Uncle Funded My Education Journey

In a dream that felt both real and surreal, Aylin Scott once again encountered her long-lost mother. In her hazy memories, her mother, Kayleigh Myers, was always a beautiful woman—elegant without being ostentatious, and always smiling gently, gazing quietly, serene like still water and as gracious as jade. Aylin yearned for her mother to come closer, to hold her in a comforting embrace. However, that beautiful, unfamiliar, blurry face only offered a gentle smile before slipping away. In the vast emptiness of her dream, Aylin screamed, "Mom—Mom—," her voice echoing across the universe, but it never reached her mother. She desperately wanted to chase after her mother's shadow, yet the figure kept moving farther away until it vanished entirely, leaving Aylin once more alone in that barren landscape.

It was always the same dream, the same landscape, and the same abrupt awakening. Aylin pulled back the curtains and looked dejectedly at the sun rising outside, casting an oppressively hot glow. She lowered her eyes, sitting on her bed in a futile attempt to grasp the fading fragments of the dream, yearning to recover any memory of her mother, even just a scrap, as it would be a great comfort. Yet, besides the echo of her own screams in her ears, there was nothing. Perhaps, for her, motherly love could only ever be an endless, unattainable dream.

Eight years had passed, yet Aylin's longing for her mother persisted like an unending stream, a shadowy cloud that never dissipated. This persistent yearning, which she neither could nor wanted to stop, brought about an inexplicable sadness—ultimately, it was the betrayal of her mother who abandoned the family, abandoned her and her father. Although this sense of betrayal led her to instinctively harbor resentment, Aylin was often left feeling frustrated by the impossibility of hating someone she missed constantly.

Holding her backpack tightly, she passed her grandmother as quietly as possible, attempting to avoid any opportunity for conversation. She knew nothing good ever came from her grandmother's mouth, and at times, she'd entertain the spiteful thought of how peaceful the world would be if her grandmother suddenly lost her voice.

Her grandmother, known as Kayleigh Gardner, never actually attended school, but the Church had given her a more cultured name. Known since childhood as "Many," post-marriage, she became "Mrs. Gardner," and later "Kayleigh Gardner." Despite her tragic story of early widowhood and raising two children alone, her presence was far from pitiful; rather, it was commanding. No one in the village dared regard her as weak, as her sharp tongue could easily outmatch any collective chatter from the other women.

Standing in the yard, toothbrush in one hand and a cup of water in the other, Kayleigh spat out the water and shot a glance at her passing granddaughter, asking, "So, not eating?"

Aylin muttered, lowering her head, "No, I'm late."

Kayleigh gargled and spat out another mouthful of water irritably in Aylin’s direction, exclaiming, "Darn it! I get up early to make you breakfast, and you won’t even eat! I'm done trying to please you..."

Aylin did not dare respond, quickly fleeing the scene.

Throughout her childhood and into adolescence, Aylin never had many friends. As a child, she was often bullied and left out of games. As she grew older and more graceful, she found herself dismissive of those who suddenly sought her friendship. As a student, she was independent and distant; no one dared to approach her, and she feared being approached by others. Thus, her name was rarely heard among the students.

"Aylin Scott! Come with me!"

When her homeroom teacher, known as "Bear Mom," called her name, several classmates glanced in her direction, as if suddenly remembering her presence. The teacher's gaze didn't seem particularly friendly, leaving Aylin puzzled about what she might have done to garner attention, and followed her teacher out of the classroom reluctantly.

"Bear Mom," actually Julissa Gibson, was Aylin's class advisor—a thirty-seven-year-old, petite and stout woman expecting her third child, hoping for a boy after two daughters. Despite the challenges, Aylin sympathized with her teacher, who tirelessly oversaw morning and evening classes with a swell belly, thinking how hard life must be without support—both of them struggling in different ways.

In the office, Julissa settled heavily into her chair, shuffling through a stack of forms without raising her eyes, simply saying, "Sit."

Aylin felt a pang of anxiety.

Julissa finally found Aylin’s form, placed it before her, and tapped it, "So, what's your plan?"

