Although the dream had been disturbing, what tugged at my heart was seeing my grandmother again. I directed my gaze to a photo of the two of us on my desk, and nostalgic thoughts washed over me. It’s been ten years since her death. I wish I could turn back time and relive my moments with her.

Even though the dream had been turbulent, I didn’t have a second to lose. I had to get ready for school. I quickly got out of bed and went to take a shower.

As I styled my hair into a tight, perfect ponytail—a hairstyle I hated—I couldn’t help but remember my grandmother's words about my hair. Would she be sad to see how it looked now? I didn’t love it like I used to.

I dressed, making sure everything looked flawless, before joining the kitchen for breakfast.

I sat at the breakfast table, trying to make as little noise as possible. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, but the atmosphere in the dining room was far from warm.

My father, impeccably dressed in a suit, his black hair neatly slicked back, sat across from me. His stern features, with deep lines on his forehead and around his mouth, betrayed a life of discipline and rigor. His piercing, almost black brown eyes allowed no hint of weakness. He read the newspaper with meticulous attention.

My mother, dressed in a strict suit, her hair pulled into a perfect bun with a few strands framing her face, was checking my schedule for the day. Her fine features, high cheekbones, and pinched lips projected a cold austerity. Her steely blue eyes scrutinized every detail with surgical precision.

In front of me was a bowl of fiber cereal, accompanied by neatly sliced fruit and a glass of skim milk. I didn’t like this breakfast, but I didn’t dare say anything. Any discussion about my food preferences would have been pointless. And even if I had, I would have been reprimanded and lectured for hours. My tightly bound ponytail was another reminder of the discipline imposed by my parents.

“Yui, did you study well for your math test today? It's crucial that you maintain your average.”

“Yes, Mom. I spent the evening reviewing,” I replied hesitantly.

“Studying isn’t enough, Yui. You must be the best. The top universities only accept excellence,” declared my father without looking up from the newspaper, his tone icy.

“And don’t forget your piano lesson after school. Your performance at the last recital was adequate, but I want you to do better this time.”

It was so exhausting. I could only nod, focusing on my bowl of cereal. I didn’t like this fiber cereal, but Father and Mother insisted that a healthy diet was essential for my performance. The more I ate, the stronger my urge to throw up.

“Yes, Mom. I’ll try harder.”

“And for the science project? Have you chosen a topic?”

“Yes, Dad. I chose to study renewable energy.”

“That’s a good choice. Make sure to cite reliable sources and follow your teacher’s guidelines to the letter.”

I picked at my fruit without enthusiasm. I would have preferred toast or a bowl of warm rice. But honestly, I didn’t even know anymore. What did I truly want? Thinking about it brought a feeling of unease and emptiness.

My father finally put down the newspaper and fixed his stern gaze on me.

“Yui, remember, we do all this for your own good. Discipline and hard work are the keys to success. Never forget that.”

“Yes, Dad. I understand.”

I felt a heavy, judgmental look from my mother. She examined me, as usual, from head to toe.

“Your shoes are well-polished, and your shirt is perfectly ironed. But your hair, Yui, it needs to be tied tighter. We don’t want you giving off an impression of negligence.”

“Yes, Mom. I’ll tie it tighter.”

Why go so far? It was already tied very tightly. I felt pain as I carried out her order, but I didn’t let any of it show on my face.

The clock chimed, signaling it was time to leave for school. I got up and headed for the door. I was eager to escape this stifling atmosphere. I grabbed my things and made my way to the door without delay. One might think it was to be on time, but it was probably pure impatience to leave this house.

“And remember, no unnecessary distractions. Focus on your studies. Oh, and finish your milk before you leave. It’s important for your bones,” my mother added in an authoritative tone, handing me the glass of milk I’d left, hoping to avoid it.

I took one last sip of milk, holding back a grimace, then left the house, the weight of my parents' expectations bearing heavily on my shoulders.

As I walked toward school, with a calmer and freer air in my steps, enjoying the wind on my face, I dreamed of a world where I could live far from these relentless demands for perfection.

A smile that had started to form on my face quickly faded when I remembered that all this was just a dream and that it would have to remain so. I saw no way out that would allow me to live as I wanted. The more I thought about it, the more it depressed me. I forced myself to stop thinking and just walked toward school.

Will I live like this forever?