February 2nd 2015

The past three or four weeks were a blur to me. I'm not sure if that's because every day feels the same to me or if it's because that's how time works when we're in the middle of fighting depression. I've heard stories of depressed people becoming more apathetic to the passing of months and even years, but to have this hits me in the midst of preparing to go back to college is, for lack of better words, jarring. You would think with how my parents have been hounding me to study for SAT and TOEFL time would fly faster for me, but the opposite is true. Perhaps I'm tired. Perhaps I just need something to be excited about, if I can even remember what excitement is. These days, not even my favorite anime manages to make me smile from the heart.

Last night Rahmat sneaked into my room after dinner to offer me some egg sandwiches he made—"you know, sis, if you don't wanna eat mom's baked chicken please at least eat some bread"—and he talked my ears off about how boring ninth grade has been for him. I was just half listening but suddenly he asked about whether I believe in the concept of soulmates.

"Are you asking because it's almost Valentine's Day?" I asked him back. "Or because you're planning to confess to a girl?" I jokingly said and grinned a little when he vehemently shook his head. "Ah, doesn't matter, do whatever you like. When I was your age I did believe in soulmates. I still do, but now my understanding of it isn't a very classic Disney-esque view anymore. So, instead of believing that a prince is coming to my rescue, I believe maybe I'm one of those princesses whose arcs won't revolve around finding love or whose love story is for the sequel and not for the main movie. Anyway, are you planning to buy a rose from the Student Council?"

"Maybe. I don't see the point, Rin. Why does it have to be a rose every single year? Why can't the Council sell something more durable and functional, like keychains?" Rahmat pouted and went on describing his ideas of matching keychains for couples. "Roses wilt so quickly, you know? Giving one to your crush is like saying your love is gonna wilt so fast too."

"But maybe that's the point! A crush is temporary, isn't it, especially when you're still a high schooler? Don't sweat it, bro. If you do want to give a rose to a girl, just do it."

"No way. A rose is too cliché!" my brother flinched. "And she might mistake it as a confession because of its unfortunately romanticized symbolism. I do adore her but I'm not ready to be that frank with her. Anyway, going back to your thoughts about high school romance. I'm not sure if a crush is something that will pass as we grow older. I mean, look at you and Goenawan. You guys have been out of high school for what, two years now? Yet I can sense you're not over him. I wonder if you'll ever move on, Rin. There must be more attractive men in college."

Did Rahmat really think his sister is the type to go to college because of handsome men?

"Look, I understand you're trying to cheer me up and for that I'd like to thank you, but you're mistaken if you think I'd easily spring back to being happy just because I find a gorgeous hunk to hook up with, okay?" I pushed him toward my bedroom door. "Get out, I don't need to be schooled about scoring a date. Come back when you have something else to talk about."

"Wait, Rin, that's not what I meant!" he forcefully held the door open before I could slam it in his face. "I just think your obsession over Goena is unhealthy, bordering creepy. No offense, but if he already cut you out of his life, maybe you should cut him out of yours."

"I'm not one to give up on a friendship, even if it's admittedly a hopeless one." I looked him in the eyes and his mouth hang open. "Why are you surprised?" I cocked my head slightly. "It's not that I'm trying to be loyal. It's more like I'm giving him a chance to forgive me even if that forgiveness has to wait. We were friends once and we can be friends again if fate says so."

"Ah, but no one can truly know what their fate is, right?" he leaned onto the doorframe. "I just don't want you to pine for a guy who may not be worth pining over. Listen, it's your business but if I were you I'd pretend he's dead just for the sake of closing this sad chapter in your life and begins a new, better one. Why don't you make yourself romantically available? I'm not saying you should replace Goena because I get that he's irreplaceable to you, but you don't deserve to spend the rest of your life in loneliness waiting for him to return to you."

"Who are you and why have you turned into a love-advice-giving coach?" I shoved him lightly and he punched my arm. "I'll think about your advice. Now, go to sleep and leave me alone!"

"Geez, you're extra bossy tonight!" he rolled his eyes. "Alright, see you when you're in a better mood. Anyway, I'm serious about you needing to leave Goena behind. I mean, he left you."

"Isn't it the other way around? I left him. I was the one who severed our ties by not having the guts to tell him about that scholarship I received. I burned the metaphorical bridge."

"It takes two to tango," he shrugged. "And it takes two people to end any relationship. Not everything is on you, Rin, do you understand? Goena is to be blamed for his short temper."

"I don't appreciate you calling him short-tempered!" I roared. "He was just disappointed in my cowardice. You would too if your best friend was being dishonest with you."

"I don't get why you keep making excuses for Goena. Anyway, I'm not looking to argue with you until the rooster crows, so off to bed I go. I hope you'll calm down in the morning."

