Dear Mom and Dad, 

I have cried fountains of tears in this lifetime, and oceans in my past 50 lives. 

 

I cried today when I saw a video of a girl gradually losing touch with her parents. I thought of the both of you and the pain I feel because my love is so deep and real. 

 

I cried today when you scolded me, and told me off when you saw me using my phone. I thought, how could I cry over that video, when you make me feel so small?

 

I hate that you make me feel so bad about myself, like I have to constantly fix myself to be enough for you. I can never be enough, though: I know that. Yet, I try because I love you. 

 

I hate that I love you and I can't tell whether it's out of guilt. The guilt that reminds me of the million dollar cheque that you'll put on my table the moment I turn 21. 

 

I used to think of running away. Later, I threw those thoughts away. It was foolish, for sure,— I had no money and nowhere to go. 

 

I can't help but wonder, though, if you'd miss me or think of me. Running away sounds stupid,— I would never break your heart like that, but it sounds so great when you make me feel so upset. 

 

Even as I'm writing this, my tears have dried.  Something inside me has died, perhaps the hope in my life. 

 

You once asked me if I was being serious about my future. If I truly wanted to work my dream job to be a psychologist or if I was okay with being a bartender. You tried to assure me that you'll support me no matter what, but today told me otherwise. 

 

You've brainwashed me into thinking that you're always right and now I can't tell what makes me happy when I lay thinking at night. 

 

I can't tell what my dreams are,— are they my dreams or yours? After all, I vaguely remember you telling me that if I got into a well-known school you'd be proud of me. 

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So I do wonder, are you proud of me now? Are you proud of who I am, and of all my little accomplishments? Are you proud even when I don't meet your expectations?

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Love,

Alycessa

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