The story of my life was nothing short of idyllic. I never dared to wish for more because everything was already perfect. We were a small, close-knit family of four: my perpetually serious father, my flawless mother, my brilliant brother, and myself—a creative and cheerful young girl. Our home was a splendid mansion perched atop a hill in a foreign land. You've probably already guessed it—I am the daughter of an ambassador.
My father was one of the twenty Ambassadors representing the small yet wealthy Kingdom of the Lion Crown. You might wonder how a nation could have only twenty Ambassadors worldwide. The answer is simple: the Kingdom of the Lion Crown is one of the world's wealthiest yet smallest countries. Its citizens rarely needed to leave its borders in search of a better life, so the kingdom established embassies only in the top twenty superpowers of the world. For all other nations, our people relied on the assistance of foreign embassies.
But why am I sharing these details? What significance does the number of embassies hold for my story? To be honest, not much. However, you now know about my homeland, the Kingdom of the Lion Crown. Being an ambassador for such a nation is akin to holding the key to resolving any matter involving the wealthiest place on Earth. Consequently, my father wielded immense power and influence.
It was a Saturday in mid-June, and we were having our usual family dinner.
"Rima, your teacher informed me that you've been neglecting your math studies again and delving into philosophy," my father remarked. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his hair neatly styled to the left, and his tone carried a hint of disappointment.
I knew my father better than anyone; we shared a special bond. Nevertheless, at that moment, I felt a surge of nervousness, and the words I wanted to say eluded me. I understood why—it was because my father held academics in high regard. In a time when women had only recently gained access to education, my father wanted me to be a trailblazer.
Incredible, right? Today, education is accessible to all, but when I was just eighteen, it was still a novelty in many places and in need of support. So, I lowered my head and simply uttered, "I'm sorry." It was the only sentence that came to mind.
Upon seeing me bow my head, my father's expression softened. "If you're so passionate about philosophy, I'll arrange for a new teacher to instruct you. But do not neglect your other subjects; they are equally important," he said. In the end, he couldn't stay angry with me. He always gave me what I needed; he was the best father anyone could wish for.
On the other hand, my mother remained silent throughout this exchange. She didn't react or intervene. Why, you ask? It was because she understood that neither parent had the right to interfere in the other's parenting decisions. This principle of equal power and voice in our household was fundamental. Our parents never argued.
My mother was a paragon of virtue, a woman born into one of the most prestigious families. Her education, although lacking a formal certificate, was unparalleled. My mother was the epitome of perfection—gentle, caring, and devoid of any trace of arrogance. She was just and fair in the eyes of all.
"Dad, you always get Rima the best teachers. I want a special teacher too!" my younger brother, Isma, impatiently exclaimed. He was the sibling who had arrived eleven years after me. He was small in stature and very young but possessed a level of intelligence that surpassed many adults. I couldn't even compare to him.
"Isma, please, not again. We've already discussed this," my mother chimed in with her gentle voice. She continued, "No one is willing to teach you because you're more knowledgeable than most professors. They can't keep up with you. I'll personally take on the task of teaching you, so don't worry."
Indeed, my brother was an academic prodigy, and it was challenging for him to find someone who could offer him new knowledge. To put it simply, he had exhausted our mansion's extensive library by the age of six. He had mastered numerous subjects and still had room for more.
"Don't fret, Isma. I'll always share my teachers with you. If you ever need anything, just come to me," I assured him, fully aware that my words would annoy him. Isma looked at me, his cheeks turning crimson. "I won't tolerate such behavior from a simpleton like you. I'm offended," he retorted.
"If you stay offended, your brain might start deleting information. It's your problem," I replied, and then resumed eating. Before glancing at my parents, I checked their reaction; fortunately, they said nothing.
Siblings ought to be able to jest with one another, and excessive protection does more harm than good.
"Seriously, I've never read about that. Where did you learn such a thing?" Isma asked, a bit concerned about losing important knowledge. He cherished his intellect a tad too much.
I continued eating and replied without much thought, "I came across it in an old book at the university."
What started as a casual remark became a newfound goal for my brother. Isma was now determined to enroll in university as soon as possible and explore its library. Honestly, I never expected that my brother, who had already read an entire library, would still be so infatuated with books. But what could I do? I, too, was enamored with the written word and philosophy. We are ever-changing creatures, shaped by the passage of time.