---

9:55 AM

Brewing myself a cup of chamomile tea and humming a tune while the water boils, I let my mind wander to the conversation I had with my brother. As defensive as I was about Goena, a part of me is unable to counter Rahmat's argument. Being obsessed with someone who might never obsess about me does sound silly, doesn't it? Yet if I set his ghost free, what would it say about my feelings for him? Wouldn't it indicate that I'm done with him? But I'm not! Giving up on the possibility of us reconciling is like giving up on happiness itself. Ironically, I'm beginning to see how my brother is right in being adamant that ruminating on Goena is my number one source of unhappiness. Maybe the time has come to let him be a memory, no less and no more.

"Miss Rinjani, you're up!" Yani greets me as she comes into the kitchen with a bag of assorted vegetables—water spinach, tomatoes, carrots, and bean sprouts. "Were you fighting with your brother last night? I thought I heard some shouting. If that's about what I did with your diary, I'm sorry. You're blaming Rahmat, aren't you? But he never asked me to be a spy, it was all me and I regr—"

"Hey, hey, relax!" I cut her off mid-sentence and laugh as I watch her pale face turns from showing pure guilt to showing utter confusion. "Yani, reading my diary was bad but I'm not mad at you anymore because I finally realized that you just wanted to know why I've been crying a lot. I'm alright now, no need to get your panties in a bunch. Rahmat tried to comfort me last night. I shouted at him at first because I didn't like the tone he used with me, but don't worry, all is good!" I give her a thumbs up. "I'm not going to cry over some stupid boy drama anymore."

"That's great to hear, Miss. By the way, your mom told me to cook soup for lunch but she also said that I gotta teach you how to cook because, ah, reasons. So, is it okay if I show you how to julienne carrots or what spices to use to make soup? Oh, and that water in the kettle is boiling!"

"Whoops!" I turn the electric kettle off and pour some water onto my favorite mug—a pretty one with my initials and some rainbow daisies painted on it. "Thanks for noticing before it gets messy!" I nod at Yani and proceed to sip my tea. "Hmm, this could use some sweetener."

"Here!" she handed me a jar of honey. "So, as I was asking, would you like to learn how to cook? Your mom mentioned in passing that back in America you lived in a dorm and you never cooked because the dining hall provided all the food you needed. Are all American universities like that, pampering their students? Must be nice. If only my son can go to America too..."

"There's no reason why he can't." I stroke my chin. "If he improves his English and brushes up on his writing skills so that he can realistically write admission essays of acceptable quality, he can get a letter of acceptance to a decent university. Education is for everyone, Yani."

"You said that because you have access to studying English, Miss. My son isn't as lucky as you are. Even if I save up most of my salary every month, I still would never be able to send him to a private high school, much less an international one. So I guess his only chance to go to America is much later in his life, when he already finishes undergraduate and make his own money."

"That's the unfortunate truth, isn't it? Wealth is distributed unequally and I'm privileged enough to win the lottery of birth." I stare at the floor, silently cursing myself for being insensitive of the huge economic inequality that stands between me and my family's household assistant. "What if I lend your son my old books that I used to study English with? Would that be helpful?"

"What good are books without a tutor to contextualize the content?" she scoffs. "I'm not asking you to teach my son English because I know you've got your hands full, but I'm not so naïve as to think he can master English without any tutoring. So, thanks, but keep your books."

"I see. I'm sorry I'm not helping. Anyway, I'll take up your offer about cooking lessons. So, you were saying you're making soup? Oh, that's why you bought a lot of greens!"

"Yup. Those veggies are the basic ingredients for clear soup." Yani smiles as she takes the vegetables out of the plastic bag and starts gently rinsing them under the faucet. "Let's begin by roughly chopping the spinach. Could you get a colander and a cutting board, Miss?"

"On it!" I step onto a stool and open an overhead cabinet to grab the tools we need. "So, before I chop the spinach, should I separate the leaves from the stems? But the stems are edible, right?"

"They are, but we don't usually put spinach stems in soups. While you chop the spinach, I will prepare the broth. Do you know what goes in the broth? I'll give you a hint: it's pungent."

"Onions? Garlic?" I reply as I keep on chopping. "Or maybe scallions from mom's garden."

"For this soup, we're using shallots!" Yani explains happily as she peels the papery skin off a few cloves. "And then I'll ground them finely with pestle and mortar. You can use a blender but the traditional way yields coarser texture, which is preferable for soups of strong flavor profile."

"You're like a walking repository of recipes!" I watch her in amazement. "Do you think I can be like you if I keep on practicing in the kitchen? I want to be able to go beyond instant noodles."

"Of course you can!" she chuckles. "Everyone was a beginner before they became a pro."

"The postman dropped by!" a tenor voice and heavy footsteps echoes as my dad walks into the kitchen with a stack of envelopes. "Hey Rin, it's such a rare sight to see you with a kitchen knife. Don't poison our family with your cooking now, you hear?" he winks at me. "By the way, there's a piece of mail for you," he hands me a thin envelope. "It's from TOEFL testing center. Looks like they've got your diagnostic test results and some qualitative comments from the examiners. Open it! I'm jittery with anticipation!" he stares at me like a kid staring at candies.

