Student Spectrums

Alesha Siddiqui is a 9^th grader at Ilm Academy. Her interests include sports, art, and writing. She’s the president of the debate club at Ilm Academy, and through her writing, she wishes to explore overlooked and sidelined perspectives.

I sit in Botany 101 learning about the different flowers to place on different headstones, while my friends get to emerge themselves into the details of every muscle in the human body. They get to articulate their sights in every report, and claim that they’ll be the next doctors, nurses, surgeons, PTs, and EMS of our generation. This is while my family is thrown into the depths of the cemetery to uncover secrets that were never meant to be found.

As the daughter of cemetery groundskeepers, I’m not supposed to hang out with people from a different working class, because the government thinks it’ll spark “jealousy” among families of different careers. But I think there would be no jealousy, if we had the freedom to pursue our own interests. 

The government assigns each family a career, and they must follow it. No arguing, manipulating, or negotiating. Nothing. Some unlucky man in my line of ancestry got stuck with this job and now generations to follow will suffer, including me. I miss the stories about children in kindergarten who learnt about all types of careers and got to pick and choose exactly what suited their interests. They had the opportunity to discover themselves, and use their talents towards a cause they believed in, while children now start their specialized classes for their careers at age five. 

It’s not that bad being born into a family of doctors, engineers, or even lawyers, because they know that inevitably, they’ll succeed. Just the thought of being born into a family of medicine is euphoric. It’s all my heart has ever desired. To be a part of the cause that upholds human life. To repair tendons and muscles in every inch of the body until I can confidently call myself a surgeon. To will for a heart to continue beating and do everything in my power to extend the life of the exposed body before me. And yet day after day I trample over decaying bodies and lay flowers over different headstones to pretend to respect their souls.

That’s another thing, the flowers. Groundskeepers must know the intricate details of every flower they can get their hands on, and only the most precious, delicate, and exotic flowers may be placed on the headstones with the small engraving medicine below the name. It’s as if the body is defined by what they did rather than who they were. 

At that moment, as my teacher moves onto the next headstone, with a different engraving, choosing a different flower, I watch a couple eagerly scan over the grave yard our class is being held in. And suddenly, the woman sees it, the headstone she and her partner yearned for. She gently caresses the petals of each flower I had placed upon the grave earlier, and flashes the most appreciative smile the sun, moon, and stars have ever seen. And for a split second, I dont hate this profession as much. I may not see it as noble as a surgeon’s duties, yet I realize that I can provide comfort to the families of those the doctors couldn’t save.

I’ll have the power to guard the grounds that so eagerly wish to be cared for, and some day, I may claim to be the caretaker of the most lifeless, yet most lively place on earth. I can respect the stone that symbolizes an individual who dedicated themselves toward their role in society. Maybe eventually I’ll learn to love the career I must pursue, but for now, I’m willing to accept it.