Unfiltered

by Elisa Uccello

My fragmented memories of childhood include numerous conversations where I, alongside classmates, friends, or strangers, listened to adults reporting how difficult the lives of engineers, lawyers, and doctors are, and how much we would have to study if we wanted to successfully become a professional in these prestigious areas. Now I come to realize they overlooked some important possible interpretations of the word “difficult”.

My sister is convinced she wants to pursue a degree as a physician. I would never undermine her effort: the countless hours she spent sitting at her desk and reading through thick textbooks, full of words I do not understand nor want to. It would be unfair to not recognize the sacrifices she has made, coming up with excuses to forgo hangouts with friends to make sure no time was wasted, staying up until way past the ideal bedtime to be able to finish all her school work, not having time to read or watch movies for long weeks before important tests to go over every piece of unusable information. Her drive and hard work are no short of admirable. She cares about the numbers written under her name in report cards, she is willing to spend her time studying the material her teachers didn’t dive too deep into, she thinks being on social media, Netflix, or mobile games is a waste of precious time.

As a consequence of her effort, my sister was the valedictorian of our school. Every time her name was called in Academic Awards Ceremonies, be it for excellence in biology, extraordinary effort in chemistry, or the prestigious honor of being considered the best student of the entire student body, my heart filled with pride and I smiled from ear to ear as I stood up to applaud and whisper “that’s my sister!”. But in a world of relativity, it’s hard carrying the same last name as the IB perfect 45 predicted, Ivy League admitted, future neurosurgeon, overachieving student of the year.

Some years ago I came to the conclusion that I have hematophobia. I don’t like wounds, cuts, injuries, or blood. I’d just rather not look at anything that might cause physical pain, even if it’s just a scratched knee. Of course, that means I’m definitely not following in my sister’s footsteps. In fact, I think being a doctor must be absolutely awful. Still, I can understand the appeal: appraisal, respect, and economic stability.

Instead, I like writing. That’s what I want to do –write. But writing is an art, and like any form of art, it is ever-underappreciated. This is what the adults in my reminisces overlooked: parents will proudly tell anyone they encounter about their child going to med or law school, but unless you write a bestseller, paint a Monalisa, or make it on the billboard, I doubt we’ll be seeing your parents going around proudly mentioning that their kid wants to be an artist.

— as fundamental and inalienable — we don't like to think about this.

And although this kind of thinking feels wrong, we already do it constantly; the process is just implicit. Making it explicit is the only way we can prevent these discussions from becoming completely nonsensical. “We must respect bodily integrity” is a cowardly phrase because it is an abstract statement of values pretending to pertain to a practical discussion. In practical terms, all it really means is “yes, I’m willing to let some people die, but I won’t tell you how many.”

So, what’s your price? It might sound callous, but you’ve probably already made your decision — it’s the only real question in COVID policy. How many people are you willing to let die for human rights?

The path to becoming a doctor, engineer, and lawyer is very demanding. Long hours of study and dedication are necessary, and even after getting a degree, the work must be exhausting. But future doctors, engineers, and lawyers are praised, supported, and glorified in their schools and homes. But future artists? Pff, go find something useful to do with your time kid.

There have been countless nights where I’ve felt worthless and stupid for not having higher grades, not studying more, not wanting to be an engineer, doctor, or lawyer, not having my sister’s resilience and drive, or sharing her opinion on the importance of school. But at the end of the day, the system was never built to favor everyone, and even though we do have to comply to a certain extent, no one should be deemed wrong for spending their time on things that make them happy. I hope any kid out there who thinks they’re not good enough because their passion is undervalued knows that the worst thing we can do is give up whatever sparks the fire in our souls.

Our time is the only thing we truly own. Let us not waste it living the lives others have dreamt for us. Let us not waste it trying to fulfill foreign expectations. Let us not waste it putting effort into things that will bring us nothing besides approval. And let us not waste it extinguishing our sparks.