"Nothing special. I want to start earning money soon," Aylin replied, masking her emotions.

Julissa frowned and lifted her eyes to Aylin, momentarily at a loss for words. She had a fondness for Aylin—or maybe a sense of protective compassion. She had known Aylin’s father from school and thought him wholly unsuitable as a husband, unsurprised when she heard he divorced, but she pitied his motherless child. Julissa believed Aylin was a good kid—reserved, quiet, never causing trouble, a diligent student.

After a pause, Julissa struggled to her feet, sighed, and approached Aylin, placing her hands on Aylin's shoulders in an attempt at comfort.

Aylin flinched at the touch, instinctively shrugging her shoulders, causing Julissa to hastily withdraw her hands, pretending nonchalance, "I knew your father in school, so I know a bit about your family... But listen, sometimes you can't afford to take the wrong path in life. If you step wrong now, who knows how many detours you'll have to take later! With your grades, getting into the city’s top high school is a sure thing. Think about it, okay?"

Julissa wiped at her oily cheeks distractedly, her neck's sagging skin visible beneath her sloppy hairstyle, the result of her weight and swollen abdomen.

Despite herself, Aylin felt a touch of sympathy for this aging woman. In a tremulous voice, she replied, "I know, Ms. Gibson, you mean well...but I have my own plans." Her stubbornness persisted, but an overwhelming sadness welled within her, realizing how much more pitiful she felt compared to this fading woman's life.

Touched by the pride and isolation in her young pupil, Julissa spoke tenderly, "Silly child, in today’s world, there’s a big difference between those who go to college and those who don’t. Take my advice: if you can, finish high school and aim for university. A good job follows, and then everything falls into place. Giving up now makes it hard to go back later. Even if your dad can't help, isn't your mom still around? No mother doesn't care for her child. Go to her, see what she can do, okay?"

Though not fully convinced by Julissa’s future outlook, her words struck a chord, and Aylin realized that exams might be the lever for her future. She only had one chance—to prove herself, and to perhaps show the mother who abandoned her just what she could achieve.

"I'll follow your advice, Ms. Gibson," Aylin responded with a tentative smile, determined yet fleeting.

People often say a child's mind is a blank canvas, thinking such purity exists in white, yet white is the most complex of colors. At sixteen, Aylin was sensitive and resilient, always encased in protective layers, isolated from the world. Thus, she was solitary, but this solitude did not quench her spirit. She continued to yearn for a different life, willing to risk everything in silent rebellion against her current existence, a rebellion she would carry to the end of her life if necessary.

Suddenly, she found direction, the lighthouse guiding her forward—education.

Whether she attended high school in the city or chose vocational training elsewhere, she was leaving the village, leaving her grandmother behind. Words like "freedom," "liberation," and "rebirth" floated into her mind like colorful bubbles, light and dancing, though occasionally crushed by the harsh memory of her grandmother’s stern face.

Aylin was resolved; whether her grandmother accepted her choice or not, she was determined to move forward. This path was difficult, exhausting, but she hoped to find the right moment to have an open conversation with her grandmother about what grudge was held against her. When her mother fled, she was just eight—a mere child, certainly not the instigator. Why did her grandmother build an impenetrable fortress to keep her out, refusing to hear her pleas?

Unable to break through her grandmother's fortress, her dreams offered little solace as the image of her kind mother receded further. Multiple times, she warned herself in dreams to quicken her pace, to grab her mother before she slipped away, to ask if she could be loved once more. Yet, her legs failed her, and she watched helplessly as her mother faded. Throughout those eight years, Aylin kept silent about her mother. Whenever something surfaced, she inevitably thought of "that person." Even as they left her, the memories were warm, but time continued to erode even those, which was ultimately a cruel reality for a child.

Aylin’s decision to enroll at Dover High School perhaps changed her life. Had her dreams of education been dashed by reality and she relinquished her remote, ambiguous aspirations, her life might have resembled a mere grain of sand on that tiny town’s landscape—ordinary, solitary, and devoid of the varied people and experiences that colored her eventual life with moments of separation and intimate reconciliations.

