text: I gently caressed the calluses in my right hand, lost in thought. The sun at its zenith, like a golden stain in a stark blue sky, scorched my tanned skin, while rivers of sweat ran down my body from head to toe, leaving me sticky and salty and stinky, and then I looked at the hoe standing before me, and then at the field beyond--to be weeded--until I laid eyes on my father, with his weathered but strong hands tightly gripping the wooden handle of his hoe and deliberately swinging and striking the soil below, sweat beads on his wrinkled face, clothes clinging to skin. Our eyes met under the blazing sun. "Tired already?" he asked with a wan smile, a missing tooth sticking out. I smiled back and shook my head. "Not really. Just thinking..." Grinning, he said, "Think less, work more." He started swinging his hoe again, full of purpose and determination. I followed. Working on the field. Taking care of crops and livestock. That had been my life for as long as I could remember. As the eldest son, I was always helping my old man after school or during holidays and vacations. Always working my arse under the sun. Always. That's the life my father knew, and my grandpa before him. That's the life that provided us food and shelter. That's how my parents raised my brothers and me. We lived within humble means, yet lacked for nothing. I was grateful, as I should be. But this year, things felt different. I was seventeen and that was my senior year of high school. After graduating, I'd be able to fully help my father on our small farm. And in a few years, when he retired, I would be him. I should be grateful, and I was. It was a simple but honest life in the countryside. A life of green fields, of mooing cows, barking dogs, and singing birds, of pure air and starry nights. I knew that if I worked hard and perhaps changed things a bit, or maybe took a little more risk, I could improve things and help my siblings have a different path... Not that this path was bad. But they were very smart kids. They could do better. They could live easier lives, whatever that means. Soon, they would still have to wake up at five in the morning, like I did, then take the bus to the nearest town, attending classes for a few years. But one day after all of that, they could go to college. They could have good jobs. They could get away from the beautiful, bright, burning sun and the green fields of joy and hardship. That day, lost in thought while working on the fields, even though I knew that I should be grateful, I envied them for the briefest of moments. I envied them like I envied my friends from school every time they talked about the future--about moving to another city and going to college, about leaving and exploring uncharted waters like explorers from the past. I envied them when my teachers asked me about my future. And I hated that feeling growing inside me--that inner turmoil weighing on my shoulders and obscuring my thoughts. At night, awake, I dreamed. Lying in my bed in the small room I shared with my young sister and brother, I used to think about how nice it would be to move out... on going to college, meeting new people and making new friends, or just lifting a pen instead of a hoe, or working on a field of chairs, full of people and fresh air around despite the scorching sun outside, or even being kissed by the sun and embraced by its warmth, but on a beach with friends and beers and bliss, or perhaps falling in love and having softer hands to gently touch and appreciate the skin of the one I would love. But I should be grateful; I would think before falling asleep. After all, I am not that smart, and college was but a dream for someone like me. Then, the next day, I'd wake up with the chickens, get ready, and go to school once again. A couple months later, orientation day arrived, and I found myself sitting across from the counsellor. "Have you given it some thought after our last talk?" asked Mary from behind her desk. "As I said before, after graduation, I'll help my parents on the farm," I said, looking at her perfectly organized desk. She sighed, and when I looked at her, I think I saw pity in her eyes. "Noah, you may not have the greatest of scores, but you are smart and certainly hardworking. I truly believe you have good chances of getting into college if you apply to the entrance exams," she said, repeating what she had told me before. I looked down at my calloused hands, and as on other occasions, I thought about my aging dad working alone on the fields, or worse, on my brother--only ten springs so far--working alongside him in my place under the sun. I shook my head. "I told you. I can't abandon my dad like that. He expects me to keep running the farm after him..." "Have you talked with your parents about this?" I hadn't. But I knew there was no need to talk. I saw it in their eyes, especially his. The expectations. "Look, I like it there, ok? And even if I didn't, it is not like we have the money to pay for college. If I work hard enough, perhaps I can help send my siblings to college one day. I can live with that." She sighed, looked at the ceiling, then back at me. "If you study hard enough, you can then send them to college," she said firmly. "And you know quite well that there are many options out there where you don't have to pay for college. You can even earn subsidies when you're enrolled in one. We've been through this before." Why? Why is she so stubborn? I thought. Why does she keep trying to imbue hope in me? Why does she not let go? Because of her, I keep daydreaming, losing focus on what matters. "I'll give it some thought," I lied, preparing to get up. "Wait," she said, raising a hand, her eyes pleading. "Talk with them... with him. If deep down you have even the slightest of desires of going to