The word pops out of the screen hitting her in the face, right between her eyes. Her insides are clutching, cutting communication routes between any Oxygen and her head. She feels dizzy.
She lays her head on the palms of her hands, closes her eyes trying to shut off the four letters that have just reinforced her worst fears. They are still flashing boldly on the inner sides of her eyelids.
Inhaling a deep breath to calm down, a sharp trace of pain rises in the middle of her chest. “Oh, God! Relax. It’s just a paper!”
Voices from so many years ago, bang in her head:
– “So, do you think you are graduating with first class honors because you’ve been studying in a private university? I mean, do you think you would’ve been as successful if you were studying in one of the real public renowned universities?!”
– “You’ve always been like this. Once you face the real challenge, you either back out or lose your enthusiasm. Grow up!”
– “I want to see you for once start something and finish it.”
– “I’d say you focus on one thing that matches your capabilities and stick to it. Don’t be too ambitious”
– “What do you want really? Just ensuring your life is full of drama even if there is no reason for it to be.”
– “It’s OK, dear. Our families are full of talented people. But we’ve all failed to make good use of them.”
– “You definitely have a talent, but you need to work on it.”
– “You are a great person to be with. But you are too strong for me. You are too successful I think, we are not suitable for each other!”
– “You are not as good as you think you are.”
– “I definitely enjoy being with you, but that’s not enough to be counted as love. Am sorry!”
– “You are always in the middle, you need to have a clear cut stance!”
The words resonate over and over.. again, shoving her to one corner of the room. They were all trying to tell her she is a failure. Some did it boldy, spitting the words right into her face, others did it diplomatically, while her closest among them tried to offer her sympathy by demonstrating examples of other failures. What hurts her the most is that she doesn’t have any evidence to prove them wrong.
May be; may be… they have been right all along… may be she wasn’t born to be a star or a shooting star or anything… maybe she is just another one.. in the crowd! May be her small fingers is not going to change the world; their prints won’t be noticed on history’s wall of fame!
May be she is born to be forever teased by a mediocre talent.
From a very far distance, she hears the voice of her son screaming out an imperative: “Mommmyyyyy, come here!”
She looks one more time at the word “Fail” stamped on the research paper she submitted few days ago in an attempt to run after her dream one more time that could be the last too…
She pulls the laptop screen down, rises to her feet, and goes to answer the calls of her now-crying-boy!