FRACTURE

How does it feel to live with your own parents? To share the same home, spend time together, laugh, talk, and feel understood—it must feel like a part of heaven. But for me, unfortunately… there is no such heaven.

Living with my own parents has always felt... different. Instead of that gentle warmth, I feel like a stranger in the place I am supposed to call home. I often feel like a slave, working only to fulfill other people’s dreams, expectations, and unfinished lives. I feel like a distant figure whom no one truly notices except for what he can provide.

Everyone seems to be waiting for my success—for my money, for the day I finally get a high-paying job. But no one has ever stopped to ask how I feel, what I want, or what truly makes me happy.

And when I say “everyone,” I mean the people in my own house—the place where I spend most of my time, the place that is supposed to feel like home.

Sometimes I wonder if they see me as a person with my own dreams and feelings, or only as someone who will eventually carry their hopes and responsibilities. I don’t want to be valued only for what I have—I want to be understood for who I am.