The Antananarivo Country Club is one of the most exclusive clubs in the capital, often frequented by expatriates and wealthy families. Located in Ivandry, an upscale neighborhood, it offers several high-end facilities: clay and hard tennis courts, a swimming pool, gym, squash courts, as well as a restaurant and a lounge area. It also serves as a networking hub for entrepreneurs and local elites.
If you want to better understand their lifestyle, observing their relationship with time, money, and leisure is essential. Unlike other social environments, their relationship with sports is not necessarily about competition, but rather about maintaining relationships, well-being, and self-image. Children from wealthy families are often enrolled at a young age—not only to learn a sport but also to socialize within their class.
That's what they did with Miaro. And that's who she has become.
But for Miaro, tennis is a way to release her anger. When she holds a racket, she always wants to hit with all her strength. And since she's a reserved girl, she rarely gets the chance to use her physical power. Remember in chapter two, Miaro is very aggressive during volleyball—and it's even more true with tennis.
The spectators applaud once again, amazed by Miaro's talent. Nothing and no one can beat her here—whether it's a Barbie doll or Ryoma Echizen. You'd almost think she's looking for enemies. She doesn't smile on the court. Watching her, it no longer seems like she wants to win—she wants to destroy. And those unfortunate enough to face her racket can feel it.
Usually, she's already intense, but today her behavior worries her mother, who never misses one of her matches:
— "Miaro. Can I know what you're doing?"
Miaro is confused. She doesn't even know what her mother is referring to:
— "Can I at least know what exactly I'm doing?"
And now, it's the mother who's at a loss.
Why does the mother seem so confused?
At first glance, anger has taken over Miaro's wide eyes. Maybe Miaro's anger is so overwhelming it surpasses her usual self—so much that even her mother, used to her behavior, is unsettled. And strangely, Miaro doesn't seem to realize what she's feeling.
Yes, there's something truly fascinating and adorable about Miaro. Miaro's emotions are always reflected around her—visible and obvious. And yet, she's the only one who can't recognize her own feelings. She's so innocent that sometimes her fate makes me want to cry.
Let's honestly take a look at her case:
She's naturally emotional. She experiences life through her feelings. And she was taught the art and necessity of suppressing her heart in order to optimize her logical abilities.
She's naturally introverted. Yet she was made a leader. She was made into a symbol of society.
She's naturally artistic. Yet she was made into an entrepreneur.
Sure, one can be both at the same time—but Miaro only ever wanted to be one. She wants to be what she is by nature. Unfortunately, she has a really hard time dealing with these internal conflicts.
So, her mother—watching her, confused by the situation but unaware of the reason—tries to reason with her:
— "Listen, Miaro! You're a champion. Everyone knows that. But could you show a bit of fair play?"
Miaro looks around her. The spectators, though crushed by her victory, didn't seem bothered. They had grown accustomed to appreciating perfection, even when it came through defeat. These people were like marble statues—smooth and flawless on the outside, but empty and cold within. Their lives were built on walls of hypocrisy, covered by a roof of half-truths, where everything had to appear perfect, even when everything was fake.
There she was—she who had once dismissed her interaction with Haintso as a fantasy, due to their social contrast. A daydream that would be nothing more than contemplation and delusion, an emotional transfer between two teenagers. But looking at her peers now… what is this place exactly? What is truly real and what isn't?
She feels lost. And she is tired.
So she simply replies to her mother:
— "Anyway, I'm tired. I'm going to take a bath."
Miaro's mother doesn't really know what else to say. She lets her go.
After a good bath, Miaro heads up to the pool. She wants to relax a bit and clear her head. Besides, it's summer: relaxing by the club pool, maybe taking a swim later—who knows. So, Miaro is lying on a lounge chair, sunglasses on her nose, but her mind is elsewhere. She watches the others having fun in the water but feels no desire to join them—for now. It could be a good idea. Except for Miaro, I'm afraid that might not be possible.
It's very hard to be left alone.
