I've been retired for about six months now, and I guess you could say I’m sort of lost. All those years, decades really, I was a manager, always busy, always had something to do. Now my days just... stretch out. Empty. It gives you too much time to think, maybe. To look back at things you never really stopped to look at before. And I keep coming back to my parents. They’re old now, you know, very old. And they still don't speak much English, not really. Never picked it up, not beyond the basics. So it was always me. From the time I was a kid, maybe ten or eleven, I was the one translating. Doctor's appointments, parent-teacher conferences – I was the one. When we first came here, it was a whole new world, and my parents, they really struggled. My brother and sister, they’re both younger than me, they sort of... floated through it all. Always had excuses, always busy with their own friends or whatever. So it was always me handling the bills, the forms, the phone calls to some company or another. Even now, it’s still me. They call me first for everything. “Can you call the electric company?” “What does this letter mean?” And I always do it. Always have. But lately, in these quiet empty days, I’ve been thinking about all those years. All the time I spent doing all that. And my siblings, they just... did nothing. Still do nothing. They show up for holidays, maybe, and they’re good at saying "Hi Mom, Hi Dad," but if there's a problem, if there's something hard to deal with, it's me they call. And I feel this resentment building up inside me. A kind of bitterness. I feel like I've been stolen from, in a way. Like a big chunk of my life was just... taken up by this duty, this expectation. And I guess the awful truth is, I let it happen. I could have said no, maybe. I could have pushed my brother or sister to do more. But I didn't. And now I’m 60, staring at an empty life, and I feel like I missed out on something important, something for ME. And I don’t know how to forgive myself for that, or if I even should.