This unsettling question stayed with me long after watching Adolescence, a four-episode Netflix drama released in 2025. The series centres on 13-year-old Jamie Miller, who is arrested for the murder of a classmate, and offers a stark exploration of teenage behaviour grounded in unsettling realism.

Inspired by real societal concerns rather than pure fiction, Adolescence presents a stark portrayal of school life and youth interaction. The series avoids melodrama and instead focuses on everyday environments such as classrooms, corridors, and peer groups that quietly but powerfully shape young minds. It is this realism that makes the series compelling, and at the same time, deeply disturbing.

From an Asian perspective, the school setting was the most triggering aspect of the series. In many brown households across Asia, school is not merely a place of academic instruction; it is where children learn discipline, respect, and social responsibility. Teachers are traditionally viewed as guides and authority figures, and behavioural boundaries are reinforced as part of moral development. In contrast, this short series portrays a school environment where students frequently disregard teachers, intimidate peers, and challenge norms in ways that feel strikingly unfamiliar to those raised within Asian educational values.

While it is important to recognise that cultures and education systems vary across countries, the concern arises from the fact that the series reflects patterns rooted in reality rather than exaggeration. The behaviours depicted are not isolated incidents but part of a broader social pattern, which raises critical questions about the emotional and ethical environments children are exposed to during their formative years.

As an adult and as someone thinking about raising children in the future, I found this portrayal deeply unsettling. To my mind, I would struggle to raise my children in an educational environment where respect appears optional and emotional safety feels uncertain. Although not all Western institutions are the same, Adolescence highlights a growing concern among Asian families, particularly those living overseas, about whether such environments truly support value-based upbringing.

Another aspect that lingered with me was the persistent sense of emotional suffocation that permeates the entire drama. Nearly every teenage character, including the protagonist, appears frustrated, disconnected, and profoundly confused about their own actions and identities. This confusion, to a significant extent, seems rooted in a lack of meaningful communication with parents and guardians. The absence of dialogue creates emotional distance, leaving young characters to navigate fear, anger, and trauma largely on their own. However, the series thoughtfully allows this silence to evolve.

As the narrative progresses, communication gradually replaces detachment, and the atmosphere subtly lightens. This shift is portrayed most poignantly through Lisa Miller, the protagonist’s sister, and through the evolving relationship between DI Luke Bascombe and his son. These moments underscore how parental presence, listening, and emotional availability can shape a child’s behaviour and trauma response. From an Asian perspective, this contrast is striking. In many Asian households, parental involvement is constant and deeply embedded in daily life, to the point where a child’s absence, even for an hour, rarely goes unnoticed. While such attentiveness may appear intrusive or unsettling within Western cultural norms, it also reflects a form of care that prioritises emotional awareness and accountability.

Ultimately, Adolescence succeeds not because it entertains, but because it provokes reflection. For viewers from Asian or any other backgrounds, the series functions less as a drama and more as a mirror, one that reflects uncomfortable questions about education, behaviour, and the values we choose to pass on to the next generation.