Dear Diary,
The light in my room was just...
too white, too still, like it was holding its breath
I kept glancing at the window, wishing I’d opened it earlier.let in something natural, something real. But instead, I made the call. And, well, that was mistake number one.
So, I was video calling my mom. Then, in a rare moment of optimism, I thought: Hey! Let’s try small talk with Dad. How bad could it be? Big mistake.
Since Dad lost his prestigious job and started working at some "up-and-coming" law firm, he’s been... well, let’s say, a storm cloud in human form. But that’s a tale for another day.
Anyway, I told him this harmless story about the fourth year college graduation presentations. The professor strutted in like he was starring in a drama, waved at students, and complimented a mom in the crowd with, "Are you the mom or the sister?" (Classic professor—zero riz, infinite confidence.) The woman stayed calm, but the second she heard that, she was on her feet like she’d just been nominated for an Oscar. I shared this with Dad, and suddenly, I had triggered World War III.
His response? A lecture on how a woman shouldn’t feel obligated to stand for a man. I explained that it wasn’t about gender norms, but about how we engage with others. The point was simple: if you’re gonna stay seated during a conversation, do it on purpose. If you want to stand, do it from the start. But shifting posture mid-conversation just felt... performative.
Of course, this explanation didn’t land well. What followed was less a discussion and more an ideological battle (one I didn’t realize I had started)
Dad escalated it, turning it into a lecture on "tribal values" and how women should be respected (as if I’m the one out here making laws requiring women to leap out of their chairs when a man cracks a joke). That’s when I realized I had sparked a philosophical wildfire.
I tried to apologize, like, “Sorry for being friendly, sorry for wanting to bond, sorry for THINKING.” But it was too late. He was deep in "tribal wisdom" mode, channeling the spirits of 10,000 ancestors and a very bitter HR department.
So, what did I do? I committed a technological war crime because my tongue has a mind of its own when I’m angry, and I knew if I kept talking, I’d say things we’d both regret so I turned off my camera mid-call and yanked the Wi-Fi plug like I was defusing a bomb.
Five minutes later, I called back, and only Mom answered. I told her to tell Dad my internet was "acting weird" (read: I murdered it). Will he believe me? Who knows.
Update: my Dad called me at 10:33 PM. I guess he bought the “Wi-Fi betrayal” story. Thank God, the last thing I want is to mess up our bond because of one misunderstood conversation.
Anyway, that’s it for today. Next time I try to talk to Dad, I’ll just stick to the weather.
Warm regards,
Your emotionally exhausted friend.