I am lost. Completely lost.

    After curling myself into a ball, I press my steaming cheeks against the cool hardwood floor. My fingers meander across the smooth surface, as I wish for a life that is just as so. The irregular patterns of the wood panels, like a magician, hypnotize me with both its complexity and resemblance to my life.

    "Why can't she just work a little bit harder? Why don't you keep a better eye on her?" he blames.

    "Me?! You're the one that-" she replies in Mandarin, in the same angry tone.

    With a scoff and a roll of the eyes, I turn up the volume on my mp3 player. The heavy drum beats and guitar riffs morph once again into the giant, umbrella that allows me to fly.

    Just ten minutes ago, I showed my report card to my parents. Straight A's, as usual. As usual. Not good enough.
  
    While twirling over and over again my long, ravenous hair with streaks of blue dye as a sign of teenage rebellion, I wait for my verdict.

    "Hm," the judge rules, then toss the paper on to the coffee table. I feel my fist tightens as i watch an entire semester of hard work flutter slowly down onto the glass table top.

    "Whatever," I manage to croak.

    "What do you want us to do? Do you want a tutor to help you study?"

    "I don't know."

    So, here I am, feeling as alone, confused and scared as ever. What do I want? This and hundreds more questions fog up my mind like the chill does to a car window on a cold, winter night. I sit for moments more, when an unexpected teardrop, like silence, lands on my jeans creating a dark blotch. I run my hands over my cheeks, trying to wipe the moisture off of them, but still the tears keep coming. Holding back a soft whimper, I pull the hood from my sweater over my head. I bite down hard on my cracked lips, salt and blood seep onto my tongue.


***********

    The sky is now a field set for harvesting, with hues of red, gold, orange and honey, the colour of my eyes. The sun, a good hearted shepherd, leads the clouds of sheep back to the ranch that exists only in our imagination. I stare up into the forever changing sky through the skylight above my bathroom. The clear glass, like a frame, boxes the striking scenery into one surreal painting. A sensation of serenity washes over me, wrapping me in its silky warmth and piecing me back together.
    Suddenly, I feel a tickle on my lap, I take out my vibrating cell phone and beam a little to see the display number is Bridget's, my diary of ten years. After taking out a piece of my headphone, I answer.

    "Hey."

    "Hey."

    "You ok?"

    I don't reply.

    "Call me when you want to talk ok?"

    "Yeah."

    "Actually, do you want to meet at the corner later? I'll bring some ice cream? Hmm?"

    "Uh..I'll have to see," I giggle at her playful tone.

    "Alright, call me then."

    "Yeah."

    Ever since we know of heartaches, we have been doing this. One of us would bring the ice cream, and the other a story. Then, meet each other exactly half way (we had measured it out when were twelve) from our houses.

    Meet each other half way.

    I let out a little gasp. THat's what i want. I want my parents to meet me half way. For years, I've been lost in the labyrinth of expectation and perfection, unable to reach the centre where my parents stand. So, I simply stopped searching. I have been waiting. Will they come find me? Tell me that I am perfect the way I am?

    "Skye-ah," my mother's voice follows after a gentle knock.

    "Yeah?" I quickly sit up while trying to rub off the stains on my face, and finally noticing that the batteries have run out in my mp3 player.

    "It's time for dinner."

    "Oh."

    Then I hear her footsteps clicking down the hallway, always in a hurry to get to the next thing. I curl myself back into a ball again. They can wait. It's their turn. I've been waiting long enough.