[Music Recommendation: "In Silence" by Janet Suhh (It's Okay Not To Be Okay OST)-available in Youtube or Spotify] ~ Please listen to it in a loop while you read this part to experience the utmost beauty of this chapter ~

"Sena, if you like writing that much, just make it into a hobby," mom continued. "Writing books—it's not a profession. And you'll be wasting your intelligence away! You could be a doctor, or lawyer, or engineer, or some other decent careers." She was so angry at the thought of me becoming an author.

I felt my heart shatter into pieces. No, not just pieces. My heart was pulverized. And along with it, the dreams, hopes, and passions I had.

Dad caressed mom's shoulders, trying to calm her down. And I could see Hora's shocked expression from mom's reaction. Even my younger brother was shocked. When I saw him like that, I wondered… in my past life, did he become a doctor because he wanted to? Or was it mom who pushed him to be one? But seeing mom's reaction right now, it was probably mom who pushed him to be a doctor. And I didn't want it to happen again. Not to him, or to me. I promised myself that this time, I would live for myself. And so I WILL!

As my heart burned inside me, I talked back to mom… for the very first time. If before, and even in my past life, I would always just say "yes" to her and do things the way she wanted it to be, thinking it's for the best, this time… I want to make my own decisions! And I'll struggle or succeed along with it!

"What makes you think that being an author is not a decent career or profession?" I argued back, much to her surprise. "Who do you think wrote all those books that we study at school? Did those doctors or lawyers or engineers write them? No! It was the hard work of authors who invested their time in research and interviewing people that brought along those great books of knowledge! And who wrote the stories of those movies you liked so much? Or those dramas you watch every afternoon? Do you think they just came out of nowhere? No! Those were hard works of great and brilliant authors and writers! And I want to be like them!"

Tears started flowing for my eyes as I spoke but I didn't stop talking. Mom was appalled and just stared at me, listening to everything I was saying. Finally, she shut up and listened. Everytime I tried to talk back before, she would just shush me up and not let me talk. But I won't be stopped. Not right now when I've finally found what I really wanted to do.

"I love writing!" I shouted with all my might. "And I enjoyed doing it! While I was busy writing these past few months, did you notice how joyful I've become? It's because I was happy! Everyday I would write and continue the story, not even minding if I felt tired because I was never tired! I was enjoying it so much that I won't stop until my mind can't think anymore and I would sleep. Then, when I wake up the next day, my mind's already thinking of what to write next. When the character I write cries, I cry, too! If they laugh, I laugh, too! And this—" I grabbed the printed paper from Hora's hands, "this is the result of all my hard work. I finished it. And you can't imagine how happy I was when I did. And how happy I was when Hora said that she loved what I wrote. The very first book I ever wrote… sniff… and someone liked it. I felt all my efforts were rewarded. Even if it was just one person."

Ahh… I couldn't see anymore. My tears clouded my vision.

"Y-y-you don't know what you're saying!" Mom's voice trembled in her anger. It was either she was angry at me for talking back, or she just really didn't want me taking up writing as a career, or maybe both. "Do you think you'll earn decently being a writer? You'll have more luck earning if you become a street vendor than to be a writer!"

I frowned so hard the moment she said that.

"You just started writing a few months back, right? That's just a passing passion you have. You'll get bored with it in no time," her voice increased as she spoke, and her pitch got higher in her anger. "Do you think your future is a joke? What will you do if your dad and I are no longer in this world? Be a writer and live off of scraps? What will you even earn? Only those brilliant authors you said ever make it and earn decently. Do you think you can be like them? There's thousands or even millions of authors and writers in the world yet how many of them are known? Not even a thousand, I doubt. So don't you think I'll agree in that foolishness you're thinking! You youngsters are still walking through life, and I'm already going back!"

And there it was, her famous line—"You youngsters are still walking through life, and I'm already going back". She would always say that to show her "wisdom that comes from age".

"You asked me what I wanted to take for college. And now that I told you about it, you don't want it. If you want to be a doctor so bad, then do it yourself!" My anger was riling up in me. "Don't push me to be someone I don't wanna be! You're not ME, mom! And I'm not YOU! Don't make me into an arrow and you're the bow who decides where I get to be aimed at!"

"Hah!" Mom scoffed. "So you're talking big now, huh? You're shouting and yelling at me just because of your stupid writing? If this is where it's getting you, making you a disobedient child, then I doubt it has a good effect on you."

Aaaaahhhh!!! I wanted to scream so badly. Why couldn't she understand me?

"Support… that's all I'm asking you. That's all I'm expecting. But it seems I'm not getting that. Even my friends are way better than how you think, mom. At least they understood me. At least they supported me on what's making me happy. But you? Have you ever stopped for a moment and thought if what you really wanted for me will make me happy?"

"Do you think happiness keeps you alive, dear? Mom asked in a sarcastic way. "You need money. You need to earn. So you need to be realistic in life. Or else, you'll be a NEET and regret your life while living off of your parents when you grow old. You'll be a useless bum. Unless you'd rather sell yourself in marriage? Then, you can live freely leeching off your husband. Maybe then, you can be a writer."

Alas… I gave up arguing. She would never understand me. Losing all my hope in our conversation, I quickly ran out of our house.