I like to think I have a lot of agency in my own life. That is—until I get home. You see, the agency thing doesn’t apply there.
I moved back in with my family after graduation and everyday since has been both a blessing and a burden.
On the one hand, home is so much more than where I lay my head at night. It is the living room I decorated with my all my toys. It is the smell of hot caldo de frijole and my mom’s perfume.
On the other hand, It is where I learned how to avoid confrontation by keeping opinions to myself or by refusing to formulate them all together. Home is riddled with responsibility and the comfort of what I used to know. I often question if I ever want to leave this place. As I try to discover who I want be, I struggle to keep this new voice I found while I was away while balancing the expectations of my loved ones.
I can deal with my parents' medical conditions derived from our sodium/carb heavy diet paired with old age. I can deal with my mom’s repetitive stories and regaños de todos los dias. I can deal with my dad’s inappropriate jokes and failed attempts to correctly pronounce words when he tries to speak in French. I can even deal with my older brother’s condescending existential philosophies and rude intoxicated comments. But I can’t seem to deal with my own self-doubt. And it is that same insecurity that pushes me towards a pseudo-personality which I blame for my failed relationships and self-esteem issues.
I am constantly afraid of disappointing them. I try to push my parents towards understanding different perspectives—those that contradict the conservative, male-dominated, over-zealous traditions from their homeland. I guess I want them to ultimately understand me and obviously still love me to bits and pieces.
I am 23. Female. Catholic. Single. Unemployed. Oh, and I live at home.