Why Does The Author Write Away From Home: Letters To My Family?

My mom calls me on Friday. "Don't forget about tomorrow's family dinner. Cody loves shrimps, so you should buy more of those at the seafood market in the southern district. "Lexi loves lamb chops. Go take a look in the eastern district for them. Also, don't forget to buy the imported strawberries. Noah loves them a lot." I say yes to each and every request Mom makes. But as soon as I end the call, I receive a text on the family group chat. "I've already given Eileen a list of our favorite foods. It's tough for you to earn money these days, so you shouldn't buy anything." One second later, that message is deleted. Still, I'm flabbergasted by what I just read. I've been married for two years. Every Saturday throughout those years, I'm the one paying and organizing the family dinner of the week. I thought there's no need to be so petty when it comes to family. But it seems that they've already viewed me as the outsider a long time ago. In that case, I won't be attending the family dinner anymore.

Our family is planning a ski trip at a luxury resort. However, my mother gives my snow-view room to my adoptive sister and makes me, her biological daughter, stay in the storage room. I'm about to protest when my father and brother accuse me of being selfish. "We've always given Madie the best of everything; she won't be able to sleep in any other room." "Madie is our family—she's the one who's lived with us this whole time. We're a family, so we have to stay together." I'm the one who shares their blood, yet they consider me an outsider. If that's the case, they can go on vacation without me. I board a cruise and travel the world for a month without ever going home. That's when they panic.

During the holidays, I specifically go home to spend quality time with my family. Mom brings out a bowl of persimmons and says in a half-teasing manner, "This is for the Sherman family. Once you eat a persimmon, you'll be blessed with good luck. Outsiders aren't allowed to take from this bowl." Everyone begins fighting for the persimmons. I decide to grab one for myself as well. The next thing I know, the living room goes eerily silent. Dad drags me to the corner before he starts berating me. "You didn't get to eat any fruits when you were living with your in-laws, huh? Must you steal from our family? "Didn't you hear your mother saying that outsiders aren't allowed to take from the bowl? So why did you still take one? "Because of you, Vivian doesn't get anything at all!" I look around my surroundings. It turns out there are only eight persimmons when in reality, there are nine of us in the living room. Mom has been hinting at me the whole time that I'm the actual outsider here. So, I pass the persimmon to Vivian Andrews, my parents' goddaughter. Then, I dial my husband's phone number. "Kevin, there's no need to bring the holiday gifts over."

On the day my family buys a new car, everyone excitedly starts making plans for the future. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, they'll drive my brother, Jake Walt, to the science museum. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, they'll take my mom to the gym. Most importantly, they'll drive my younger sister, Emily Walt, to and from college every day. Even though she's required to live on campus, my parents can't bear to let her commute alone, so they'd rather make the six-mile round trip every single day. They map out everyone's schedule except mine. When I leave for graduate school, I take a rideshare by myself. But after Emily uses my payment account to buy herself a new phone, I no longer have enough money to pay the toll and the driver abandons me at a highway rest stop. Stranded under the blazing sun, I call home, hoping for help. Instead, I'm met with nothing but blame. My parents scold me for inconveniencing them. "We're taking Emily to school. You expect us to turn around and waste all that gas?" My childhood friend, Patrick Green, says I brought it on myself. "I warned you not to go so far away for grad school. This is your own fault." Jake mocks me. "You made good money over the summer, didn't you? You're old enough to figure this out yourself instead of expecting everyone to rescue you." Looking at the money left in my wallet—the rest of my summer earnings already "borrowed" to buy Emily's college supplies—I finally realize the truth. In this family, I'm never treated like a daughter. When the elevator is overloaded, they push me out without hesitation. When the new house's fingerprint lock only allows five users, they give the last spot to Emily's dog instead of me. If there's never been room for me in this family, then it's time to stop trying to force my way in.

When her cheating husband accuses Liza of being a cheater, Liza loses it all. All while knowing her husband's infidelity, the only hope she held onto was that he would come back to her leaving his cheating ways. When he demands a divorce, she gives in. Distraught by his accusations, she leaves the very home she had spent numerous nights waiting for him to come home. But an unfortunate accident lands her in the hospital. And the only way he would ever know her truth is the box Liza cherishes so much. In the box lie a series of letters she had written him. Note: This book is about growth and finding oneself.

At ten years old, my parents divorce, each remarry, and abandon me to be raised by Grandma. When we see each other again, it's the summer after the College Entrance Exam. Mom and Dad both walk into the restaurant to book private dining rooms, and it just so happens to be my turn to seat the guests. Mom links arms with her stepdaughter, Alesha Callen, and smiles proudly as she instructs, "My daughter scored a 625 in the College Entrance Exam. We'll take your biggest room." Dad, holding his son Robby's hand, claims the room right next door. "It's my son's seventh birthday. We'll need a large room, too." They lock eyes for a brief moment before quickly looking away. Mom chuckles. "Throwing such a big birthday party for someone so young? You certainly spoil him." "Your daughter's the impressive one," Dad replies politely. "She's got a bright future ahead of her." And yet, neither of them recognizes me—their biological daughter and Jethroville's top scorer in this year's College Entrance Exam. I wipe the grease from my hands and carefully note down their requests. Mom orders a table full of seafood, saying that it's Alesha's favorite. Dad hands over a birthday cake he baked himself, instructing me to place it in the fridge. Just before they walk off, Mom asks offhandedly, "What about the other one? I haven't heard anything from her at all. Did she fail the exam?" Dad blinks. "I have no idea. She hasn't contacted me." I don't bother looking up. I just continue replying to a message from the real estate agent. Once I sell the old apartment Grandma left me, I'll finally be able to go somewhere far, far away with absolutely nothing holding me back.