Everything had been revealed ages ago and boy there I was, running away again. I stand here understanding that not once did I pause to ask, “what did you find while cleaning out my suite?” I did not have guts to ask if you found the contraceptives that shamed your morals and upbringing. I did not have courage to ask whether you found my picture- it was the first time engaging in the weed culture. I knew you could have seen all these things but I did not pause to ask afraid of facing your reaction and my personal guilt. Instead, I told you to keep the suite deposit, which I would have used for recreational purposes anyway, I know. “You cleaned out my suite, so you should keep the deposit”, this sounded like a donation. I know you never walked into that building expecting to see his face on the wall or a pack of rolling paper on the floor. However, were you really surprised? Where you really surprised after accepting that I have not become the daughter of your dreams? I am picturing you, though, standing in the kitchen with the birth control pill box in your hand and gaze narrowed. Is this what you would call the “last string”? “Preet, pick up your clothes from the main washroom. Where am I supposed to brush my teeth and put my toothpaste? This is a family washroom and THIS is just ridiculous, c’mon!?” Was that all you could say to me to express the anger that must be tormenting your mind in the middle of the nights? You know you would receive nothing better from me than my sunken face and crippled body barely walking your way, as always, “Dad, I will pick up my clothes tomorrow. I think I am going to die today.”
The mother and father, who are saving me today, I thank you.