Fourth of July

I’m not super happy right now because my parents just blew up at me. They claim I haven’t been working hard enough this summer. The gist of it is that I barely get scheduled for shifts at my job and I have been avoiding eye contact with all of my unfinished college essays

What even is “working hard”? I have been working hard on my hobbies. Does that count? I can’t tell them that, though, because then they will know there are things I like spending time on. That is a slippery slope, ending with them finding out I also have feelings and desires. Too vulnerable.

So, when they cornered me, I froze. Truthfully, I had not been working hard. They want me to have a strong ACT score, personal statement, friend group, and a steady income from my part-time job. I have not done any of these things. They want the best for their eldest daughter, and I should work harder to give myself that life. I still wish they hadn’t yelled at me about it.

When I stormed off my mom accused me of being a bully. Actually, It’s an exaggeration to say I “stormed” off. Both of my legs are horribly sunburnt, so it was more of a waddle. 

It feels like my only path for retaliation is getting mad that neither of them wished me a happy 4th of July. 

Speaking of the 4th of July, I have been thinking about my relationship to the stars and stripes. America, to me, is more of a feeling than a place. What is that feeling? Maybe it’s home. Maybe it’s the awareness that, at the end of the day, I never cared about my summer job. Maybe it’s the fear that I don’t even need a college education. Maybe it’s the vision of myself, after getting yelled at, just nodding at everything my mom says to me. Maybe it’s ohana.

Happy 4th.