The invisible - First-world-Teen Problem

Once upon a time, there was a teen boy—let’s call him Aa (strictly for anonymity, of course, wink wink). Aa has a profound, soul-deep allergy to the great outdoors.

Now, call me crazy, but I couldn’t fathom why! What’s not to love about sharing a single toilet with 150 other teenagers? (Don’t visualise it. Just don’t.) Or the thrill of hiking, rafting, and sleeping in a bush and waking up to the sound of a Kookaburra. Truly, it’s a mystery why a modern teen would hate this. It’s a classic "First World Problem," isn't it?

Whenever I see him pout, I think back to my own summer breaks spent in my dad’s village. It was a place where "TV" was a myth, and the entire population went into a coma at 7:00 PM. If you asked for a "snack," the elders would look at you like you were speaking Latin.

In a desperate bid for survival, Aa packed for his five-day camp like he was prepping for a personal bunker:

• 6 Cup Noodles (The essential food group).

• Enough snacks to sustain a small developing nation for a week.

I get it. Leaving a plush bed, high-speed Wi-Fi, and the warm glow of Netflix for a damp tent is an epic tragedy. Life is truly cruel.

As an adult, I had to make the tough call. I told myself it was for his own good. I mean, look at the state of the world! If the current global conflicts lead to a total collapse of civilisation, we’re going to need to know how to pitch a tent. Since I don't know my mallet from my elbow, Aa is officially our Doomsday Designated Camper.

He left. On Day 1, I missed him terribly. I was a wreck.

By Day 2, I woke up at 6:30 AM with a revelation: Silence is delicious. No lunch boxes to pack, no screaming, no frantic sprinting for the bus. It was bliss with my Chai... until the Chicken sound started.

A loud, rhythmic clucking erupted from Aa’s room. I strolled in, thinking, "Oh, the poor dear forgot to turn off his alarm. I’ll just boop that off for him."

Wrong!!!

This wasn't an alarm; it was a digital hostage situation. To silence the chicken sound, I had to solve a puzzle. not one but FIVE PUZZLES. By the time I finished the fifth one, my empathy had evaporated. I stood there wondering if I should just unplug his phone and let it die a slow death or "be a big girl."

 

I chose the "big girl" route and solved them. But the damage was done. The separation anxiety was gone, replaced by a burning desire to party until his return.

To cope with my "Separation Anxiety," I spent the week exploring good eateries in the city. It was a sacrifice, but someone had to do it. I even dutifully logged into his Duolingo every single day to keep his streak alive. Where is my "Mother of the Year" trophy?

On Friday, I rolled up to collect my battle-hardened survivor. Did I get a hug? A "Thank you for the noodles"? No. I got the Grumpy Teen Glare™.

Aa’s Official Review of Camp:

• Skills learned: 0

• Enjoyment level: Negative 10

• Real-world application: Non-existent

He insists he learned nothing that will ever help him in real life. I just looked at him and thought, "We'll see, kid. We'll see how that war ends. But until then... you're solving your own chicken puzzles."