"What's a diagnostic test?" Yani stops peeling the shallots and tries to read the now opened letter. "Oh, you get 18 out of 30 for speaking. It means you're good at English, right?"

"Eighteen?" I blink and hurriedly re-read the number in front of me. "That's too low. That's unacceptable. At this rate, I'm not getting into the colleges I'm planning to apply to unless I buckle up and get serious about acing the real TOEFL tests. This is my result for the mock tests."

"There's still time. Application deadline isn't until May 1st for semester starting in August, if I remember correctly," dad consoles me. "Besides, speaking skills aren't the only component of the tests. How did you do on the other portions of the tests? Highest total score is 120, right?"

"Right, and I need at the very least a total of 95 with no score below 20 in any of the four sections. I mean, if I do that's not a death sentence but it means retaking some lower level English classes at whatever university admits me and that's a hassle I want to avoid if possible."

"You can do it, you're one of the smartest kids I know!" dad claps his hands excitedly.

"Dad, you only have two kids!" I remind him and takes a deep breath as I scan the letter for my total score. "Oh no, this is worse than I expected..." my hand shakes as I come face to face with the harsh remarks my TOEFL teachers have written on the columns reserved for commentaries. "They wrote that my writing is incoherent, my listening skills are abysmal, and my reading skills are passable but could still be improved. That's fair, but then they also wrote that they've never seen someone who made as many grammatical errors in a single test as I did."

"27 out of 30 for the reading section? Hey, that's what brilliance is!" my dad spins around and gives me a hug. I pushes him and screams. He looks at me perplexed and I angrily point at the dumb letter on which a table full of numbers were printed. Immediately, his face falls just like mine did. He tightens his hug and I sob onto his shoulder while he pats my back hesitantly.

"Dad, you saw it, didn't you?" I say in between hiccups. "Despite my high reading score, I only scored 13 in listening and 18 in both speaking and writing. In total, I only score 76 out of 120. I'm not as skilled in English as I thought I was. I...I don't think I'm going back to university this year. I'm sorry."

"You're going to a university, silly girl, don't let this stop you!" Dad wipes my tears off my cheeks. "Pull yourself together. This is just a bump in the road but you're my daughter and your mom and I have raised you to be tough. So what if there's a hurdle? You're bigger than any obstacle. Rin, are you listening? Rinjani! What's wrong?"

My feet turn into slimy jelly and I break out in cold sweat as the room fades into a somewhat chaotic abstract painting. Everything sounds muffled as I feel myself collapsing into Dad's arms.

---

The fog that clouds my eyes slowly begins to lift and I regain my vision. I'm not surprised to feel soreness and piercing pain on the inside of my elbow. Needle. I'm no stranger to IV fluids.

"You should lie down a bit longer," a nurse admonishes me when I try to sit up. "Your blood pressure is abnormal. Your family told the doctor and me that your eating habit is all over the place lately. That's concerning but no wonder you passed out. Your body is nutrient-deprived."

Nutrition deprivation? I know that I've been bad at eating but wow, it's this bad?

"How long is the doctor keeping me here?" I ask weakly. "And what exactly does my body miss? I'd guess some vitamins and essential minerals, anything else? Iron?"

"Yes, all that, but also certain protein and healthy fats. Your weight isn't ideal either."

"I guess I'm skinnier than I thought." I sigh as I put a hand over my ribcage. "A skeleton."

"The doctor asked me to tell you that she's going to refer you to a counselor because she believes your persistent eating problems have a psychological root. Your family disclosed that you were kept in a mental health institution for a while back in 2014. What the doctor wants to know is whether you'll be willing to be institutionalized again if needed. Your parents seem to be against the idea but, look, you're not a minor anymore so we're legally required to ask your opinion."

"I don't want to be hospitalized long term." I reply with my face to the wall. "Not only because my family would have to take care of the bills but also because I don't think institutionalization is going to help me. I am, however, willing to go through outpatient counseling if it's available."

"You can discuss it further with your doctor tomorrow," the nurse says as she scribbles on her clipboard. "In the meantime, try not to get too stressed out. Stress is going to make your body even weaker than it already is. Do you like tea? I can get you some if you want."

"That would be nice. You're very kind."

"That's my job, being kind to the patients. Get well soon, mentally and physically."

As the nurse leaves the room to get my tea, I ponder what it means to be well. Physical wellness is something I can easily understand, but mental wellness is something I barely talk about with my family. Every time I've tried to tell my parents that I'm upset and scared about their expectation of sending me back to the United States, they seemed irritated with my fear and told me to be braver. But what is bravery? Is it brave to suffer in silence to reach an unreachable standard? Is it brave to unquestioningly do everything your parents expect of you? What is braveness if not a sad attempt at justifying a toxic culture in which teenagers are being unheard?