I was shaking when I held the metallic phone, the beige case my mother bought me because it "was elegant" but I thought it was boring. I stared at my messy beige bed, trying to calm myself, breathing heavily. I slowly searched for my mother's number. I took a deep breath and dialed. The waiting seemed to be taking forever. I held my favorite necklace, beige, because my mom bought it for me; I counted every beep. She finally answered,

"Hello? Maya? Are you here?" I could hear her sharp voice on the phone. 

I sat on my bed, "Mom, Hi, I'm here." I finally said. I took another breath and decided to tell her the big news.

 "I got accepted!", waiting for her reaction, shaking. I could imagine her smile, and I immediately smiled the biggest smile I could. 

"To where?" 

"Penn state law," I said so proudly, 

"You called me for this?". I could feel my heart skip a beat, "You know your sister got accepted into Yale law and was in the top 3% in her class," she was so proud of her perfect older child. I could feel myself getting smaller, the same feeling I knew so well. I felt tears going through my cheeks; my throat was so dry I almost didn't breathe. I hung up the phone without saying goodbye; I couldn't say a word. My brain seemed to be full of cotton candy because I couldn't think at all. I ran to my bed, started my playlist as high as I could, and slammed my pillow against the wall, and threw the beige phone case on the floor.

           Why can't she just be proud? Why am I not enough? I will never be enough. No matter how hard I try, I can't be like my perfectly almost annoying sister. Thoughts ran in my mind, so many voices in my head. So I stopped the music, washed my face, and wiped the water with a red cotton towel. I sat on the floor, opened my favorite red notebook, and started writing. Every thought I had, every feeling, was written on the blank paper. I could feel my shoulders getting a bit looser, my heart beating slower, and my face looking less red than before. 

            Suddenly, I heard a ring, I wasn't sure if it was real or I had dreamed, but I stood up and went to the door. The postwoman was standing in the front, she handed me a big fancy envelope. I thought: it might be…. No way…. I thanked her and slammed the door. I ran to my bed and started reading, "Dear Maya Cohen, we are happy to inform you…."  "The New York Times," I screamed and threw the envelope on the floor, trying to process what just happened. Suddenly, I froze, I couldn't go, my mom would be so disappointed, I couldn't do it. I need air. I need an answer. So, I opened my closet door, took a suitcase. Packed all the clothes I could find, I left, started running, almost tripping over my notebook that was open on the floor. I took the notebook and ran to my car. Breathing clearly and sharply through the freezing air.

I drove in the messy tiny red car I bought myself two years ago. I sat on the soft red seat. Placing my hands carefully on the steering wheel, I leaned my head against the window, closed my eyes for a few seconds, and started driving.
I found myself standing under the big metallic gate, hidden in a beautiful tangled forest. The trees collapsed with the red-orange shade of the twilight sky. I took a few steps and rang the bell, "Cohen Family" was written in beige letters. I took another deep breath and started walking on the sparkling bricks.
I walked into the living room, trying to wipe all the sweat I felt from my hands. I looked at the dusty beige wall covered with pictures: I leaned my head against the wall, looking at one dusty picture, a sweet girl, maybe five years old, wearing a 'Harvard law school' shirt with 'future lawyer' in the front. Being at this house again, I felt smaller than ever, smaller than I was in that picture. Why can't I fight for my principles?. I pushed my legs because they resisted walking. As far as I could from my mother, who read the giant book, probably full of boring laws, I stood in the living room.
"Oh, Maya! What are you doing here, sweetie?"
"I wanted to talk with you, mom. I received an email today… from the New York Times. I've been accepted for their internship". Silence, neither my mom nor I wanted to respond. I straightened my back and said in the most stable voice I could,
"And I'm going." One single look at her face, and my voice wasn't even close to being regular.
"Maya, you are going to be a lawyer, and if you work hard, you will get accepted next year to the best law school."
I lifted my chin, "I don't want to be a lawyer! I don't want to be like you or my sister. I know I can be a good journalist!"
But she already decided, "Maya, honey, you know how important it is to have stability, to have economical options."
"But mom, I aspire to change, to write for the ones who can't speak or need the 'attorney' to speak for them."
"Maya, this is an unpaid internship. Journalism is such a hard profession to succeed in."
"Mom, can you listen?"
"That's it, go to your room. You are tired; you don't want to act like a 5-year-old."

My face was so red I thought I would explode. I stepped as loud as I could so my mom could hear. After everything I accomplished, I still feel like my height is 3'5, and I still wear bows in my head. I felt like a child whose mummy still picks everything for him. I went to my old room, still covered with pink tape on the wall; I opened the heavy door of my closet, full of blankets, and saw my pink, full of barbies on the cover, a diary from when I was 8:’Today mom took me to Yale law school, my dream school, I can't wait to study law and become a lawyer! I really want her to be proud of me'. I exhaled. What am I supposed to do? I sat on the soft mattress. I slowly opened my suitcase and stared at the big letter, maybe I stared for 20 minutes, maybe for an hour but I could feel my hand shaking and sweating. 

"Maya?" I suddenly heard. I opened my eyes, trying to get up unsuccessfully. I saw our maid-Marina, who used to babysit me until I was 8. 

"Your mom told me to come to your…. What is that? The New York Times?" 

"Amm yes" I tried to hide most of the letter so she couldn't read the rest. My heartbeat was so fast that I thought it might pop out of my chest. I planned on hiding the letter and forgetting about it, but Marina seemed ready for a serious talk... 

"But I'm not going."    

"Let me guess, you spoke with your mom?"

"Marina, please forget it. I said I'm not going, I'm not good enough" My voice broke when I said the last words... 

She didn't respond; she reached for her pocket and handed me one folded, old, yellow paper.

 "What is it?"

"Just read," so I opened the folded paper, smiling at the drawing of cake and balloons. I started reading; A tear dropped over my cheek and fell on the card, leaving a mark on the card. I read it slowly, focusing on the pink letters. 

 "Who wrote it?"

"You, when you were 7 years old, and I kept it until today," she stood up, stared at me, and said voicelessly only with her look: 'You're more than enough,' and walked, leaving me with the paper in my hands, my mouth half-open...

I flipped the paper,' follow your dreams' was written on the back.

Usually, I would hate this sentence, so ironically and cheesy. So easy to say but so hard to follow. When I wrote this letter, I truly believed that if you want something, you can accomplish anything. I loved this perspective, so optimistic. How did I know anything at 12 but nothing at 21? 

 A warm, confident feeling went through my body: what stops me from following my dreams? This feeling made me sure that I wanted to be a journalist, making my voice clear and sure.

"Marina, wait!" I stood up and walked to the door. "I am going to talk with her. Hopefully, she will visit me in New York next year," A smile spread across my face.

She turned over. "Aren't you nervous? Don't you know how your mother will respond?"

"Not really," I said, walking to the living room holding the card.