Me before I moved to America:
my parents never knew what time my classes were (I mean yes, they knew the general idea like what time kids in Vietnam should be in class, but not an hourly schedule) because I took care of them all — I either went to school by myself or skipped classes. that means, I always had little time during the day when traveling to and from school for myself, which I call now “quiet time”. 1st grade: I refused to have anyone picking me up. I walked home. then I had a bike. I biked home. then I went to PTNK, which is too far for riding the bike and too bad for the environment to ride a scooter. I took the bus. my mom has never been to PTNK. my dad has been there twice, once to pay tuition for my first year and once to take my school book after I left.
I knew many people would criticize my parents as “not caring for me enough”, but as a daughter that has never been my problem. I might have looked for a person to pick me up now and then, but when I actually have one I feel really guilty. after all, it takes so much of my parents to care for me, so since I was little I learned to help my parents out on this part as much as I could.
and because of that, my need for quiet time grew bigger compared to the other introverts I knew.
Me right now: I need time for myself.
I choose a room in a house, and ten minutes later everyone is in there. Yes, that’s great, but I’m overwhelmed.
I booked a trip to the Philippines for myself, hoping to escape humans. My parents are totally cool with it, but my uncle decided to come along. Sometimes I wonder if he still thinks I’m the little girl he knew ten years ago before he moved away that needs a guidance.
I feel like I’m trapped, and with this I keep counting until the date to be back to America, simply because it’s the only place where I have the freedom to not talk to anyone when I’m too exhausted.