Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

How disgusting it is to have to give my father information about my life. I don't want to give him any information about me, and I feel like he's pressuring me, with his absences, to give it to him. This is truly miserable. I can't stand being with my father anymore. I expected a recent response, and he didn't give it to me. I'm fed up. I'm fed up with how he wants this relationship to be. He once decided to see who I was dating! With the excuse that in the family, we men find bad people. This is the last straw.

I hate my father. Besides, he wants to know so much about my life when I don't want to give him that information. Besides, I don't want to give it to him. I don't know if he's giving it to the psychiatrist. I'm fed up. I'm fed up with this information being extracted from me. I feel like I can't take it anymore. And this tells me it's from a psychiatrist? I don't want to be there anymore. I'm not interested anymore. I'm working through the anger I had myself, because if it were up to her, pressuring me to be worse, then it would be going badly. Everything in the therapeutic treatment is being achieved thanks to my routine, not thanks to the psychiatrist. Instead of supporting me, the psychiatrist has only put more pressure on me. She once made me steer clear of some dentists who treated me, she molded me. I'm tired of her. Furthermore, she supported my father's medication, even though the character is my doctor. Hell, feeling obligated to give him information about what I'm doing with my life has reached its limit.

It can't be that the relationship with my father is the most problematic, an issue that's obvious from miles away, as is that with my mother. And they want me to see that on purpose? I'm tired of the psychiatrist, of her pressuring me, of her giving me useless, crappy pills. I don't want to keep taking that stuff. So far, what I've felt is pressure from that woman, molding, disapproval, bias. I can't stand that doctor anymore. I want to quit that therapy once and for all. On top of that, censorship. I'm not in therapy to calm down, but to do a job, and I won't do a job at the expense of that. That person can't be staking out my success when it's my routine. I no longer care about the opinion of my work, which is who sent me to that. I just want to be calm. I don't want to feel like I'm exposing myself in my private space. That's torture. I can't allow that. It's too much. I'm wasting my time. I don't want to see that psychiatrist anymore! I'm tired.

Why is it that at my job, what they've done is nothing but screw up my life? I don't want to be trapped with a psychiatrist! I want out of there; I feel too boxed in. I don't care that they don't give me anything, or any other support; I just want out of that psychiatrist. I'm fed up with being with her. Plus, she treated me badly outside of the session. I'm tired of defending myself from the psychiatrist; I can't take it anymore. I don't want to keep doing it like I did with my psychologist; that woman really traumatized me. That woman abused my privacy, however she wanted; she pushed aside my ideals, and she wanted to act like nothing was happening. I'm not going to allow that again.

I feel like I can't believe anything my father says anymore. In fact, I feel like the communication between us is more zero than ever. There are too many unseen things between us. This relationship between us is headed straight for disaster. This can't be tolerated by either side anymore. This has become a situation where everyone lives in their own world.

On the other hand, it's unfortunate that a girl, who for a long time, I don't even know what I did, I think that by becoming "her leader" at her request, I'll have to leave her alone, and if she comes back, she'll adapt to the circumstances. It's not possible for me to remain stagnant because of her. There's a new girl in my life, and I feel I want to get to know her better, appreciate her more, and that's interesting to me, and that's my right. I can't afford to remain stagnant with her; wherever, wherever she is, I hope that if I see her again, she'll find out about this and digest it well because I'm not going to put up with any scandal, and she knows it. In fact, of everything I've experienced, what I did, faithfully, was just that: make me her leader from every angle. I mean, you can only give her such an abstract group vision, because otherwise it's incomprehensible; there are so many details that won't fit together. I'm tired of going over the matter in circles. It's impossible to give her a common vision, it's not possible.

It’s not even like I woke up one morning and thought that... but yeah, I don't really know who I am anymore right now... It was a slow, agonizing realization, one that gnawed at the edges of my mind every damn day, like a relentless parasite. I’ve given up so much of myself for this relationship. My personality, my interests, my humor, my own fucking preferences. I remember how I used to laugh at stupid things, how I loved blasting heavy metal in the car and feeling the bass rumble through my chest. Now, I sit there in silence, pretending to enjoy his godawful indie playlists because, apparently, that's what "we" do. Do you see the irony? I don’t even know who I am because I’ve been eroded, worn down like some fucking rock in a stream. One little compromise at a time, I traded myself for this empty façade of “us.” But what about me?

