I rebelled against my parents a year ago—today, I’m happy!
We wait too often, delaying the moment when we dare to demand what life owes us by right. Sometimes, I feel like a mighty river rushing through endless landscapes… It twists and turns, flows gently at times, then hits obstacles that force it to carve new paths. Along its banks lie towns—some glowing with beauty and joy, others dark and bitter, steeped in anger.
The emotions of these contrasting places seem to pour into its waters. Yet the river must flow on, carrying its current, bringing life to the land, and washing it all into the vast sea—an endless well of stories and feelings.
But you know what? I refuse to let it stay this way. Why can’t the river rebel? Why can’t it burst its banks, become a storm, a hurricane, lashing waves against the sky? I want that right—to break free from my course.
Enough of these metaphors, enough despair and empty dreams. That’s all in the past now.
Here’s my story.
**Life by the Numbers**
I was nine when my parents announced I had to learn the violin. I didn’t want to. Yet every day, I sat with that instrument, tortured. It wasn’t for me—I dreamed of painting.
At twelve, they forbade me from seeing a girl from the neighbouring estate—too young for such friendships, they said.
At fourteen, they decided my future—a maths-focused grammar school. I wanted to study design.
At eighteen, I obeyed their rigid demands again—enrolled in an economics degree.
When I turned twenty, I fell for Emily. One night, I stayed late at her place and missed the last bus. No money for a cab, no phone to call home. The next morning, my father slapped me so hard I still remember the crack of my cheekbone.
At twenty-three, they introduced me to the woman they’d chosen as my wife—tradition in our village, the “right” way. We married. Had children. Raised them. Then came the time to plan their futures.
Enough.
One day, my parents and wife declared they’d already decided our children’s paths—years mapped out in advance. Seriously? That’s when I snapped. How many lives would they script by their rules?
With their rigid views, they’d smothered every spark in me, turned me into a puppet on strings. And my wife? What was she thinking? I shouted—a cry from the soul. For the first time, I saw my life whole—like a vast moor sprawling under an endless sky.
And in that sky, I noticed tiny stars I’d never seen before. Every ignored detail of my life flared so bright it blinded me.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t be spineless, a sponge soaking up orders, the sole of someone else’s boot. Couldn’t—and wouldn’t. I had to protect my children.
No more dictating my life. No more planning my days or making choices for me or my kids. No one had that right.
Funny thing about “rights”—I never liked economics, never wanted it. But now, I’d use every bit of that knowledge to erase the past and move forward.
The divorce was smooth. My children feared their mother—she treated them like subordinates: harsh, quick to punish, even violent. The judge didn’t hesitate—ruling in my favour, condemning her cruelty.
My parents? I cut ties. Time for them to see life differently. Change. Compromise, if they wanted their son and grandchildren back.
**One Lift, Two Knocks**
A year passed before they appeared on my doorstep—two changed people, as if they’d finally faced the truth of their lives. Two people who’d spent decades clinging to hollow rules, draining the beauty from every day, every dream, every feeling.
The visit was brief but staggering: for the first time, I saw loving, genuine parents. Why brief? Because half an hour later, another knock came.
They stood at once, said they should go, and asked me to call when I was ready. Two minutes after they left, the lift stopped on my floor. And out stepped Emily. Yes, that Emily—the one I’d secretly loved, the one who still haunted my dreams. They’d found her, told her everything, apologised. Wept. Regretted it all.
**Without Chains**
Emily won over my kids with her kindness and zest for life. For the first time, they knew what it meant to have a parent who loved, understood—strict but fair, forgiving, always ready to listen. That’s my Emily. Her arrival felt like rebirth—as if we’d never known spring or summer before, and now we lived in endless warmth.
A year later, our third child was born—ours, mine and Emily’s. And we’re an impossibly happy family.
My parents are renewed now—as if they’ve finally let themselves live without chains. Our life is beautiful. I don’t mourn the past, but I know this: a river shouldn’t wait too long to wake up and rebel. The outcome is worth it.
