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.”