I don’t even recognize my face in the mirror anymore. I used to wear bold makeup, vivid colors that made me feel fierce and powerful. Now, it’s all muted tones, subtle pinks, and nudes. Why? Because he said it was more “natural.” Natural? Who gives a shit? I used to stand up for myself, used to call people out on their bullshit, but now I find myself swallowing my anger like it’s some bitter pill I have to take just to keep the peace. I hate myself for it. I hate that I’ve become this quiet, compliant version of myself, a woman I’d probably roll my eyes at if I met her. And the worst part? He probably thinks I’m “happy” like this. Well, fuck that. I’m not happy. I’m trapped in a persona I created to survive this relationship, and I’m suffocating in it. How the hell did I get here?

I tried to claw my way back to who I was. I picked up my guitar again, the one I used to play every day before this relationship turned my world into a grayscale. But the strings felt foreign under my fingers. I couldn’t even remember the chords to my favorite song. It was like trying to speak a language I used to be fluent in but had completely forgotten. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is? To lose not just your interests but the muscle memory of who you used to be? It’s like my brain was reprogrammed, overwritten by his preferences, his needs, his fucking whims. And the scary thing is, I let it happen. Bit by bit, I chipped away at myself until there was nothing left but a hollow echo of the woman I used to be. And he didn’t even notice, or worse, he noticed and liked it.

Sometimes, I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck I’m doing. Who am I? Am I even a person anymore, or just some prop in his perfectly curated life? I fantasize about walking out the door, slamming it behind me, and reclaiming my fucking soul. But then I think about the logistics—where would I go, what would I do, how would I even start over? I feel like a ghost, haunting a life I never agreed to live, and I don’t know how to escape. I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t even want advice. I just want to scream into the void: I don’t know who I am anymore. And maybe, just maybe, if I scream loud enough, the real me might hear it and claw her way back. Or maybe she’s already gone. Who knows? 🖕

Around seven years ago, my relationship with my ex, Jenna, sadly came to an end. We share two teenage children, and since I was more financially secure, Jenna proposed I take full custody following our split. I've been raising them full-time since then, with Jenna having the option of visitation. However, she seldom exercised this right. Shortly after we went our separate ways, Jenna moved on with a wealthy man from abroad, quickly becoming pregnant with his child. The man, however, was not interested in taking care of children who were not his own, leading Jenna to relocate three hours away, distancing herself further from our kids. For nearly two years, she vanished from their lives.

The wealth of Jenna’s partner was contingent on his family’s support, and after discovering her situation, they withdrew their financial backing. Complicating matters, their young child faced developmental challenges. Jenna was expecting another child when her boyfriend decided to return to his home country, leaving her alone, pregnant, jobless, and caring for their special needs son.

Last week, Jenna reached out in desperation, her circumstances dire. She and her son were living in a motel, and their financial resources were dwindling. She asked if they could stay at my lake house nearby, or alternatively, if I could provide some financial support. I declined both requests, leading to heated exchanges where she accused me of neglecting my extended "family" despite having the means to assist her. I maintained that, biologically speaking, her current predicaments do not obligate me to intervene.

In a scenario where my life was part of a reality show, the reaction from the audience could be intensely divided. Viewers might sympathize with the tough stance I’ve taken, arguing that my responsibility is primarily towards my own household and the children we share. Others might harshly critique my decision, seeing it as lacking compassion towards my ex who is clearly struggling and my indirect connection to her current children. The intensity of reality show fans could turn this domestic drama into a broader debate on responsibilities and moral obligations ex-partners owe to each other, especially when children are involved.

Now, reflecting on my story as part of an online community seeking advice or shared experiences, I’m curious to get your points of view...

I have been struggling with negative thoughts for a couple of years now due to school trauma and bullying. In 12th grade, I had to stop attending school because I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Since then, it has been difficult for me to keep up with people. My mom doesn’t know how to help me. I was forced to transfer schools and pay for the whole semester, even though I only sometimes attended school for one or two days. My mom thinks I'm not trying, but I badly want to graduate, and it hurts when they call me lazy and say I don’t have the will to get better.

I used to be an honor student, but because of the harmful effects of what others did to me, I no longer recognize myself. I have engaged in self-harm in various ways and had to live alone. My mom thought that by sending me to a city alone, I would feel better, but it only made things worse.