She's barely settled when the girls already start approaching. As I said, this is a networking place. It's obvious, but still too much to ask for just a single moment of privacy. And they pretend to be casual:
— "Miaro, you were so focused earlier. Do you have a tournament coming up or something?"
— (Miaro forces a smile) "No, I'm just training."
— "…You were quite aggressive."
— "And I stopped playing", she adds, still smiling, staring the girls straight in the eyes.
But just as those nuisances were about to leave, others approach. A group of boys walk up to her, visibly drawn by her aura and her "Madonna" status. They try to flirt:
— "You play tennis really well, but you're even more impressive by the pool."
She tries to smile politely:
— "Thanks..."
Then another boy asks without any hesitation:
— "Would you have dinner with me later?"
But before Miaro can answer, the others start competing for her:
— "No, have dinner with me."
— "No, with me."
— "…"
Miaro is just stunned by the effect she has on these young boys. Of course, she's used to these kinds of advances—she's just tired. There's so much "tired" in this chapter that it's no longer worth describing what Miaro is feeling.
How could she not be, after all?
Since she was a child, she had learned to suppress her emotions. Tears, anger, doubts—everything had to be hidden beneath a flawless mask. Leaders don't cry. Leaders don't break. So she had remained silent. Eventually, she forgot how to express what she truly felt. And now she was here, on this tennis court, hitting harder, always harder, because it was the only way to release something within her. Every ball she hit was bottled-up rage. Every victory…
They told her to be fair-play, so everyone would praise her. Bravo, Miaro, you're incredible. Bravo, Miaro, you're unbeatable. Bravo, Miaro, you're perfect…
But no one is perfect.
They understand nothing. They see nothing.
How can I describe to you the way her big eyes scream both "help me!" and "go to hell!" as she now gazes at her mother in the distance, chatting and seeming proud of her daughter's popularity—deaf to Miaro's distress.
She wants to be free.
Free to fail.
Free to choose.
Free to scream.
Free to be vulgar.
Free to be disgusting.
…
Free to just be Miaro.
But at this point, she no longer even knows who Miaro is without all of this. She feels like her body is heavy as a feather, slowly falling under the crushing weight of the world. And her mind—her mind can't take it anymore. She has reached her limit.
And when someone like Miaro reaches her limit… something always ends up breaking.
And the thing that breaks is Miaro herself. She collapses under the weight of the reality of the society she lives in.
Instead of shouting something like: "Leave me alone. None of you interest me," she just answers politely:
— "Sorry boys, my mom and I have another event to attend this afternoon."
With a smile, of course. As usual… But the boys aren't disappointed, nor even annoyed. Before, it was a formality. Now, it's just a mechanism.
The volcano no longer takes time to erupt.
The Randriambola family's harvest celebration always takes place around the end of March. In Antananarivo, the only province in Madagascar with four balanced seasons, summer ends around late March. It's the rice harvest season—our main dish. And Ambotsimanjaka is a region surprisingly favorable for farming, attracting many agricultural specialists.
Miaro's mother's family, the Randriambola, have been passionate farmers for generations. And they are not the only ones in the region, but they are the most respected among all the great families.
Although in Madagascar, farmers are often viewed as humble people without fame or social status, those from Ambotsimanjaka are quite different. On the contrary, they are highly influential individuals because, aside from Ambatondrazaka, these families literally carry the fate of the population on their shoulders. If they don't work hard, thousands of people won't eat.
Enough talk about their prestige—honestly, even I'm getting tired of invoking those kinds of titles.
The celebration takes place on a beautiful open space at the top of a hill. An outdoor party, with buffets galore that can be seen everywhere across the vast area. And from that height, you can see everything.
The dress code is semi-formal—fancy enough to reflect the majestic image of the event, yet light enough to handle the high temperatures.
Upon arrival, both Miaro and her mother politely smile at the guests and respond to compliments. It must be said, the pre-autumn ambiance of the place helped soothe her nerves. She exchanges a few pleasantries with older adults, all impressed by her beauty and her manners.
