I was 11, obsessed with ‘Twilight’, and determined to become a vampire. My mother shattered my dreams

A classmate lured me into the world of bloodsucking romance and soon, I too, was hoping for a sparkling transformation

The other day, as I was rushing to my 11 am Italian seminar, I suddenly stopped.

Some weirdo was looking out their window, staring at passersby. I felt creeped out. 

It took me a full minute to realise it wasn’t a person. It was, in fact, a cardboard cutout. And not just any old cardboard cutout. It was one of Robert Pattinson playing my childhood sweetheart Edward Cullen.

I was running late by this point, but I couldn’t help a quick detour into my first day of fifth grade, when a new classmate introduced me to the world of Twilight.

I was barely 11, near my peak edginess. I had never heard of Twilight before, but my parents had recently secured a funky CityCell modem, giving us an incredible internet speed of 2 kbps. I was only allowed a half-hour of browsing a day, but I came across at least five of those ‘still a better love story than Twilight’ memes. Naturally, I scoffed at my classmate’s enthusiasm.

Little did I know, this sparked her mission to turn me into a true Twihard. 

By the second week of class, she had won. I don’t know exactly how she managed it, but I was pestering my Dad to take me to Fahim Music to buy all of the movies on DVD. By the end of that month, I was hooked. 

I began inviting my friends over for daylong Twilight marathons. I’d wake up early on weekends to set the mood for our viewing parties. By which, I meant trying to mimic the cold blue tint of the Forks, Washington scenes in the movie. A bit difficult in sunny, warm Bangladesh. 

I would close the blinds and turn the air conditioner down to a crisp 16 degrees. Then I would throw away my blankets. After all, in my heart of hearts, I was a true vampire. And vampires weren’t bothered by the cold.

At night, I would dream of getting my own vampire boyfriend. A killer with sparkling skin who could play baseball games at mach speed in the middle of a storm and call me cute nicknames like ‘spider monkey’ before he zoomed off into the branches of the towering oak trees. 

The trees weren’t actually too far fetched. Not oaks, grant you, but at the time, we lived in a gated area with many trees. One day I was looking out from our balcony and saw the guards in an excited huddle. I walked over to the gate and saw it – a bat. A real-life bat. It must have been hurt and was hanging upside down from one of our garden fences. 

It was fate. It must have been. Other kids dreamt of letters taking them to some mouldy, old wizard school. I had more exciting ambitions. 

I went to my mother and begged her to let me keep it as a pet. My mother, who I have never been able to picture as a swooning 11-year-old, said, “Zakia, no”. It was a decisive ‘no’. The kind that brooked no argument and would not be overturned by an appeal. I was devastated.

I did the only thing a fifth grader could do. I ran into my room, locked it, and blasted the Twilight soundtrack as loud as possible from my ‘portable’ (it weighed at least 5 kg) CD player. I spent the day filling my journal with the pain. I wrote about how much I hated my Mom, how she never understood my emotions, and how devastated I was that my pet bat could not bite me and turn me into a vampire. 

I still resent her for it. By now, I could have been comfortably enjoying my life as a sparkly vampire who could hunt deer for breakfast and fight werewolves in my spare time alongside a handsome, brooding boyfriend. But my mother never had my best interests in mind. 

As I returned from memory lane, I let out a sigh. I was definitely late by now. I got on my way, but slowly my trot became a sprint as I imagined what would happen if she ever learnt I was late to class because I was daydreaming about Edward Cullen. She could actually stake me.  

This article is part of Stripe, bdnews24.com's special publication focusing on culture and society from a youth perspective.