I met my boyfriend, who helped me cope and inspired me to try again. I enrolled in pharmacy for two months and fell in love with it. My classmates were very kind to me, but I realized my struggle was mostly internal. I couldn’t control the thoughts of others or stop wondering if they hated my existence. I would suddenly leave the laboratory and cry at home, feeling weak. Now, I’m forced to study accounting online, which I also struggle with because I was a STEM student and find business courses difficult.

Nevertheless, I want to study pharmacy again if only I were given another chance. That field makes me feel truly fulfilled, and I believe I can thrive in it if given the opportunity.

Regarding therapy, I recently received my psychological evaluation results, and they disappointed me a little. The results were very clear, and I paid a lot for them. Now, I was told I can book a session only once or twice a month. From this schedule, I’m unsure if I can truly get better. Is this how it works?

As of now, I feel like I’m just waiting for an opportunity. I feel not good enough, and I'm dying everyday as I’m turning 20 soon.

I'm typing this while at work. Over the last 2-3 weeks, I have started to despise my job. I've always wanted to work in Marketing, but I'm actually miserable. The boss I once liked is getting more and more overbearing, and she is such a stickler for the rules that it's actually affecting my creativity and how I function at work. (EX: Can't use lowercase letters for a graphic because she doesn't like it OR have to clock in and can't be salaried like everyone else in the building and makes a big deal about making up hours in accordance with "policy" that NONE of the other departments follow). I work in a giant communal office that is dim and only has three small windows. In my last job at the same company, I was allowed to take my laptop and sit outside and work. As long as I got my work done, it didn't matter where I did it from. My current boss won't let me leave the office. Lunch breaks have to be an hour on the dot, and she even gets annoyed if you're in the bathroom too long.

I feel stifled in my creativity, I always feel connected to my job, I hate coming to work to sit in this dim office, I hate that my boss won't give me any kind of freedom when she knows I can do my job and I do it well. To top it all off, my eyes are tired every day from staring at the computer my entire shift. I feel like I don't have any personal time for my husband, I don't have time to work on my hobbies because I'm so annoyed and tired after work, and I'm overall just miserable.

Just quit, then, you may say. Well, I can't. My husband and I were just given the opportunity to rent one of the houses my company owns. It's four bed, two bath, and it includes wifi and rent is only $550 a month. That's amazing. We were paying upwards of $1600 per month including utilities for a one bed, one bath crappy house for the past year, and payments were getting hard. But I have to work at the company in order to rent the new house. So, even though I'm miserable and feel like I'm wasting my life (I'm 24, I shouldn't be feeling this way), I can't leave. We're saving too much money for me to leave. Plus, my husband has to wait a year before we could move anywhere because he has to see if he gets into the grad program he's applying for.

I don't know what to do. I made an appointment to see a counselor, something I never thought I'd do, and I have that this weekend. How am I supposed to do this job for a whole year when I feel like crying every day when I leave? It's affecting my whole life. I am grumpy at everyone, even people I love dearly like my husband and parents. The only time I feel somewhat like myself is the weekend, and even then, I'm so busy doing side jobs to make money, I barely have time to breath. Life is supposed to be about working to live, not living to work. I see marketing girlies sitting by the beach with their laptops, drinking coffee, and making a ton of money, and I know that's extreme, but I want to at least be able to open a freaking window or be able to work from home some days and not feel guilty if I ever have to take a sick day. I feel hopeless at the moment. What can I do?

hey, i’m not sure where to start this. me and my ex were together for a year and we broke up a year ago because he was really avoidant and manipulative. i got with a new guy pretty quickly after because he treated me so well i felt like he was saving me from the past relationship because it was so terrible. anyways fast forward to now, im still with my current bf and im happy with him but every now and then i do think about my ex but i dont have feelings for him. I just found out he has a new girlfriend and idk how to feel. it’s been a year since we broke up yet i feel a tiny bit jealous. feeling jealous about it makes me feel so guilty since i have a bf. i’m just not sure if it’s normal to be a little jealous even though you’re in a happy relationship. maybe i never got closure in that relationship? i’m not sure. i did end things suddenly and completely stopped talking to him because i was just fed up with the way he treated me. when we broke up i wished him the best and left. an hour later he sent me a long paragraph about how everything was my fault and how he thought i was cheating on him?? i didn’t respond to that because it was just so disrespectful compared to what i said to him. anyways i literally just found out about his new gf and i hope i get over this little jealousy, but if i dont does that mean i still have feelings for him? or need closure? if i needed closure and had to contact him to talk about it i would feel very guilty again bc of my bf. anyways i would appreciate any advice thank u!

