...incoming call 📞

your name flashes on a call. and instead of anticipation, i am filled with a flash of annoyance, lemon-bitter zest that oozes for a millisecond before i strain it through my guilt.

of the voice that reminds me, that's not nice, thinking of your mother like that. and so i answer the call with hope and with dread. of, maybe this time will be different.

so im stuck there, with the realization that it's still the same, still unseen. rapid-fire wall of advice i never asked for, life updates but never from me. no place to squeeze in elaborations or the small things happening in my life.

…

okay po.

…

alam ko po.

…

okay lang naman.

…

yes.

…

okay po.

…

okay po.

…

sige.

…

byeeee.

…

then, a red and round end call button that reminds me why i never call back, why i’ve resorted to building a life of my own, one they never seem to want to know. so I'll end the call. go back to the book i was reading—Terry Pratchett that I’d been obsessed with for the past few months, a gift from my girlfriend who they never ask about. (but they’ll ask about my sister's abusive ex-boyfriend or her current boyfriend of two months). i’ll have the small moments eating my sister’s air fryer muffins that she made when i was dead tired from an 11-hour workday. i’ll continue to live my life and it’ll be alright, eventually.

right?