so much history in these streets // Phan

1965//2022

Cold.

My feet touch the tile floor, losing the little warmth from the almost completely ripped blanket I've had for years.

I walk to my bathroom as if i am walking to an electric chair. I look at my reflection, and as I'm about to look away, a very small red spot on the side of my cheek makes an appearance, and it leaves me groaning in response. I make a mental note to myself:

cover your face as much as possible today.

I start to do the usual, brushing my teeth, combing my hair to the side, leaving my long fringe to cover blemishes on my forehead. It's the only thing that looks okay, I think. I cut my hair myself, because if it were up to my mother to do it I'd be stuck with an atrocious combover.

I look in my closet, and figure out what to wear. I pull out a light blue pullover shirt with white stripes, and some black pants. I honestly would rather wear all black, but my mother would burst into another speech about how "the colors you wear will reflect your mood" and all that 'being in control of  your mind shit.' Plus I doubt anyone around my age likes to wear black as much as me.

I love my mother, but she can be distant at times or completely invasive and I can't predict either. She's always either in the kitchen cooking while looking at the television or in her room. She tries to get me to open up to her, but the truth is there isn't anything to open up about. My dad is working in the factory most of the time. Granted, he's doing it so we can have food on our table, but I wish he'd bother to show his face once in awhile.

My father and I dont have the best relationship. We used to though, my love for my father was almost even more than my mother, and I always looked up to him. He would always tell me stories about how the world used to be before I could remember- People being pulled away from each other because of the color of their skin, how if your skin is a few shades darker you amounted to a life of cruelty and no freedom. It's sick, thinking that it was so recent. I hope one day things can change completely, everyone should be allowed to live their live without worrying about other people's opinions.

However, as the years went by, his smile started to fall and more worry lines on his face formed. He started working more hours, saying it was "the only way this house will stay ours." Yet with all of the extra hours he works, there hasn't been any extra money coming in.

Now he is always very suspicious of me and always picks at me for not taking his advice, but I wish he would realize I would listen to him if he didn't give me this "fatherly advice" with the smell of rum still lingering on his shirt collar.

My mother is always taking care of me, and I love her for that. I just wish she would get treated the way she deserves to be.

School is one of the only places where I feel I'm in control. You can have many friends in this world, even family, and they'll disappoint you. That's why I love school so much- you get what you put into it, and you'll never end up hurt. I start my last year of High School today, and I plan to graduate with the highest grades in my class.

It's not exactly like I have trust issues, I just don't like to get hurt. I want to be in control of my feelings, and investing time in someone else would just be giving them the opportunity to affect me however they'd like.

"Mum I'm going to school now. I'll be home around 4 maybe, if not it's because I'm staying at the library until seven okay?" I call to my mother, who is clearly more interested in the president of the United States on the television.
She quickly realizes I'm trying to get her attention and immediately runs to hug me.

"You have fun today okay? Don't stress out too much. It's your last year of school, who knows what could happen? Even the sky can't be a limit for you Daniel." She kisses my forehead and sits back down, quickly returning to focus on a speech about civil rights. I hope some day other issues can be solved too, our world is definitely a work in progress.