Why won't you talk to me? Did I do something to upset you? Do you not like the pins I made you anymore? I mean, if you don't like them, you can give them back or throw them out, I won't mind. I only spent 30 minutes drawing and colouring and cutting out and laminating each one just for you. But I mean, if you don't like them, I'll take them back. I'll throw them out, because they weren't good enough for you. I honestly have your best interests in minds.

Or is it something else I did? Did I say something bad? Did I upset you? Please just let me know what I did. Let me try to fix myself. I'm obviously broken. So let me know the ways I'm broken, so I can fix myself! I want to be the friend you want me to be. Let me know how I can change. Tell me how to be what you want me to be. I'll gladly change for you! All I need to make those changes is for you to tell me what's wrong, what I can change about myself, how I can help.

I can tell it's not you who's the problem. You still talk with the others like there's nothing wrong. It's just me you ignore. So obviously, I'm the broken one. Just let me know how I can be fixed. Please?

so yeah i’m 16 and a girl and i live on a farm, which sounds cute until you realize it also means mice, like a ridiculous amount of mice, and they are everywhere all the time and i swear they know when i’m already stressed. i’ve been scared of them for as long as i can remember, like heart racing, hands shaking, full panic mode when one runs across the floor. my family thinks it’s hilarious, especially my brothers, and even my parents do that little laugh like oh here we go again. i try to be polite about it and not yell, but sometimes it really hurts. last week one ran out from behind the feed bags and i jumped on a chair and everyone laughed for like five straight minutes. i know they’re tiny and probably more scared of me, people always say that, but my brain just doesn’t care. it feels embarrassing being scared of something so small, especially when you grow up around animals and mud and all that. sometimes i wonder if living on a farm automatically means you’re supposed to be fearless, like cows are fine and spiders are fine and mice should be fine too, but they are not fine to me. do you ever feel like your fear defines you more than you want it to?

i really want to change though, and that’s the part i don’t tell my family because they’d tease me even more. i don’t want to be the girl who screams every time a mouse shows up, even if it’s kind of who i’ve always been. i’ve tried little things, like watching them from far away when my dad is around, or not immediately running out of the room when i hear scratching. once i stayed still for like ten whole seconds while one ran across the kitchen, which felt like a huge deal to me, even if no one else noticed. my mom said i did good, in a calm nice way, and that helped more than she probably knows. i keep telling myself fear isn’t permanent, it’s more like a habit you can slowly unlearn if you’re patient. sometimes i even think the mice are just part of the farm doing their mouse business and i’m the weird one barging into their space. it sounds silly but that thought actually calms me down a bit. i still hate when my family jokes, but i try to remind myself they don’t mean to be cruel, they just don’t understand how real it feels to me 🐭

the other night i was alone in the barn and i heard that familiar scuffling sound and my first instinct was to run, but i stopped myself and took a breath and told myself i was safe, even though i really didn’t feel like it; i didn’t see the mouse, but i also didn’t panic, and that felt like progress. i’m trying to be hopeful and gentle with myself because being mean to myself never helped anyone. i think one day i might even be able to pick something up knowing a mouse could be nearby and not freak out, and that thought actually makes me smile. i know change takes time, especially with fears that live in your body and not just your thoughts. i wish my family would cheer me on instead of laughing, but maybe once they see me improving they will. until then i’ll keep trying, one small step at a time, and maybe my story can remind you that it’s okay to be scared and still want to be brave, right?

Heyah!

This story isn't my own. It's from one of my teachers. And no names are included.

Dude was my Math teacher(HS). I was always curious about my teachers lives... So they shared.

At the time... I wanted to be a wedding planner. So, I asked a lot of my teachers about their weddings or their romantic relationships.

I was sorta the goodie-two-shoes. So they shared with me.

Back to my math teacher... He shared that he God super drunk on his wedding. And he bought a fake cake... Which I can understand for budget reasons, but at least get the top of the cake for the 1 year anniversary😭!! Dude didn't🫠. He bought Costco's sheet cake. Again, nothing wrong with that. I just personally think the getting drunk on one's own wedding isn't very smart.

The next story is if my ASL teacher. She was dating a dude for 7 years, then the dude cheated on her. She was very sweet... Albeit pretty shy... But cheating shouldn't be happening😑. Regardless of any excuses... Talk to your partner. Get therapy. Talk to some friends, family, even strangers can help give advice. Also, if dude had feelings for someone else, but still loved my ASL teacher... Is that really love? What is love? Dating for 7 years, you'd think all your opinions, beliefs, and expectations would align at some point.

