To Zara, words were like the fragrance of a flower, colours on a blank canvas, clouds in a blue sky. Whenever her head felt muddled, Zara would write and, like a math problem, everything in her head would get solved and simplified. Whenever she wrote, she put a bit of herself into every character, in every story.

Zara liked writing. She liked it because it allowed her to go anywhere anytime without any restrictions. But today something was bothering her.

Zara was perfect in most aspects. She was a good student, with an amiable personality liked by everyone. She was the apple of everyone’s eye, whether they were teachers, relatives or any of her classmates. Writing and reading were her passions. Putting words on paper was her superhuman ability gifted by God, because whenever she wrote, it seemed as if they would come to life. The vivid imagery she used, describing even the smallest of aspects, was her superpower.

Her parents wanted her to be a doctor. They wanted to see her help the needy and sick people, and treat them without charging any money. They thought that Zara was the perfect person for this cause.

But Zara dreamt of becoming a writer. And when she realised her parents had their hearts set on her becoming a doctor, she thought, why not? They meant a lot to her and she would fulfil their wish? But then, something deep inside, perhaps a desperate Matilda or an intellectual Sherlock Holmes, kept telling her that this was not who she was. It wasn’t her passion.

She had been reading since she was a kid. Novels and stories of kings and queens, knights and chivalry, or the adventures of Sindbad and the fantastic tales told by Bardugo. She loved going on sea voyages with Jim, hunting treasures or flying to Neverland with Peter Pan. She had ruled along with kings and knights, and, at the same time, solved mysteries with the world’s best detectives.

There were a million characters in her mind too. They lived in her mind rent-free. They all taught her and entertained her, told her what it felt like to be betrayed or framed, what it feels like to let go, or what being happy meant to them. Each one with a different story and a different goal.

She liked writing down their stories and expressing them. She wanted to be an author, play around with words like a passionate painter painting with paints, a pallet in which every colour, every word has its beauty.

She studied day and night to do well in her school exams, but every now and then, the thought that she wanted to be a writer, to hold a pen in her hands and not a stethoscope, pestered Zara. Nights passed into days and then came the night before the exams started.

Zara sat on the couch with her biology book in her hand. Her mother came and sat beside her.

“All these efforts will pay off one day and you’ll be a successful doctor,” mother tried to cheer up Zara.

Zara nodded and her lips curved in a slight smile. She wanted to tell her mother that she didn’t want to be a doctor. It wasn’t what she liked. It wasn’t her dream.

When the results were out, Zara had not done as well as expected. She had gotten great grades in the both English language and literature papers, but the result of the science subjects wasn’t so good. There was no way that she could get into a medical college with her poor grades.

Her parents and teachers were disappointed and she didn’t get much appreciation from others too. It was heartbreaking to see all of them like this. It wasn’t her fault that they expected her to be someone other than herself. Everyone noticed her average grades in science, but failed to even take into consideration her distinction in English. It was hard for her to express that she didn’t want to study medicine, or share her dream of becoming a writer.

Zara felt depressed and anxious, she tried hard to push away her dreams. She stopped writing. She would read no novel, except her curriculum books. It was hard, very hard, since her heart was not in it.

And then one day, she decided to talk to her parent. She couldn’t continue like this anymore or keep it up all inside her.

“Mum, dad, I don’t want to be a doctor, I want to be a writer. I can’t study science any longer. It’s like being someone I am not. It’s like abandoning myself, my dreams,” her parents looked at her in surprise, and then their expressions turned to that of concern.

“But, Zara wasn’t this what you always wanted, to be a doctor?” they inquired.

It was like a dam bursting and Zara let out everything inside her, her dreams, her passion for words and the desire to be a writer. Her parents listened to her calmly and the best thing was that they accepted her as she was and let her do what she wanted.

Zara was happy and continued to study English language and literature. Zara did a PhD in literature and became one of the best authors in Pakistan. She set an example for all those young writers out there who wanted to spread their wings and were determined to show the world what they were capable of.

She wrote many books and novels. She also wrote many scripts for dramas and movies. Her parents were happy to see their daughter shine in her field of interest and she was happy that she stuck to her decision. She fulfilled her parents’ dream too while being a writer still as she opened a hospital for the poor and she named it after her parents.

It is a dilemma of our society that every child is expected to be a doctor by the parents and society, while there are a million fields out there where they can shine brightly like a diamond, if they excel in that profession. Our society needs hardworking and passionate people in every field, not just medicine.

J.K. Rowling rightly said that “It is our choice, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities”.

Published in Dawn, Young World, February 24th, 2024