college, of moving and experiencing new things besides this," she said, opening her arms wide as if embracing the whole small town we lived in, "that is all that I ask. Talk with him." I looked deep into her eyes, trying to understand. "Why?" I finally asked. "Why do you even care?" "Because I see potential in you, Noah," she replied casually. "And it is a shame when potential is wasted. I know you can have a good life here, but I also know you can have a much better life out there." I gave her a mocking smile, but she did not seem to care. "I don't know what potential you see... you said it yourself; my grades are not bad, but they are certainly far from great." She smiled back. "College life is much more than grades alone--but I won't get into details because you should see it for yourself. Now, regarding potential... potential is not always related to talent or intelligence. It is also about purpose, determination, and hard work. It is about giving your all," she said, almost passionately, while adjusting herself in the chair. Weirdly, I was reminded of my parents after what she said. "It's been a couple of years now since you started your routine of waking up early in the morning, getting here for classes, then getting back home and helping your parents," she continued, "doing jobs that most students here will never have to. I doubt you have much time--or energy--to study at home, although knowing you, I don't doubt you try. Again, I see potential in you." She laced her fingers together, while holding a thoughtful expression. "If you truly love that farm, you can easily choose--or try--an area that would allow you to combine both passions. And if money becomes a hindrance, you can always find a part-time job--it will certainly be easy for you... you are hardworking after all, right?" She looked me--and my silence--with those wise eyes of hers for a little longer. "Don't let this potential go to waste. Talk with them before drawing conclusions... and even so, you should follow your dreams. You shouldn't have to live a life you don't really want." I left soon after that, her words still lingering in my mind all day long, making me dream and hope but also fear. A few weeks later, my father and I were preparing another plot of land for new crops. The sun had been concealed all day behind massive clouds in several hues of grey. It was quite pleasant--except, of course, for the extremely hard work of getting the soil ready. And as usual, I was distracted again. "What is it?" he asked, frowning. "Just... thinking," I said, lifting the hoe and then hitting hard the soil. "What is it with all this thinking you doing lately?" he asked curiously. "No big deal dad..." I shrugged. "Son," he called to me. I looked at him. "You know I'm not good at this," he said, gesturing awkwardly. "I'm not very... sensitive, as your mom usually says. But, you know, we've noticed that you've been kind of off lately. And by that I mean for most of the year." He looked pensively at the sky, wiped some sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, then looked at me again. "If there is anything bothering you, let me know. We'll try to help as best as we can." He smirked next, then added, "Maybe it's a girlfriend thing and you want to keep it quite..." I laughed. "I wish." I wanted to talk to him about what was bothering me, but we never really talked about this kind of thing. We mostly talked about work and sports. But then I looked into his face, then at the soil under my feet, at the hoe and the calluses in my hands, and felt the breeze on my face. "What would you say if I said I want to go to college?" I saw his eyes get brighter as I asked, followed by a wan smile. "It would be great son... I mean, my son going to the university ... It would be like a dream." But then he lowered his head slightly, his expression changing, becoming serious and thoughtful. I thought I knew what he was thinking, but I was wrong. "How much would that cost?" he asked in a low voice, as if afraid of hearing the answer. I smiled. "Well, if things went well, it wouldn't cost anything at all. I mean, there would be living expenses, but I don't think it would be that much... nothing that a part-time job couldn't solve." My dad lifted his chin, and that gleam in his eyes came back to life. "You know we are not rich," he said plainly, "but we'd be happy to make whatever sacrifices necessary to allow you to pursue that dream, my son. Be sure of that. And wait until your mother hears of it," he laughed, then started babbling about his son going to college. I asked about the farm, but he scolded me for it, asking if I thought he was dead or incapacitated. I was grateful, deeply. I must say that as we worked and talked that day, I felt both relieved and terrified. Relieved that I could follow my dreams without feeling guilty about it. Terrified because I did not want to fail with that smile. A few months later, Miss Mary called my house on a sunny Saturday during lunch. The result of the entrance exam had been announced. I left the dining table, walking slowly and tensely towards the phone. My mom looked as tense as I did. At the table, my father remained silent, as if listening to the wind. My siblings, probably playing somewhere in the house, completely carefree. I distractedly caressed the calluses on my hand as I walked. Outside, the sun shone brightly, like a majestic spot in the stark blue sky. Warm rays of sunlight illuminated the house and bathed my tanned skin, now sweaty with anxiety. When I finally took the phone from my mom, I took a deep breath, then exhaled before greeting my teacher. I looked out the window at the green field beyond, full of crops and hardships and joy as she told me the result. My watery eyes met my mother's, then my father's. I smiled.