Same goes for one of my therapists... Girly dated this dude for 5 years, no ring, and a cheater. My therapist said that she used to be a "plain Jane" but started eating healthier, taking care of herself, and simply enjoying her life more than she was before. She'd get dolled up and spend time with her SO. And the shitty part is that after a vacation to I think it was some sorta islandy area... Greece or Italy I think... Dude broke up with her after finding someone he liked better. My therapist at the time said the girl looked like how she used to be... "Plane Jane". Nothing wrong with a plain Jane... But come on, break up before the cheating. And due was cheating on my therapist for 3 years🫠. Sad ain't it🥴. By the way... This relates to school cause she was my HS therapist😅.

Recently, I embarked on a journey from Melbourne to Dubai. Anticipating the long, fourteen-hour flight, I opted for a premium economy seat to ensure some degree of comfort during the travel. Little did I know that this decision would involve me in an unexpected dilemma.

As I settled into my seat, the passenger beside me struck up a conversation. It turned out he had just been upgraded and was traveling with his new wife, as they were on their honeymoon. He put forth a request; if I could possibly switch seats with his wife, who was seated in the standard economy section towards the rear of the aircraft.

I expressed my congratulations on their marriage and inquired about her seating location. When he pointed out her economy seat, I found myself in a tough spot. I politely declined to switch seats, given the significant difference in comfort and amenities between our seating classes.

He persisted, asking if there was any incentive that might persuade me to change my decision. In response, I suggested that I might consider swapping seats if he compensated me for the price difference, an additional $1,000 AU$. Upon hearing this, he mentioned they were traveling on a budget for their honeymoon, and I congratulated them again while resuming to my own world of music and solitude with my earbuds. His parting words, under his breath, were not too kindly, as he labeled me selfish. My retort was that he, too, was not being considerate by opting for the upgrade alone rather than with his wife.

Later, sharing the incident with my wife, she opined that perhaps I should have been more gracious. Yet, I know well her own disdain for economy class, and I doubt she would have made the switch either.

If this encounter were part of a reality show, one can only imagine the varied reactions of an audience watching the dilemma play out on screen. Viewers might align with my desire to retain a seat I paid extra for, or they might sympathize with the newlywed couple, seeing my decision as unsympathetic. Reality TV thrives on such conflicts, compelling the audience to ponder what they would do in a similar situation, possibly provoking debates and discussions long after the episode airs.

What's your take on switching seats on a plane?

Move on and let go or die trying you too nosy for your own good huh? You think you are helping when in reality you are just making up excuses trying to find ways to put me to hell? "Creating scenarios in your fcking head? You think you know everything you can't even see me in person without insulting when u gay af as well

I used to think hard work and performance actually meant something, but now? I give up. Every day at my job, it’s less about who does the best work and more about who checks the right boxes. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like I’m just showing up, doing my best, and watching people get ahead for reasons that have nothing to do with skill or effort. At first, I tried to ignore it. I thought, Okay, just focus on your own progress, keep your head down, and things will even out. But they don’t. Instead of real career development, all we get is more “woke” initiatives, endless diversity trainings, and company-wide emails patting themselves on the back for promoting people based on identity instead of talent. Don’t get me wrong—I believe in fairness, equal chances, all that. But that’s not what this is. It’s not about fairness; it’s about looking good on paper. I’ve watched coworkers bust their ass for years, only to get passed over for someone less experienced because “we need more representation in leadership.” It’s like performance doesn’t matter anymore—just optics. And it’s exhausting pretending it doesn’t get to me.

I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, but lately, I’m asking myself why? If the promotions, raises, and recognition are going to people based on factors completely outside of their work, then what’s the point? Every meeting feels like another round of performative nonsense. We can’t even talk about improving sales or efficiency without someone throwing in a forced social angle, as if productivity is suddenly a dirty word. And don’t even get me started on the “optional” events that aren’t really optional—if you don’t attend the latest DEI seminar or pride workshop, you’re suddenly not a “team player.” Meanwhile, the actual job we’re here to do keeps getting harder, expectations keep rising, and the only thing that isn’t improving is the people actually running things. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this new version of the workplace, but at this point, I don’t care anymore. I’ve seen what gets rewarded and what doesn’t, and it’s clear that playing fair isn’t the way to win. So yeah—I give up. Not because I can’t keep up, but because I’m tired of pretending this system makes any sense.

