That's when he finished.
I sit back, face of stone; couldn't really say I was surprised. Focusing on the paper I'd dropped, I barely notice my father still looking at me, boreing into me with his eyes, probably expecting a response.
"You'll be worse than your sister," he says, strung with filipino curse words I'd grown accustomed to. I'm still sitting there, still staring. Small mistakes mean alot in my house these days. I turn to leave, leaving my parents to fight again. My mother defends me well.
As I make my way to my room, all I can think about is You and how I'm ready to vent, on account of the fact that you're the person I can talk to anymore who can provide me with some sense of relief. I keep thinking about how I want you to promise me to keep me on track and on point in order to contrast everything that my father expects of me. Punching the familiar numbers into my phone, I come to the realization, wearing what I believe to be a bewildered expression on my face, that the only person who can keep me on track, is me. Took me long enough.
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