Dear mum and dad,

I never aim to disappoint you. I honestly want to fulfil all your expectations and make you proud, but sometimes your blind belief in my makes me feel guilty that I might let you down. It’s usually as if you don’t know a thing about me, or understand me at all for that matter, but I know you love me and just want the best for me. I can never stay mad at you. I often want to tell you how I feel so you won’t push me so hard, but it scares me to show you how weak I am.

Dad, I know you always want to protect you little girl, but I’m not a little girl any more. I can hold my own and take care of myself now. You don’t have to worry about me. I feel offended when you think I can’t do something because I am female. Your sexism belittles me and I hate standing for it. Despite this, I know you care for me dearly and don’t wish to ever see me hurt. In turn I will hold in everything I feel for the same to you. It still makes my eyes sting a little when I remember that car trip with you to Eastwood, dad. I might have been crying, but inside I was happy.

Mum, you may think you know lots about me, but I think you actually understand me less than dad. You keep telling me that I have to do what’s “best for me”. You keep telling me what I should study (now and in the future). You keep telling me I should study more. You keep telling me what people to not hang around. You keep telling me that I don’t work hard enough. You keep telling me that my friends are better than me and I can’t say a thing back to you. I just don’t know how to. Part of me just doesn’t want to share anything with you because I’m afraid of what’ll happen.

Your narrow-mindedness destroys me because mine is so open. There’s so much that I have often thought about in the world that you think to be mindless. Occasionally, your lack of compassion makes me wonder how someone as emotional as me could be nurtured by the apathetic specimen of a human you are. I fear death and pain; of those around me and for me, you speak as if you do not.

You’re never there to comfort me when I cry because you’re the trigger (bang bang). I tell my reflection that “I’m not going to cry.” That “There’s nothing to cry about. Not for this, not for anything.” It’s like you don’t think it’s a big deal that I’m crying. Obviously, with me, it’s never a big deal and it’ll pass. It usually does, but you don’t even lighten my load, mum. Thanks for that.
Regardless, I clearly love and care for you dearly. As for the secrets of that world, I’ll let you find the out by yourself. You need something to keep you occupied if you live as old as grandma and I hope you do.

Love, your daughter,
Carmen