I feel like I have to distance myself from everyone when it comes to family. They are all extremely unprincipled, unvalued, and unmotivated people, people with very low self-esteem who like to subjugate others through their own actions. My experience at my aunt's house and the way my father underestimated the situation were outrageous to me, excessively so.

Simply, that fact represented the necessary distance between my father and me. Honestly, I'm not with anyone who defends people like my mother and applauds her way of life with her mother, who in my aunt's case would be her comrade. It's the worst thing I've ever experienced. Differences are absolutely unacceptable there.

In fact, I feel that's why it was hard for me to stay strong at work. Today, with the Papa thing up in the air, I ignored it, and I felt that the indifference toward my indifference on the matter hurt me deeply. I felt the need to do like the others. The worst part of all this is that my father, that family, would support this.

It's like feeling miserable for breaking the trend, even though it goes against my principles. It makes me feel insulted and at the same time outraged that I was raised by my relatives, who didn't instill in me the strength to be different, which I denigrate because it's causing me problems in terms of distinguishing myself as I am in front of others, thus facilitating clarity for generating respect in a pleasant and unforced way. The idea isn't to fall into the trap of others breaking with it in one way or another.

All of them, these relatives I mention, are people who indeed appear friendly and supportive, but they come across that way in every context, which is frightening and deceptive. Although it must be acknowledged that their appearance is so obvious that to an outsider it would be like that, except for me, who didn't see it because I had normalized it. In fact, I didn't notice what they were yelling at me from miles away. In fact, I did nothing about their inconsistencies and lived by not speaking to them or pointing them out; my life together was one of being estranged because they exposed them without any remorse in front of me, which is disrespectful given that it's a game with my stability, which they further embrace thanks to the fact that they didn't point it out or justify it in any way, keeping me between a rock and a hard place when I committed them, which is indeed unfair. I feel abused within these people.

I don't like living with them. In fact, I have to live in isolation, since being with them implies intentional and frequent deterioration, while in isolation the situation is the opposite, and also with recovery, which with them is condemned. I had never acknowledged it until now that I've grown up, but these relatives make me fearful of their dramatic behavior as well as their constant denials of reality, thus creating an absorbing environment, and of course, one responsible for producing this normalization. They are the family that has also proven to be the difference between me and my mother's, and it was precisely because of this disappointment that I couldn't easily disengage from them, unlike with my mother, with whom I saw it coming.

For a very long time, it has resulted in an obsession with me not to discover the family characteristics—in truth, everything they pointed out in my mother's family, through detours and conditioning. However, they haven't realized that this game of counter-current on my part is lucrative and leads to the exact opposite result, something they apparently fail to understand despite numerous tests and which, of course, is my guarantee of success. There have been numerous attempts to eradicate me with thought tools such as ignoring the microphone, tearing at my writing, breaking away from influential thinkers, and even degrading well-known figures, but all have been in vain. I don't see them understanding that going against the grain and being effective is the best thing. Furthermore, if there were any attempt to avoid them markedly, it would only result in anxiety problems, and that's precisely what they don't want to encounter again because it would lead to an overflow of their routine, and living with me consisted of adapting to it.

I don't know how my coworkers experienced the fact that I wasn't with them at their father's event, but I still recognize that I felt obligated to consent to or pay attention to a religion when I am practically an atheist. This is an issue that is also imposing on said family. That is, they always tell me "God bless you" when I am not part of the religion, and which results in a lack of respect, mainly on the part of my father, who asks me to let him give it to me, only for the purpose of falling under the suggestion that, in that regard, for a very long time for a long time, my relationship with my father has consisted of pure attempts at suggestion. For a long time now, I haven't been able to share time with my father, only to seek food, some income, and to be the recipient of his attempts at suggestion, gradually leading him to become disillusioned. In fact, this has been the way he has come to act in a disorganized and obvious way toward these attempts. It's been almost three years like this, yet I still don't understand how he can't realize that his attempts are in vain; I suppose it's justified by the fact that it's because of the love I once had for my family, and because of which he took advantage of the opportunity to distort me. Ironically, individuals like those who cause complications for their families by coming into conflict with their moral compass happened, even though they were also a person I respected. Personally, the fact that I continue in this mood seems amusing to me up to this point, as the sadness is extremely high, no longer destabilizing to the point of prostrating me, but rather a game in favor of my firmness.