Time, the magical illusionist, vividly ushered Aylin into Dover High School, and before long, she was on her way to university. Seated by the window of the train, Aylin was accompanied by her uncle Milan Parker, across from an elderly couple. It was her first train ride—a journey clearer and more defined than her previous ones, leaving her slightly excited.

From the age of eight, she dreamed of escaping from the self-imposed limitations of home. Now, finally, it seemed a legitimate reality. While her grandmother was kinder to her, and her uncle and aunt more affectionate, the unknown world beyond them beckoned with endless allure. This was perhaps no different from other children, oblivious to the older generation’s grief and worries.

The journey from Dover to London took almost twenty hours. The train's extended swaying began to make Aylin feel queasy and nauseous, her complexion waning.

"Is she feeling motion sickness?" the elderly woman inquired of Milan.

Milan only then noticed Aylin’s discomfort, "Aylin, are you alright?"

Alarmed at Aylin’s pallor, Milan, though a father himself, had little experience dealing with such situations. Despite his own children's growth, finding Aylin was his self-assigned task, recognizing what she lacked and desiring to provide warmth and security in an unfamiliar environment.

The elderly woman, noticing the father’s helpless demeanor, kindly suggested, "Ask the staff; they might have something for motion sickness!"

"Oh, right! Thank you!" Milan replied gratefully, "Ma’am, please keep an eye on her; I'll be right back!"

Feeling dizzy, Aylin was comforted by her uncle’s diligent care, hoping he wouldn’t disappear.

"Aylin, hang in there, alright? I'll be back soon," Milan reassured her before heading to the train’s end.

"I’m fine," she muttered, not wanting him to leave, but he was already gone.

The elderly woman had spent the day chatting with her husband, now asleep with his head on the table. With him at rest, she struck up a conversation with Aylin, her talkative nature quieted only by age. Aylin thought of her grandmother's relentless chatter, noting the elderly woman's greater elegance.

"Are you just starting university, dear?" the lady inquired.

Aylin nodded weakly.

"Going to school in London?"

"Mhm," Aylin nodded again, out of politeness despite having little strength to respond.

Upon hearing about London, the elderly woman’s pride swelled, "Londoners are exceptional! London is the nation's economic hub, and its culture rivals any! Our universities are world-class—Oxford, Cambridge, all renowned. Even the Prime Minister is a graduate!"

Aylin offered a faint smile, humoring the older woman.

"So, which university are you attending?"

"Oxford," Aylin replied, her reserved demeanor masking a swell of pride.

"Oxford, that's remarkable! No wonder your father is so proud," the lady exclaimed.

Aylin had no intention to correct her; if only she had a father like Milan Parker, she might feel differently.

"And what are you studying?"

The lady seemed somewhat knowledgeable compared to her grandmother, who confused a degree with health sciences.

"Classical Literature."

"Wow! That's wonderful! A noble field indeed," the lady continued enthusiastically. "Our ancestors left us treasures. Shakespeare, Milton, they're greats, aren't they? I taught English for decades, and there's such beauty in our language. But young people today, few study like you do. Sadly, all my children want to move abroad and chase so-called modern civilization. What's civilization, really? It's right here in the UK!"

Aylin felt too drained to follow the conversation and gently closed her eyes.

Just then, Milan returned, sweaty from his trek, handing Aylin some medicine with a water bottle, "Here, take this."

As Aylin was about to swallow the pills, a sudden wave of nausea overtook her, and she threw up onto Milan’s trousers.

Disdainful murmurs arose around them, "Seriously, can’t they prepare for motion sickness?!" "Ugh, the smell!" "Like a bathroom in here!"

Apologetic, Milan began cleaning up, "Sorry, everyone, I’ll tidy this right away!"

Watching him move about the compartment, Aylin found herself not rushing to assist, nor feeling guilty. Instead, she cherished the sense of being cared for, cherished, and protected—as though surrounded by a fatherly embrace.