English Essay 2

She looked at the car as it disappeared in a cloud of dust, and knew that things would never be the same again. The gravel road dug into her skin as soon as her knees hit the ground. Grey clouds overhead marched toward her, alongside brief flashes of lighting - a storm was rolling in, and she braced herself for the thunder.

Yasmin Sekhar is the only child of actress Marilyn Cornrow and millionaire, philanthropist, Donald Stump. Conceived as the last hope of two star-crossed lovers, the blonde haired, hazel-eyed bundle of joy was the saving grace of her parent’s failing marriage. Yasmin grew up privileged, spoiled with treatment fit for a queen, by parents who took pride in giving their daughter only the best that money could buy: birthday parties so grand it progressively outdid The royal wedding, designer clothes and hand sewed customized China dolls. Most of all, other children were green with envy that her parents never failed to be sitting front row at all her ballet recitals, where theirs were too busy making ends meet. To the outside world, Yasmin seemed to have it all – what they didn’t know was how dysfunctional this ‘perfect’ family became.

Yasmin blossomed as she entered her teenage years, the relationship she had with her father however, wilted. Her dad began worked longer hours, out by dawn and returning home in a state of drunkenness. The Sekhar family grew apart. Not a conversation could be held at the breakfast table without the raising of voices or Mrs. Sekhar bursting into tears. Midnight arguments derived from the master bedroom bounced off the hard surfaces of the hollowed hallways, echoing into Yasmin’s room. Nonetheless, during family media appearances, the Sekhar family plastered on false smiles and synchronized laughter, promoting togetherness and good communication as they key to their well oiled, harmonious family. Yasmin was constantly in the media’s radar as the spoiled rotten, multimillion-dollar company heiress who had life handed to her on a plate – she knew that not a peep should be made about what really went on at home. As their ‘perfect family’ image continued to grace the front page of magazines, the revealing of an affair with the company’s secretary weakened the front line of the Sekhar family. Threats of leaving Yasmin and her mother at any given time were thrown around daily, never had Yasmin thought that he’d ever go through with it – until the day it happened. She came home one day to fully-packed suitcases scattered in the foyer, echoes of wailing and sobbing traveled the floorboards through the entire house, followed by footsteps that got louder and louder. “Take care of your mother,” he said, before sliding into sedan and driving away. Disappearing in his rear view mirror was a house that no longer felt like a home, but instead a photo album of tattered memories. She remembers the lingering petrichor emanating in the air, how the gravel road felt between her fingers; Vivid recollections of the car disappearing into the horizon recurrently haunt Yasmin’s dreams, awaking her with tear-filled eyes and shortness of breath. She chooses to recollect the traumatic events that took place that day to a minimum. The memory of her father was now but a tall, broad-framed silhouette, kept inside a box, deep within her mind labeled, ‘Do not open: bad memories.” Years of annual ballet recitals rolled by, none with a familiar face seated in the front row. The ballet shoes were now permanently place in the same box as she had with her father’s memory. Yasmin’s mother was in a downhill spiral since her dad had left. She gave into depression and clung on to the high that made her feel the slightest bit alive again. “I just need one a day to get by,” or “It’s for the pain,” became the frequently used excuse for her mother’s excessive use of medication and pills. Everyday became an uphill battle for Yasmin and her mother as funds ran low; Money that was allocated to them by their father to put Yasmin through school was now being used to purchase the “needed” extra medicine. She eventually dropped out of school to take care of her mother, who no longer had the ability to cope with the loss of the lifestyle she lived.

Slow, agonizing months later, Yasmin awoke one morning to find her mother sprawled on the bathroom floor, surrounded by empty pill capsules. The scab wounds on her knees that were left by the gravel road met the cold bathroom tiles. The death of Yasmin’s mother left her in a compromising position. She now had to venture out and accustomed herself to a ritual she never knew – having to work for something she wanted.

Five years later, having graduated with first-class honors from a top university and founding an eco-friendly biotechnology company, Yasmin was once again center stage under media’s spotlight. News channels, talk shows and newspapers fight for an interview with the now, twenty-seven year old breakthrough success story. Hidden among the table talk of talk shows and in between the lines of radio station interview beckons the question everyone wants to know- “To what do you owe your success?” Her words flow soft but firm, “My turning points were the days life put me on my knees - The day my mother laid still, cold bodied, pale faced on the bathroom floor and the memory of a car-formed dust cloud on gravel road. On grazed knees I stretched wide my fingers, trying to grasp the intangible emptiness I felt pour into my life. An addiction ended my mother’s life, but an addiction started the rest of mine – an addiction to hard work and the sense of urgency to build a better life. I had hit rock bottom, but what I knew was that I never wanted things to be the same way again.”