The Consequence

Everyone is happy. But I do not remember if I have the same feeling.

Four years of undergoing through  the rigid filter of becoming a teacher was not like what I thought about it as easy. But the exhaustion coming off from the unending quest of grasping every knowledge relevant to my specialization, from sleepless nights doing blueprints of my lesson and, of course, from tiring days of handling uncontrollable new generation of students is slowly wearing off as I sigh the relief of success during the Graduation Day.

Everyone is happy especially her, my mother. The one who sweat the most for my school fees.

Seeing the tears of joy in her black, full-of-hardship eyes forces me to hideously sob inside me.

I may admit, it is not my success. But it’s hers. I just do the technical process for her.

That Big Day, I told to myself, “I would continue what I've started to give her a consolation.”

I will be a teacher. It was my promise.

But now, I am not. I pursued my personal selfish ambition to become a published writer someday. And every time I thought of her expectation, I feel strayed in my way to where I want to be.

Living on that colossal bubble of pressure with scraping knife of guilt had driven me to three things I did not dream of.

Being lost. Being confused. Being directionless.