When will my father learn his lesson? When will my aunt learn her lesson? He tried to lecture me, but she, unwittingly, was the one falling into the game, precisely so that I could distance myself from her, since my goal is to distance myself from this family. They are obsessed with preventing my departure, when it has already happened, and now I am merely a spectator, oblivious to them, just like any other ordinary citizen who visualizes them. In short: I can't help but hide the sun with a finger from anyone in the world, then.

My girlfriend, Emily, recently made a drastic decision to register for a half-marathon scheduled for December. Surprisingly, her motivation to participate stemmed from her desire to avoid another event scheduled for the same day, using the marathon as an alibi. Before Emily registered, she consulted me and despite my advice against it due to her dislike and inexperience with running, she proceeded to sign up anyway. She explained that she would follow a 12-week training program that came with the registration, hoping to prepare adequately for the challenge.

As an amateur yet seasoned runner myself, regularly participating in elite club competitions and having completed numerous races including half-marathons, I expressed concern. This past summer, I scored notable placements in competitions, finishing fifth and twelfth in different race categories, showcasing my intermediate prowess in the sport. With this background, I tried to offer advice based on my experience.

Emily has always mentioned her aspirations to lead a healthier lifestyle, which I fully support. She recently took up Barre classes, which she enjoys immensely. I initially thought her newfound passion for Barre was the push she needed to sign herself up for the marathon. Given her enthusiasm, I suggested incorporating walking and light jogging into her routine before embarking on the intense 12-week marathon training program. However, Emily was reluctant to double up on her exercise regime, fearing it would be too exhaustive alongside her Barre classes. She believes she possesses a sufficient cardiovascular foundation from her previous basketball activities, despite ending her involvement in the sport eight years ago.

Although her primary aim is to complete the race without targeting a specific finish time, I stressed the importance of serious preparation to avoid potential injuries, especially given the demanding nature of a half-marathon. My insistence led to a heated exchange where Emily accused me of being unsupportive and imposing undue pressure, causing her distress, particularly as she compares her fitness level to mine. Taken aback, I apologized for possibly diminishing her enthusiasm, recognizing the need to approach her athletic ventures with more sensitivity.

This situation, if unfolded under the keen eyes of reality show cameras, could evoke various reactions from an audience. Given the typical nature of reality show drama, viewers might sympathize with Emily's challenge of stepping out of her comfort zone while also critiquing my approach as overly critical or unsupportive, sparking debate among fans.

For those closely following our story, the intrigue and empathy surrounding Emily's ambitious goal, juxtaposed with relationship dynamics and personal growth, could make compelling viewing, adding layers of human interest and relatability to a simple tale of physical endurance.

Tonight, my brother invited his girlfriend over for dinner, which turned out to be an unusual evening. My family, being Taiwanese, typically uses chopsticks at meals, and this standard practice was at the center of tonight's drama. This was the first time I was meeting my brother's girlfriend, who is Caucasian, and without thinking much about it, I handed her a pair of training chopsticks while setting the table.

She seemed puzzled at first, then politely thanked me and didn’t make a further comment. I proceeded to finish setting up the table and didn't think much of my action. As we sat down to eat, my sister, who is 19, asked my brother's girlfriend if she had ever used chopsticks before or if she would prefer a fork instead. That’s when the girlfriend revealed, "I'm actually pretty good with chopsticks! I just got handed the training ones for some reason." Suddenly, everyone turned to look at me; I could feel all eyes on me at that moment. All I could muster was a bewildered response stating it seemed like "a logical assumption.”

Feeling the awkward tension, my mom quickly intervened, fetching her regular chopsticks. The dinner continued, but the atmosphere had changed. Later, my mom pulled me aside to quietly express her displeasure. She mentioned that my action might have made my brother’s girlfriend feel unwelcome or under assumption, pointing out that it was embarrassing and urging me to be more considerate in the future.

Imagine if this whole situation played out on a reality show. Picture the cameras zooming in as everyone’s gaze shifts towards me, the slow-motion replay of my confused girlfriend's expression, and the dramatic music as my mother retrieves the regular chopsticks. The viewers would probably be split; some might sympathize with my naive presumption, while others might cringe at the faux pas. No doubt it would make for an engaging episode, filled with awkward dinner scenes and family dynamics, sparking debates and social media buzz about cultural assumptions and personal sensitivities.