Just twenty-three hours ago, we were having coffee with our career advisor, in his office. He
started with a story of an unmarried woman with a good education who was forced to do a
low-income job in a private institution because she dreamt big and did not settle for less.
The Advisor told her very clearly for everyone to hear, “Don't tryna fly so high lest
you fall in a pit from where lifting yourself up becomes impossible. Grab whatever
opportunity comes your way. Give up on those high-reaching dreams -- they are vague, they
don't come with a guarantee card.”
It's the sixth time in this office with two of my friends and our career advisor. Usually, every
conversation feels tight and ends in pin drop silence. However, this time it was different. The
one called Elin started laughing at my face, as she knew I was the only person there who was
foolish enough to try reaching the moon. My face went red with embarrassment. And our
career advisor, Mr. Cyrus Mir, looked at me and asked, “Is it … are you that type?”
I dug my nails on my palm and stood silent. I had to go home and tell myself that the child in
me with big dreams has no place in the corporate world.
Whenever I see stars, I ask to go inside my room and look at the light-emitting-diodes. The night sky is far away; study what's on your plate. “Astronomy is not for you.” I sink. This time not in a sea of silence but of rage.
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