“Honey? Have you seen my orange sweater?” my mom shouts from her bedroom and her words fly all the way to the kitchen where I’m lost in a book. I don’t want to interrupt my reading and answer her, even though I know exactly where her favourite sweater is.
     “Hey! Why aren’t you answering me?” she peeks through the door wearing only a tanktop and her pyjama shorts, her hair up in a messy bun.
     “Did you check the wardrobe?”
     “Yeah, it’s not there. Can you please find it?”
     At this point, there’s nothing left to do for me but fold a corner of the page that I’m reading and search the mess in her room for a sweater. I found it in one of her drawers and put it on top of her bed, where a mountain of clothes had been sitting there for days. The moment I sit back down and continue my reading, I hear her yelling again. Now what?, I think.
     “Fei! I asked one thing from you and you just don’t care. Will you just leave that damn book for two minutes and-” There we go. Finally!
She comes back wearing a black pencil skirt and her hair down. She put one of my brooches on her orange sweater. Are you sure you want to wear that type of skirt to work mom?
     “Ok, I have to go. I’m already late. Be good! Don’t open the door unless it’s me, here’s some money if you want to order food and finish the homework for tomorrow. Oh and honey? Can you please clean the bedroom and buy some bread when you go out? I love you! Be good, ok?” If you could only do it yourself for once?
     I turn my head, my eyes never leaving the page I’m reading: “Sure mom”. After the sound of the door being shut, I turn the page and whisper ”You’re welcome mom!”
                                                                   ***
     I ring the doorbell of my apartment. My grandma’s the only one at home every time I come from school. I can hear her footsteps, rushing to get the door.
     “Hey!” she greets me and takes the heavy backpack off my shoulders.
She has already put lunch on the kitchen table and it always looks amazing as usual. We both sit down and I ask her about her day. The reply is always the same.
     “Don’t even get me started. I haven’t stopped since the morning. I washed dishes, did laundry, cleaned the house, went to the market, cooked. I’m exhausted.”
     That’s impressive grandma, although I can’t believe that our house -where 3 adults live and we’re barely at home- gets that dirty and you have to clean it everyday. Also, since you said you haven’t stopped since the morning, why is my fluffy blanket wrinkled on the couch, and the TV on your favourite channel?
     “But how could you understand? You and your mom have everything ready, you don’t have to do anything.”
     “Grandma, I’m in school all day, also I clean my room and mom’s. She never does!”
     “You’re both lazy, you can’t get anything done!”
     “Whatever, I’m not fighting with you over this.”
     “How was school today? DId you have geometry or science? You better get straight A’s on those two.”
     All you care about is math and science. What about the subjects I like? Why don’t you ask about my writing, my art? All you want to hear about is grades. What about my day at school, not considering academics? What about basketball; we have won every game and coach is very happy with me.
    “Anyways, finish lunch and go straight to your room and do your homework.”
    “I don’t have anything for tomorrow.”
    “You’re going to study anyways.”
     Are you kidding me? What part of “I don’t have anything for tomorrow” don’t you understand? I work hard every day. Can I just relax this one time?
    “No wonder you’re failing! You never listen. All you want to do is write worthless essays and dance. And now play basketball? Do you really think you’ll achieve anything with those? Get your shit together girl!”
    “Please, just stop! It’s my school, my studying, I know what I’m doing. You never care about things that I’m interested in. I don’t want your help and I’m NOT failing. Check the report cards I bring every semester, if you really care so much!”
     I get up and leave the kitchen. I want to go to my room, but I know she won’t leave me alone. I put my shoes on and I run out the door. Behind me, she’s screaming and cursing. Sometimes I really want to talk to her the way she talks to me, shout at her, curse, call her crazy, worthless and evil like she says to me.
     Shout as much as you want Grandma. In the end, no matter how much oxygen you waste trying to change me, I’ll still be the only one to decide what I’m going to do with my life. And I wish you were there to support me and not tear down my dreams and discourage me. I wish you believed in me.
                                                                      ***
     He is looking at me with curious eyes.
     “Just please tell me what I did wrong.”
     “It’s nothing, really. I’m just not in the mood to talk right now.” Why do you always look for answers in other people? SInce you think something is wrong, think about your actions, don’t just ask me to tell you.
     “Yeah, because I did something stupid probably. Why do I always have to ruin everything?”
     “Glen, it’s fine, it’s not important.” If you can see that I don’t want to talk about it, say sorry at least.
     I’m lying. It’s not fine. You broke my heart with what you said the other day. But still, I didn’t say anything, I don’t want you to worry, I don’t want you to feel bad, I don’t want to make things complicated for you. You rush to blame yourself for everything and stop there, instead of doing something to fix the situation. I care so much about you, I would never do anything to hurt you. What about you? Do you think twice before you say something, just so what comes out of your mouth doesn’t upset me? Do you care as much as I do? WIll you forget me after you leave, ignore the fact that I’ll still love you? Please stay! You’re the only thing that makes me happy! I need you...
                                                                    ***
      As we wait for the elevator, my dad hugs me. It’s always awkward when he hugs me, because his arms are around me, while I’m just standing there, motionless, like a statue.
     “Thanks for the amazing time Fei, it was a great dinner.”
     “Yeah, I really liked the restaurant,” I respond half-hearted.
     He looks at me, as if he’s testing me, daring me to say something else. As if he’s trying to look for a different answer between my cold words.
     I’m sorry dad. I’m sorry I can’t act like a real daughter, I’m sorry I hesitate to say nice things and show appreciation, I’m sorry I refuse to respond to your calls, I’m sorry that you have to deal with my cold behaviour, I’m sorry I don’t live with you, I’m sorry we don’t visit grandma and my sister that often, I’m sorry the relationship I have with her doesn’t fulfill your expectations. I’m sorry I’m leaving right now. I’m sorry I never say I love you.
     The elevator door opens. I go inside and quickly press the number of my apartment floor.
     “Please text me when you get home, I’ll be waiting. Goodnight sweetheart!”
     I see him smile, a meter away from me. I nod. My way of saying “good night” is very different from his. He turns away going down the stairs. Really Fei? He doesn’t deserve this.
    “Dad!” I yell from the elevator but the door closes before my voice gets to him. I look at myself in the elevator’s mirror, I hate you Fei!
                                                                      ***
     “So, Fei, what’s the rare occasion? I haven’t seen you in months. Why did you want to see me today?”
     Last year my mom came to the conclusion that I wasn’t doing well, because I wouldn’t talk to her about things, I would ignore her and that I was slowly “blocking her from my life”. So one day she made an appointment with a psychologist and expected me to visit her regularly. I only went when I wanted to stay out of the house; save myself from fighting with either my mom or my grandma.
     “You’re going to say what’s going on with you. You’ve changed and since you’re not telling me what the problem is, maybe you would want to say it to a professional, she’ll understand you,” were her words.
     At first I thought if I visited the psychologist, she would leave me alone. But then, since she was so worried about our connection weakening, why did she send me to some stranger, why not try talking to me in a different way, why give up so easily?
     “Fei, your mom brought you here to talk, share your thoughts, your anger, your joy. Don’t keep things bottled up.”
     “I already know why she brought me here.”
     “Well, talk to me then. What’s on your mind today?”
     All she receives is a smirk and a cynical look.
     Yeah, like I’d ever say anything.