I wished I could stay in my chrysalis world
folded tight with my wings still curled
so nobody would have to see
the little brown moth
that I knew to be me

On expectations,

the bar is set so high that --


I pass under it.

Yet what does it mean

that you have taken my hands --


in yours just like that?

I'm sorry I'm so much like you
that you want to live through me
my alabaster features
from the same old block chipped
spitting of your image
if images could spit

I'm sorry I'm so much like you
because I wanted to be me
experience days, months, years
not a predestined journey
with footsteps I should follow
treading in your expectations

so that one day when I'm not
the dream you had for me
I become the disappointment
in your family tree

Does expectation ever stop?
When you are at school
You are expected to get good marks
In all the subjects
Your life is decided
By your ability to memorise things
You are compared with others
Your cousins, your neighbours
Your friends, your classmates
All the time
You, as an individual
Are reduced to a mere shadow

Does expectation ever stop?
When you are at college
You are expected to achieve a high CGPA
Never mind the fact
That not getting arrears
Is practically an achievement
Especially as far as engineering is concerned
And if you happen to fail
People speak in whispers or hushed voices
When referring to you
And when you graduate
But fail to land a placement
You are seen as "that jobless guy"
And your character traits, whether good or bad
Turn out to be immaterial
In the mad race for status

Does expectation ever stop?
When you are a working professional
You are constantly asked about your salary
And it is compared
With that of every frigging relation of yours
Whether close or distant
Not to mention, neighbours
And their families as well

Does expectation ever stop?
When you are single
People constantly bring up marriage
As though it is something
That any decent human being must go through
And when you are married
Your wife also becomes a victim
Of all these crazy expectations
And you, as a couple
Are also compared to other couples

Does expectation ever stop?
When you get divorced
People keep poking and prying
Until they finally manage to extract from you
All the juicy details
But these vultures don't stop at that
They also want to know
When will your next marriage be
Your freedom means absolutely nothing to them

Does expectation ever stop?
When you are overweight
You are constantly advised
To go to the gym
Go for morning or evening walks
And again you are compared
With everyone who is slimmer than you
In the entire neighbourhood

Does expectation ever stop?
Being a good person is not enough
Having a good job is not enough
Earning a decent salary is not enough
Having a good family is not enough
In fact, nothing is ever enough
You practically need to become God
In order to satisfy the expectations
Of our ultra-greedy society
A society that never stops expecting
Until you are dead
Seriously, does expectation ever stop?

It’s May 18th, 2022. I’m poised, alone, heart pounding, in front of my laptop, waiting for courage, my finger hovering over the return key, like a child hoping the timing of my keystroke will bring me luck.

I took this summer off - which drove my mom absolutely CrAzY. “You CAN’T!” she’d said last month, only to be overruled by my Grandmère. Now I’m home for summer break and tonight she’s flush with exasperation.

“You should have applied for a dean’s fellowship,” she said, her voice rising as she rubs her hands together, as if scrubbing for an operating room procedure, “and a summer research position!” She’s practically twirling with suppressed emotion.

I get why she’s upset. She only goes “deep end” when she's worried about my future. She knows what’s needed to get a medical school slot in 2025 like other moms know their favorite recipe - after all, she’s done this twice before.

Leong’s upstairs, avoiding this family scene. When I described my family expectations as “hustle culture,” to my roommates, they all understood - we’re that much alike.

Step (my stepfather) is trying to de-escalate and calm us (her) down. “Look,” he says, holding up his hands like someone talking down a gunman, “NEXT summer she’ll buckle down, get in more volunteer hours and get a dean’s research fellowship” he says, sliding his eyes to me. I nod “ok” almost imperceptibly. “It’s ok to start grinding sophomore year - that’s what I did.”

OOOO! She turned to him and if looks could ****, he would have exploded like someone in a Tarantino movie.

By some psychic grace my Grandmère chose that moment to call. Step and I fled the den like it were on fire, going our separate ways to halve the chance of being followed.

In my dark room, lit only by the light of my MacBook, a quiver runs through me, and I finally press return. My grades for Spring semester - and Freshman year come up. My eyes water and I relax back against my chair when I see “Dean's List.”

I smile to myself, and slowly, fiercely I clench my fist with a “YESS!" As I postulate my victorious reprieve.