Her mother, proud, introduces her around—Miaro, trapped in the role of the perfect daughter. None of the others are any better, but Miaro seems to be the only one who refuses to accept this reality. And that's what makes her sadder than the rest.
Yes, it is indeed very hard to live your dream. Sometimes, it's necessary to look on the bright side of things and accept them as they are. That's what being mature means. That's how you grow up.
But you know what? NEVER be mature. NEVER grow up. Keep dreaming.
Because I deeply believe in what Professor John Keating once said:
"And I say to you that it is through his dreams that man lives."
Think about that twice. Then think about it again.
So, one of Miaro's mother's friends approaches her:
— "Miaro, still as stunning as ever. I bet you have a brilliant future ahead of you."
She simply gives a bitter smile in response to the "compliment":
— "Thank you very much."
Once again, Miaro finds herself at the center of attention during the party, surrounded by compliments and admiring glances. However, she feels isolated and bored, looking for a way to slip away.
At this point in her discomfort, she can no longer bear the crowd. But she also can't afford to come off as cold.
So, she isolates herself as best she can. But people keep gravitating toward her anyway.
That's when she completely loses herself in an isolated corner, finding nothing but an old makeshift bench and an old woman. The old woman sits apart, watching the festivities with a kind gaze, almost detached from the commotion.
Miaro walks toward her, drawn by a calming energy. The grandmother is elegantly dressed, yet her appearance is simple, far from the pretentiousness of the party. She seems to have lived through many experiences and carries a quiet wisdom.
So Miaro approaches her gently, showing a particular curiosity. Before she can even introduce herself, as civilized people do, the grandmother breaks the ice first, removing Miaro's discomfort — which is clear at first glance, as she appears utterly ravaged and torn.
— "Funny, isn't it? All these people... all this energy."
— "Y-yes", Miaro responds, surprised by the sudden realization.
But the grandmother doesn't wait long to get to the heart of things:
— "But I feel you don't really see yourself among them."
Miaro looks at the crowd. She sighs. Then she sits next to the grandmother. She smiles. And she opens up:
— "You're right. Sometimes I wonder if I truly belong here. Everything feels so... superficial."
— "Even at my old age, it still surprises me how people keep playing roles like this. It's not easy to be yourself in a crowd that constantly expects more from you... Especially for someone as sensitive as you are."
— "Yes, but what can I do? I'm only fifteen. I'm not old enough to make my own choices", Miaro replies with a defeated look.
— "With your undeniable beauty, I've been watching you here for a while — like everyone else, my dear."
But I prefer to see what others refuse to see.
"Life isn't just about appearances. It's about finding your own voice: taking risks, losing, suffering, and learning."
Then, with a trembling voice, Miaro says:
— "But I feel so alone... and it scares me."
But the grandmother continues to reassure her, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder:
— "You're never truly alone. You're young, and it's normal to feel lost sometimes.
Maybe if you open up more to your loved ones, they'll understand..."
— "Miaro, sweetheart, it's time for us to go", says Miaro's mother, breaking the moment of comfort.
Miaro lowers her head, tears welling up in her eyes, but she holds them back. The grandmother gently strokes her back, then gives her one last smile before Miaro stands up and quietly heads back toward her mother. Her mother asks what the old lady was talking about, but Miaro simply replies, "Oh, just small talk." And she doesn't press the matter, not noticing the shift in her daughter's mood.
Once they are home, Miaro and her mother go separate ways. Her mother, happy with her day, makes phone calls from the car. Meanwhile, Miaro is already on her way to her room. She gently opens the door. She enters. She softly shuts it behind her. Miaro roughly takes off her heels, throwing them carelessly across the room as if those 299,000 ariary shoes were nothing but trash. Then, cruel words finally escape her refined lips.
"Oh, these... fuckin' things hurt my feet. Just like all these hypocrites who've been circling around me since this fuckin' morning," she murmurs, her voice tinged with frustration.
She sits on the edge of her bed, holding her head in her hands, her long hair falling like a curtain around her face, as if to separate her from the outside world. The weight of the day, the expectations, and the forced smiles crush her.