indirects // a.b

4.5

My mother and I— for lack of a better word, were quite close. She'd stuck by me since... forever, really. My childhood was rough, and when my sister came along, it only got tougher. Bills would pile high; An absent father would never dare show up at our doorstep, offering a sliver of financial support. At that moment, it was just me, my mom and sister against the world.

Luckily, my mother held firm to a thin thread of hope that hauled her to safety. Pulling her towards a country that allowed a better future for her children, better opportunities for work. I thought for sure things would be different. Of course, why wouldn't they? Things were easier here. School was free. Everyone was different. But, one day while I was doing my homework, she told me, "Ate, you need to grow up."

At the age of thirteen, I never thought anything of it. I was still young, and there wasn't any rush for me to start acting mature. So, I continued acting childish, unaware of my mother's hard efforts to harden me up for adulthood. I continued to cry at every inconvenience, let my emotions run loose, and blame others except for myself. My mother accommodated it, as she always did, but not in the way anyone would expect. She'd try to open my eyes, saying, "How can any job hire you if you act like this?" And I realized that she was right.

From what seemed to be a miracle, I got hired. I thought I'd finally achieved maturity, now that I was finally an integral contribution to society. I was involved with paychecks and taxes, and I felt so grown up. My mother was so proud of me, but after a few months, I realized why she stopped. I kept messing up at work; Hell, I still had a lot to learn. I didn't change. I'd cry in the bathrooms about how difficult it was, working in fast food. I'd feel like shit, but blame the customers for making me feel this way, and never stopped to think that maybe the problem was me.

Now, I'm sixteen, edging the end of high school and I'm so afraid of what is to come. I thought I'd got it figured out at such a young age, but I didn't. I remember thinking I had it all— That is, until my father decided it was high time for him to return into our lives, re-inserting himself into a narrative that didn't have space for him. Of course, my mother accommodated him. She always had space for him. He ignited her drive to support the family even further, pushing her to earn more money to earn their dream home. One Christmas morning, my mother nagged me about buying a FitBit, to which I said "Next year." To her, it was always "Next year." I'd repeat that phrase every year because deep down, I never had the drive to repay her hard efforts. Yet, one Sunday morning, after I'd returned from work I saw my mom sporting a new watch. A FitBit brandished on her wrist, and I felt the guilt settle into me. The realization that she grew tired, and bought it herself, quite literally, made me feel like a shit daughter. Now I understand why she was so happy to have him back. Why she was more than ecstatic for another adult in the house– it's because I wasn't enough.  Earlier, I said my father was inserting himself into a narrative that had no space for him left, yet how did he fit?

It was because this family replaced me. As I type this, I realize I sound like I'm blaming them for choosing to replace me, but I know that they only replaced me because I knew I wasn't enough. I was a failure in every aspect. I wasn't the generous loving older sister that my younger sister wanted, and I wasn't the responsible hard-working daughter that my mother wanted. Hell, to my father, I'd never been good enough for him; He'd hated me since I exited the womb.

Now, I'm sitting here. Wondering if all of this is really worth it. If anything is really worth it. There's no hope for me left–