The door slams behind me, and I can still hear my mom's voice through the walls, her words sharp as they chase me down the hall.

It's always the same. Quynh focus on your grades. Quynh, help your brothers with their homework. Quynh wash the dishes and do laundry, that's what traditional women do. Quynh you have to know how to cook, how else will you get a husband. 

Sometimes I wonder if there's a hidden camera recording every little "mistake" I make, just so it can be replayed during another lecture. My friends at school? We hardly hang out outside of school. They're too busy complaining about parents not letting them go to parties or date. Me? I'm still trying to convince mine that not learning piano and going to extracurriculars would still allow me to enter college. 

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I slip into my room, the only place that feels halfway safe, and stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck on the ceiling in first grade. We had just moved to our house, the stars being the first thing I had put on all on my own.

At school, I'm just called Thy. Everyone thinks I have it easy because I always finish my homework on time, never absent, and overall a well rounded child. Drama Queen in the Making, they’d probably call me if they knew what goes on in my head. They’d laugh if they knew my mom’s biggest worry isn’t about who I like but whether I’m "falling behind." Falling behind...I wish she could see how fast I’m running just to keep up with who she wants me to be and who I actually am.

But high school is coming, and college is after that. Someday, I’ll write my own story, and it won’t be about making perfect grades or perfect impressions. It’ll be about me.