The graduate
“I was probably as bad as you were.” Veera said.
In that moment, unsure about where it came from, Samya accepted the comment. It was, perhaps, about missing out on building family connections. Veera, Samya’s cousin, went on to say that others were there, like her sister. And Samya knew that was correct — but did that mean she wasn’t?
Veera’s words bothered Samya. She wished she could say that she was there, for every function, for every event that her family was invited to. She wished she could say that she was twenty-six when she missed a family wedding for the first time — it was her closest relative, her uncle. She wished she could say that after that, her experiments with life violated every aspect of her upbringing. She wished she could say that her unfiltered, free spirit deemed her undesirable in traditions. She wished she could say that her hard truths came in the way of the illusion that people wanted to believe in.
But her original question to Veera was “Who did you spend your vacations with?” So she just explained the question better rather than clarify Veera’s misunderstanding.
People see what they want to see. Or perhaps Samya could have been there more often. But she was there that day, to cheer for Veera — as she graduated with shining colors.
Samya wished it mattered. She wished she did.