His Bare Face And The Dimples And The Shimmering Eyes

his bare face and the dimples and the shimmering eyes

he looks so healthy and happy pls be happy

THE EYE CONTACT 🫠

dear future self,

I hope you are free. I hope you are independent. I hope you have autonomy and your own home. I hope you get to define who you are without the coercive influence of overbearing relatives.

I hope you are happier with life.

I hope you get to decide what and who is in your life.

His eyes are amber crystals bathed in sunlight

romance is for the fictional realms

its somewhat equal counterpart in the realm of reality is financial stability

I covet both but since I abide in reality, I am only ever allowed to work towards financial stability.

This heroine gets the plot without the satisfaction of the sweet romantic lead to whisk them away when things get tough.

August 16, 2024

Waxing Moon

I’m tired of being a 20-something year-old only-daughter living in their very Hispanic parents’ house

Of being instructed on how I should feel, exactly how much sad I should allow myself to wallow in based on my circumstances (of having them decide for me that my circumstances are favorable relative to their fucked up traumatic childhood experiences which they still haven’t gone to therapy for)

Of being told how I should act in a certain setting or being belittled for an emotional reaction that was raw against a trigger

Of being warned what I am incapable of doing something like moving across states or studying abroad based on their idea of me

Of still being spoken of as if I’m eight years old in the room with them

Of feeling guilty and incapable of going out to places of my interest on my own, feeling like I constantly have to ask for permission or bring them alone so they see I’m not doing anything “wrong.”

Of being baited and guilt-tripped into requesting weeks off from my work just to travel with my parents when I suspect that mother doesn’t really like to spend time with my stepfather out of boredom and uses me as a form of scapegoat/accompanying doll

I hate being the one who orders things in public. I hate being the one used to break an indecision or tie. I hate being asked what I want or think about choices when they are just going to invalidate or coerce me.

I hate that I long for a boyfriend mostly so that I have a place to go other than my own home, an excuse to be away and to possibly move without my mother acting betrayed.

I hate feeling guilty for wanting to be more independent, for wanting to live alone, far away from them, far enough that our time zones clash and we use that as excuses for going days without talking

I hate feeling like I can never fully be my self, or never be able to thoroughly explore my identity because I am limited to their perception of me.

I still feel like a child. I am a child in an adult’s body.

I want to be validated.

I want to not have to justify my choices a million times over.

I want to be free.

I want to be independent.

I want to be able to choose when I see them instead of being obligated to bond over boring dinner talk. I hate envying American families for the way their children leave the nest at 18 and only ever return for major holidays, if even that.

I hate being involved in family drama and robbed of my peace. Blood is not everything. Just because they have title of cousin or aunt doesn’t mean I owe them my peace.

I hate being ridiculed for my lonesome introspective habits. I hate that they think they know me better than I know myself.

I hate feeling like they are holding me back and I especially hate being told that I should appreciate them while I have them as if I don’t already. Just because I am taking a moment to reflect privately on my frustrations does not mean I don’t do well by my parents. Which leads me to the complaint that I hate being the reliable, well-behaved poster child. I wish I’d been more rebellious growing up because then they’d expect less of me.

I HATE being constantly asked whether I’m ok or what’s wrong with me. I’m mostly not but I have to constantly lie about it, force a smile. This mask is drawing a crater between us.

And I COULD find a way to share most of these frustrations with them but it would likely end with cloying phrases of reassurance and the sly comment that I’m just too young to know that I’m wrong. Like cotton candy, I end up feeling coaxed in sweet comfort but with the knowledge that it’s hollow and fading.

I am aware I was born from and of my parents but I don’t want to live FOR my parents. My life is my own. I can’t fathom or make peace with the fact some people my age and younger get handed more freedom and autonomy than I have. It frustrates me beyond belief.

I feel like I’m my mother’s sown shadow. I can never venture too far without having to explain myself. I’m her puppet on strings.

I didn’t have a choice on whether I should have been born so I think I should have a choice on how I live my life from here on out.

Beware of people who request endless favors but never offer any compensation. Not even a pretense of it.

These people will continue to bleed you dry.

I’m not entirely sure if decidedly culling them off from the root is the best choice, yet, but it is the best one I can make in my current phase of life.