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The Diaries of Rachel - Part 2

A score of 2100 for my S.A.Ts was good enough. It was way more than what I expected and for once my parents were happy. They wanted me to go to a school close to home so that I'd (preferably) come home during the weekends or as often as I could. But that's not what I wanted. They wanted me to become a doctor, and a doctor I shall become. But since they had a say in my choice of profession, I wanted to be the one who picked the university. It wasn't any other course that I was about to do. It was medicine. And I had to get into one of the best Uni's for my degree to be of any value. And that was my biggest advantage. Without their knowledge, I applied to UKCISA (United Kingdom Council for International Student Affairs) for a scholarship. And luckily, I got a scholarship to do my medical degree in one of the most reputed Universities in the UK. It was more or less like a loan but who cares. It was my chance to escape.

So I told my parents about my decision to go to the UK. A lot of fuss ensued as expected. My mother pissed me off more than ever. Dad was mostly shocked. So I played the sympathy card. That night is unforgettable. It was score, score, score for me; burn, burn, burn for them. I told them how affected I was by the way they treated me differently or rather the way they treated my sister differently. At first they were defensive. And by "they", I mean mom. Dad was still in state of shock. And then mom had no idea what to say. In fact, nothing she said even made sense. She mentioned something about how she used to drive me to music classes and wait in the car with my lunch or something. Anyway, finally dad broke his silence and asked me if going to the UK for my degree was what I really wanted. To which I replied that it's probably the only way they can compensate for everything I've been through ever since the younger kid was born. That probably did it. Long story short, dad agreed to pay my full fee and everything. He said I could go study wherever I wanted as long as I was sure of my choices and promised him that I would study well. Promises were made, tears were shed and all ended well. I even changed my preferred college now that he was paying. Applied and got into the UCL. Everything was perfect. I had my ultimate escape planned out. And I never intended to return.

I left within a few months. Fell in love with London. Turned out to be one of the best in my batch. And finally started hanging out with the popular kids. I love putting on make-up and wearing chic clothes. I love looking good, basically. I'm a normal girl with normal girly instincts. I was probably a little over-dressed most of the time because this was my chance to vent out all the frustration of never being able to do any of these things back home. I was never too keen on calling home or skyping for that matter. And I was in a different continent. I could do as I pleased.

Slowly, things went from standard good to frickin' awesome! I was living the life. I tasted alcohol for the first time, went clubbing with a bunch of girls, threw up and passed out on some nights, kissed a random dude for a dare, and still managed to do well in my academics. Hungover as fuck, yes, but still pretty good. It was the best phase of my life. Calm before the storm, I guess.


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