Counting Down with You(49)

Tears pool in my eyes and I suck in a deep breath, trying to hold them back, but they spill anyway, wet and hot, sliding down my cheeks.

I know everything that my parents have done for me. I know how much they sacrificed for me to be able to live in New York, to live in a house, to go to a good school. They uprooted their whole life so I could have these opportunities. I know all of that. I know they want me to do well in life.

But sometimes I wonder if they want me to do well for me, or if they want me to do well for them. If all my accomplishments are for their pleasure, rather than mine.

How can they justify everything I’ve had to go through? All the times they stripped my freedom from me? How could that have been for me?

It’s small things that become bigger and bigger. It’s the fact I’m terrified to wear shorts, because even flashing an ankle is dangerous in my household. It’s the fact Samir can be as loud and bold as he wants, and I’m expected to be quiet and compliant. It’s the fact that I can’t go anywhere without some kind of parental supervision and, if I do, I face being berated for hours and then locked away in my room to wither in silence.

It’s the fact that I’m expected to be this perfect daughter that I don’t know how to be.

It’s the fact that, for the first time in my life, I have freedom because they’re not here to watch over me, and it’s the best I’ve ever felt. It’s the fact that Ace smiles at me when he thinks I can’t see him, and pokes and prods at me, but is always thoughtful when I need him to be. It’s the fact that my friends want to go to junior prom, and a boy I like asked me to go with him, but I don’t know if I can. It’s the fact that I love English more than anything, but I can’t pursue it in college because I’m expected to become a doctor.

And for what? So they can gloat about it to their coworkers? To their friends? To the people at our mosque? To the rest of my extended family? Why do those people have more of a stake in what I do with my future than I do?

Why am I selfish if I want to do what I love? It’s my life and my future. Not my parents’. Mine. They gave me the tools to be here, but that shouldn’t mean that they get to make every choice for me.

I’m not a bad person for wanting a life different than what’s expected of me. I’m not a bad person for wanting to pursue something I love.

I’m not a bad person for wanting. But I feel like I am.

Because I don’t want to let them down. I want them to look at me with love and pride. Not disappointment. I want to be as perfect in their eyes as Samir.

I’ve known for a while that I can’t have both. I can’t live my life the way I want and still expect my parents to love me.

There’s this suffocating pressure on my shoulders, this suffocating weight of my parents’ expectations, and I don’t have the strength to lift it up.

I am not Atlas, born to carry the weight of the world
I am Icarus, wanting and wanting and wanting
at the risk of exploding when I fly too close to the sun
Happiness. Such a simple word, and yet the most difficult word I’ve ever had to hold in my hands. If happiness were a bird, it would be fluttering weakly, its heartbeat so faint that it disappears when you look away.

For the first time, I’m looking and I can hear it. Thump, thump, thump. But I don’t know if it’s mine to have. It’s so close, yet so immeasurably far away.

I stare at my empty palms through blurry eyes, wondering what would happen if I choose to nurture this bird. This small seed of happiness.

You deserve to be happy.

But what if what would make me happy is to live my life the way I want without disappointing my parents? What if I want to get an English degree and I want my dad to pat me on the back with a smile on his face, and my mom to cry happy tears when I accomplish my dreams?

Why can’t I have both? Why do I have to choose one or the other?

“Karina.”

Through a thick wave of tears, I blink up at the person standing in front of me. Warm hands cup my face, thumbs wiping the tears away.

“Karina.”

Ace’s stormy eyes are looking back at me. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You need to breathe, okay?”

Am I holding my breath? I inhale sharply and then exhale. Some of the tension in my chest releases.

I take rapid breaths, trying to fill my lungs, but what little control I have slips away fast. Before I know it, I’m heaving.

Ace shakes me lightly. “Karina, follow me. In and out. Watch me.”

I look at him, half-hysterical. He starts taking exaggerated breaths, puffing out his chest before exhaling.

“In and out. Come on.”

I try to follow along, watching the rise and fall of his chest, and my breathing slowly evens out. Tears still fall down my cheeks, but I blink past them to focus on Ace.

“Sorry,” I choke out.

“No,” Ace says, his thumbs swiping underneath my eyes again. “Don’t ever apologize to me for this.”

Ace finally lets go and sits down beside me. When he leads my head to rest on his shoulder, I’m too tired to refuse.

“You’re okay, Karina,” he says against my hair.

I nod, trying to believe that. I’m okay. My life isn’t over. If I have to pursue medicine, then I’ll pursue medicine. I’m not dying. My parents aren’t asking for something unforgivable.