9 #2
“No,” she said immediately, the word vehement.
I relaxed, but only minutely. “I just ...” She ducked her head, forcing me to drop my hands.
I put them on her shoulders, giving them an encouraging squeeze.
“Every time daddy calls, he reminds me of The Plan. Finish your undergraduate degree. Get an internship for a year. Apply for the Master’s programme.
Work another internship. Become recognised by the Royal Institute of British Architects and the Architects Registration Board. ”
I knew the spiel; my father recited the same shit to me, too. But it seemed, while it had given me a reassuring checklist for my future—a straightforward set of goals I could work toward accomplishing, step by step, it was instead a rigid timeline that apparently caused her nothing but panic.
“But lately, I actually started to let myself think about it. Is this what I want to do for the rest of my life? Sit in an office, drawing plans? Coming up with designs for buildings? I know I’m going to sound selfish and spoiled, but properly letting myself think about it has made me realise that I’ve actually hated almost every single moment of studying for this degree.
Every time we have work, I want to do absolutely anything else.
And sure, yeah, there are moments I do enjoy what we’re doing, but those moments are far outweighed by my sheer disinterest and—and dispassion—with everything else.
“And daddy is expecting so much from me. After he’s used his blood, sweat, and tears to send me abroad, I dare complain about not liking what I’m doing? Who even likes their job, am I right?”
“I do,” I said automatically. She finally looked up at me, sniffing. “I mean, at least I think I do.”
That made her laugh, a little more genuinely this time. I smiled.
“Sorry,” she whispered, quickly wiping her cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m even crying.”
“Hey,” I said softly. “Don’t do that.”
She ducked her head again. I placed a thumb underneath her chin, encouraging her to meet my eyes once more.
“How long have you been having these doubts?”
She shrugged jerkily. “Not long. Just ... just as we get closer to graduation. I think I saw a post or something online, where someone was talking about how, as a child, their future career was sort of ... superimposed on them because of whatever hobby they were fixated on at the time. For me, since I practically came out of the womb, I’ve loved art and drawing and I’m amazing at it.
Oh, look, my father’s an architect, which means, obviously, that I’m going to be an architect, too.
The evidence is literally on the walls! And I never went against it because I couldn’t think of anything else I might want to do.
Even now, with all this discontent I feel, I don’t know what I’d choose to study if I decided I didn’t want to do this anymore. ”
“Who said you had to study anything?”
“Uzi, come on,” she scoffed, and I deflated.
I liked to think our parents had grown less strict over the years, especially after sending us abroad, but they weren’t that open minded.
If Ofure decided she didn’t want to become an architect, and they accepted it without argument or pushback—impossible—they’d simply ask—read: force—her to pick something else—something that would result in what they considered a “respectable” degree that would eventually lead to a well and steady-paying job.
They were only looking out for their children, I knew, but I could see how making that kind of lifelong decision could be paralyzing.
And to be honest, Ofure’s talk just now about how she’d been an amazing artist as a child, and in turn, had this career superimposed on her just because her father was technically also an artist, hit hard. Because that was exactly my story, too.
Right from childhood, any time someone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I hadn’t so much as hesitated or given it a second thought. I had a talent, my father had that same talent, and he just so happened to be an architect, so, naturally, that was what I’d become, too. Right?
But had there been any point where I’d personally wanted this? Had this just been a career that had been decided for me as a kid, and I’d just happily run with it?
“Look, Uzi, don’t take me too seriously,” Ofure said, bringing me out of my mini-spiral.
“I think I just needed to rant for a bit. I feel fine now. Maybe I’m just ...
I don’t know. Scared of graduating because it would unofficially make me an “adult”?
” She let out a tiny laugh. I noticed she might’ve been looking at me, but she carefully wasn’t meeting my eyes. “I don’t know. Ignore me.”
“I think you should tell your dad.”
She jolted, her eyes flying to mine, wide with shock.
I shrugged, but I was dead serious, and she knew it.
“He’s not an unreasonable man, Fure. Maybe he’ll be a little upset at first, but if you tell him everything you’ve just told me, if you ask for some time to think about what you actually want to do, I know he’ll be more than happy to help you achieve whatever it is.
” I bopped her playfully on her nose. She scrunched up her face, and the sudden desire to kiss her was so intense it actually froze me in place.
Which was good, I told myself furiously.
I really couldn’t go kissing her any time I felt like it, especially not outside the bounds of our …
agreement. “You’re his precious baby girl, after all. ”
Ofure rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, the curve of her lips soft and genuine.
I slid my palms in a gentle caress down her shoulders and arms until I had her hands loosely clasped in mine.
“And besides, whatever happens, you have me. Talk to me, all right? If you want to brainstorm ideas on what else you might like to study, or how you should approach your dad when or if you eventually want to tell him, let me know. After all, two heads ...?”
Her whole demeanour brightened. It felt like looking at the sun.
“... are better than one,” she finished with a grin.