The Moment When My Parents didn't understand Me

I walk home along the quiet, lonely road. My mind is restless, filled with the weight of what's to come. I have no idea how my parents will react when they hear the words, "I failed." But what else can I say? There's no excuse, no explanation—just that single, bitter truth.

Ten minutes later…

My home isn't that far from school, yet somehow, I feel like I reached it too quickly. Or maybe I just don't want to face what's coming. Forget it.

I stop in front of the door, my hand trembling as I press the doorbell. A moment later, the door opens, revealing my mother. Behind her, my father stands silently.

"Welcome home, dear," Mom says with a warm smile, her voice as gentle as ever. She reaches out and ruffles my hair, just like she always does.

I step inside. The house feels the same as always—calm, familiar. Yet, an uneasiness lingers in my chest. Because once I reveal my results, I don't know how this familiar atmosphere will change.

Mom closes the door behind me, and my father walks up, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"So, today was your report card distribution, right?" he says, his voice steady.

Mom chimes in, her tone just as gentle. "Did you get your report card, dear?"

The moment I hear those two words—report card—my heart pounds faster. I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral.

"Yes, Mom… Dad… I got my report card."

I remove my bag, place it on the couch, and pull out the report card. Before I can say anything, my father extends his hand.

"Give it here, dear," he says.

I hesitate for a second but hand it over. As they focus on the report card, I instinctively take a step back, putting some distance between us. I have no idea how they're going to react… and that uncertainty is the scariest part.

My father's eyes scan the report card, and within seconds, his calm expression hardens. His grip on the paper tightens as he exhales sharply.

"So, you failed. Again?!" His voice is firm, laced with frustration.

I lower my head, unable to meet his gaze.

My mother, who was standing beside him, lets out a deep sigh before speaking. "We work so hard for you, Kelvin. We give you everything you need, and this is how you repay us?"

"Do you even care about your future?!" Dad's voice rises, his patience wearing thin.

I clench my fists, but I stay silent. What am I even supposed to say?

"Tell me, did you even open your books? Or were you just wasting time like always?" he continues, his voice sharp like a blade.

Mom crosses her arms, her face a mix of anger and disappointment. "You keep saying you'll do better next time, but when will that 'next time' come, Kelvin? Do you plan to repeat every year until you're old?"

I swallow hard, my throat dry.

Dad shakes his head, his tone turning colder. "What are you going to do now? What's your plan? Or are you just going to stand there with that same blank face?"

I can feel the weight of their words pressing down on me. But deep inside, something else stirs—something I can't quite describe.

Deep inside, my inner voice urges me to speak—to defend myself. But I don't want to sound too harsh. Yet… yet, in the end, I give in.

I clench my fists, my head still lowered.

"Please… please stop," I say, my voice trembling. "You both never understand me. Mom, Dad… you always want me to be educated, but deep down, I don't feel interested in studying. I… I never have.

I've noticed something. Every time I get scolded in this house, the reason is always the same—study. Whenever I try to do something different, something outside of studying, you both dismiss it. You always shut me down."

My breathing grows uneven, but I push forward.

"I see it clearly now. You encourage me, give me motivation, and push me forward—but only when it comes to studying. That's the only thing that matters to you. The moment I want guidance or support in something else, you ignore it. You judge me. You make me feel like a failure because I don't follow the path you chose for me."

I lift my gaze slightly, my vision blurry.

"I… I don't want this. I'm not interested in studying. But you keep forcing me, and it… it feels like I'm being controlled!"

The last words spill out like a dam breaking, raw and unfiltered.

I don't wait for their reaction. Before they can say anything, I turn and run straight to my room, leaving them behind in the silent, suffocating tension of the living room.