Prologue
Once again, I chose silence.
When my mother spoke, it was always easier to swallow my words than to speak my mind.
Silence kept the peace.
But lately, that peace has begun to feel incredibly heavy.
It feels unfair. I do my best, day in and day out , talking the endless cycle of househ chores.
Yet, there is never praise - only a spotlight on the flaws.
Meanwhile my older brother sits in the living room, untouched by these expectations.
“It's a woma's work”, my mother always says, a mantra passed down like a family heirloom from my grandparents.
She truly believes that her sole purpose is to keep everyone happy, and she expects me to carry that same torch .
I don't blame her. She is only teaching me the blueprint she was given.
But as I look at my own hands, worn from chores that aren't supposedly meant for men or boys,
I can't help but wonder…
" Am I really wrong to question if the blueprint is broken?”
