5 o’clock. The moment the hallways of my office overflow with people. The time the sun begins to set and the streets of this city are lit up by towers and dreams. The time I am regretful of letting the ones I looked up to the most decide who I am. The first face I saw was not my own, but my parent’s. Now when I look in the mirror, I realize my reflection was never my own, but an image of all the things my parents wanted to see.

My parents were pretty average people, and they did not have any interests or talents. My dad worked as an accountant and my mom was a clerk. Their only goal was to get through life, and they did not concern themselves with anything that would be too much work. When I was a kid, I wanted to become a famous painter. As a kid, I would sketch little doodles of cartoons I would see on television. When I would show my teachers, they would be shocked that instead of scribbling on the paper like the other 6-year-olds, I was drawing people and animals. When I showed my parents my art, they would frown and take my paint and pencils away from me saying, “they were too distracting.” Regardless of the drawing I would show them, they were never impressed and continued to discourage me. I never understood what they meant.

The one thing my parents wanted was success. They thought success was defined as getting a job in an office and making money. As I grew older, I realized that I feared their version of success more than failing at something I wanted to do. When I explained to them about how I wanted to go to be an arts major, they told me that they would only pay for college if I went into business. I was steered in a direction from which I could not escape.

Now I’m in an office just like they wanted. Was this success? Was this what I was born to do? I thought success was supposed to be a nice thing. I thought I was supposed to be happy now. I feel tricked. Is it too late for me now? I need hope.

As I typed on my computer, I prepared for my next interview. I then heard a knock on my door. “Mr. Smith? May I come in? I am here for my interview.” In walked a young lady with blonde hair and a big smile. She smiled like I have never seen in my whole life. “Hello, I’m Fia, I’m here for the volunteering opportunity.”

“Good, could you tell me about yourself?” I said in a surprised tone.

“Sure! I am aspiring to become a singer when I grow up,” she said in a happy voice.

I looked down, confused by her response because her resume said she had straight A’s and took extra business classes. “What do your parents think about you wanting to be a singer?” I said.

“My parents put me in a private school in kindergarten that taught me leadership and communication skills. They told me to follow my heart and chase my dreams. They supported me and got me to where I am today,” she said with bright eyes.

I was astonished. This is what it is supposed to be like. This was happiness. Right in front of me, was everything that I wanted to become as a kid and everything I wanted my parents to see in me. All I wanted was my parents to believe in me. As she walked out of my office, I looked at my painting on the wall with a night sky and stars and said, “I hope that you reach for the stars.”