As the plane soared through the clouds, my mind raced with thoughts of escape. I had never wanted to follow my parents’ career path or attend the university they had chosen for me. My passion lay in photography, but art schools had rejected me, making the student exchange program my chance to delay a future I didn’t want.
When I arrived, the Rosenthal family greeted me with wide smiles and enthusiastic waves. Mr. and Mrs. Rosenthal seemed very friendly, though their excessive politeness made me uneasy. The drive to their home was long, taking us far from the airport to a small, remote village surrounded by endless fields.
Their house was charming but old, with a large porch and a garden of wilting flowers. The Rosenthals introduced me to their children, Elias and Lena. Elias stared silently, while Lena took notes on everything I did. That night, I saw the Rosenthals watching TV with the sound off, which struck me as strange and unsettling.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Over the following weeks, I struggled with their peculiar habits. They never ate together, always watched TV in silence, and had clocks set to different times. When I tried to turn on the TV volume, Mrs. Rosenthal screamed, covering her ears, while Mr. Rosenthal quickly muted it again. Their behavior was bewildering.
My attempts to adapt only led to more conflict. They pushed me to eat meat, despite my vegetarianism, and found excuses to keep me home from sports. The Rosenthals even forbade me from taking photos, which was my only solace. They took my camera, claiming it distracted me from my studies.
Desperate for a break, I met Marta, a local journalist who became a mentor and friend. She taught me photography and supported my creative pursuits. I started a photo journal, capturing the eerie beauty of my surroundings. Marta’s encouragement led to my photos being published in a magazine, marking my first professional success.
One morning, overwhelmed by the Rosenthals’ restrictions, I decided to run away. As I quietly left the house, Mr. Rosenthal caught up with me, furious and pulling me back. The commotion drew neighbors outside, and Marta arrived just in time to intervene. She offered me a place to stay, and the neighbors supported her decision.
Living with Marta was a breath of fresh air. We explored the city, and I immersed myself in photography. Each day was an adventure, and Marta’s guidance helped me refine my skills. My photo journal thrived, and I felt a renewed sense of purpose.
Marta’s belief in me transformed my passion into a professional ambition. The Rosenthals’ strange rules, though challenging, led me to clarity and a future in photography that I had always dreamed of.
