Baba saw me on the couch on his way to the bathroom and didn’t even say anything to me. He just gave me the heaviest look of disappointment and sighed, before turning around and leaving behind the bannister.

As he went to the bathroom, I heard him mutter, “Shouldn’t be surprised.” I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve spent the whole night awake, trying to get my brain to shut off, but having my dad say those words in such a grave tone, like I’ve spent my entire life constantly letting him down... It’s plaguing my every thought.

I’m not sure how old I was when I realized my parents were never going to love me the way I wanted them to—that their love was conditional, dependent on my own behavior and whether I fit their definition of success. Maybe it was my fifth birthday party, when Ma refused to let me wear the dress I wanted because it didn’t fit her color scheme. Maybe it was Valentine’s Day during third grade, when my crush rejected me and I spent the entire night crying, only for Baba to scorn me for talking to boys. Maybe it was the summer of sixth grade, when I was invited to my first sleepover, and Ma told me that if I went, I shouldn’t bother coming back home. Maybe it was first semester of eighth grade, when I was applying to high schools, and my parents refused to drive me to the interview for my top choice.

Maybe it was all the times they yelled at me instead of sitting me down and talking to me. Maybe it was all the times they looked at me in disgust and outrage, instead of love and compassion. Maybe it was all the times I tried to be the daughter they wanted, and they still insisted it wasn’t enough.

Each one of these by itself isn’t so bad. If they were isolated events, maybe I could forgive my parents. But all of these put together...

It’s not like we haven’t had good times, too. We have. I have fond memories of going to Six Flags and riding roller coasters with my mom, of learning how to cook the most delicious rasmalai with my dad during Ramadan, of taking family road trips to visit my cousins across the country, stopping at fun little tourist destinations along the way. Once upon a time, I was their pride and joy. Once upon a time, they “loved” me.

But then I started disappointing them. Then I started being someone other than who they wanted me to be, who they expected me to be.

And things changed.