, Dad, don’t—don’t you know, actually my sister is far more talented than I am?”
Penny added, her words causing our parents to gasp in disbelief.
“There’s no way that’s true. Do you even know which university my sister is attending?” she prodded.
Confused, our parents exchanged glances.
“Um,” they faltered, revealing their ignorance.
“You don’t know. You also don’t know how excellent the architecture department is at the university she attends. She was accepted into a National University’s architecture program because she is academically excellent,” Penny defended, her voice resolute.
While it might be an exaggeration to say I am more talented, it’s a fact that I became a top student thanks to Molina’s support.
“It’s true, Mom and Dad. You wouldn’t know how well I did in school because you never attended any of my parent-teacher conferences,” I chimed in.
With that, our parents lost their momentum and fell silent, their faces reflecting defeat. I looked at them with a cold gaze, my words cutting deep.
“The success in raising me wasn’t due to you but thanks to Molina”.
Penny, now resigned, laughed softly, signaling her readiness to move on.
“Don’t worry. I’ve arranged for my tuition myself, and I’m prepared to live on my own. I’ve already moved my things. You didn’t notice, did you?”.
The color drained from our parents’ faces, their expressions shifting from anger to shock. Molina watched the scene unfold, her patience worn thin.
“You both were only ever interested in grades. It’s a shame that your wonderful children weren’t understood for who they are”.
Feeling humiliated, our parents groaned in discomfort. Being upstaged by Molina, whom they had once looked down upon, must have been the ultimate humiliation.
That was the stark reality we faced. My parents, unable to muster any defense, stood speechless. As Penny, with the support of a friend, packed bags and moved to another state, a good four-hour drive away.
I harbored no illusions that this upheaval would change my parents’ attitudes or their approach towards Penny and me. By the time I was in my second year at university, their old habits resurfaced.
Unexpectedly, my parents called me up, insisting on a meeting. A sense of foreboding gripped me, but I resolved that no matter their persuasion, I would not be swayed to return home.
We agreed to meet at a restaurant they frequented. I brought Molina along, whose presence visibly displeased them.
As soon as we were seated, they unfolded numerous university pamphlets from their bags, all from schools known for their medical programs.
“What’s this?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“We’re giving you a chance to retry for medical school. Isn’t that a good deal? We’re offering you a chance to redeem yourself. Show that you can surpass your sister, because of whom you’ve been looked down upon,” they explained, as if presenting a generous offer.
Their misunderstanding was almost comical. I decided to indulge in the absurdity of the situation for a moment.
“Really? I’m so happy. Maybe I can actually get in here. To think that you both care so much about me, I really should be thankful,” I responded, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
My father nodded, apparently pleased with himself, while my mother’s expression brightened, both misreading my feigned enthusiasm.
Unable to contain myself any longer, I burst out laughing.
“Huh? What’s wrong?”.
“I just find it hilarious seeing Dad so pleased to make such a proposal. Seriously, it’s simply impossible. After all, I have my own life”.
The moment they realized I was mocking them, their faces flushed with anger. Quick to eye as they were slow to understand, they failed to grasp the true intellectual and emotional dimensions beyond their narrow vision.
“Penny has never looked down on me. It’s you who have always looked down on us,” I pointed out.
“Well, anyway, I have no intention of trying for medical school again,” I stated with clear resolve, causing a vein to throb on my father’s forehead.
“Why can’t you and Penny understand? The nobility of being a doctor. Is this also Molina’s fault?” my father retorted, once again misplacing his anger towards Molina.
Molina, unfazed, responded with a wry smile.
“Brother, you’re so stubborn. What did you say? Flora and Penny aren’t denying the work of doctors. They just have passions elsewhere, in professions like architecture, nutrition, and cooking, which according to you, anyone can supposedly do”.
The conversation highlighted a chasm of misunderstanding. My parents clung to their ideals of prestige and traditional success, unable to comprehend that success could take many forms, including those driven by genuine passion and fulfillment, not just societal approval or traditional prestige.
“Even if they are jobs anyone can do, that’s fine,” came a sudden voice.
Startled, my father turned around to see three robust, healthy-looking men standing nearby.
“Who are you?” he asked, perplexed.
“Perfect timing. You just insulted an architect and his son,” one of them said.
They looked surprised, their eyes wide with curiosity. At that moment, Molina stood up and gently pulled the young man next to her closer with her arm.
“This is my husband. It’s an honor to meet you, brother-in-law. I am Hudson,” he introduced himself with a smile, his white teeth shining brightly.
Molina had started dating Mr. Hudson six years ago, and they had officially gotten married when I turned 22. Despite my reassurances, they were affectionate enough to wait to marry until I was an adult.
As a result, I became close to Molina’s in-laws and developed an interest in architecture. Just as Molina announced her marriage, her husband spoke with a meaningful tone, catching my parents off guard and leaving them speechless.
Then Molina’s father-in-law stepped forward, a warm smile gracing his features.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Luke. I am Hudson and I run an architectural business in this area. I understand Flora has heard about my work from Molina and has taken an interest. You are truly an insightful, wonderful person. I am planning to retire from the field soon, and I would like Flora to join our company as an architect and learn the ropes to carry on in the future.”
“How dare you decide such a thing on your own?” my parents protested, raising their voices.
Hudson widened his eyes and stared at them.
“Even if you call it presumptuous, the fact that you’ve shown no interest in Flora so far is undeniable. Trying to manipulate Flora after her sister has left the house is quite reprehensible”.
“How rude! How much do you think outsiders understand about us?” my father retorted, his voice filled with indignation.
“Indeed, that’s true. But then again, human relationships are mostly about interactions with others,” Hudson responded, looking around calmly.
Other customers at the restaurant also started to glance over, their expressions cool and disapproving. Raising one’s voice inevitably attracts attention.
“Everyone is disappointed. We never thought Dr. Luke, whom we’ve respected for so long, could look down on others like this,” someone murmured within earshot.
“That’s not true,” my father stammered, his voice trembling.
Just as his favorite dish was served, the chef of the restaurant approached, placing the plate in front of him.
“Dr. Luke, I’m sorry. It must be difficult for you to eat food prepared by us ordinary workers. You no longer need to endure it. Unfortunately, this marks the end of our relationship with you. I will communicate the same to other restaurants”.
“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” my father hardly replied.
“We feel it is not appropriate for people who can be replaced to use your clinic, so we will no longer visit. I will inform my acquaintances of this as well,” another customer added, making the situation even more tense.
All eyes in the restaurant were now on my parents who, unable to withstand the pressure and the collective gaze, left the restaurant in a hurry, abandoning their food and pamphlets.
