I don’t even know why I’m writing this, honestly. It's just… weird. My dad, who is 48, by the way, which I guess isn't old-old but it's not young, right? Anyway, he always had my sister, my only sister, living with him. She just went off to college, like, two weeks ago. And I thought, okay, finally, he’ll get a life. Go out, meet someone, do something other than watch TV and complain about his back. I thought *I* would finally get a break from being his stand-in therapist/life coach/financial advisor, you know? Like, the eldest child, first-generation immigrant kid burden is REAL. My entire childhood was basically a crash course in how to be an adult while simultaneously translating for my parents at parent-teacher conferences. So, yeah, I figured this would be a win-win situation. But it's not. It's… the opposite? I called him yesterday, just to check in, because that’s what I do. It was like 9 PM, so he should have been doing something, anything. And he picks up, and his voice is just… flat. Like, devoid of any discernible affect. He tells me the apartment is "too quiet." Too quiet? This is the man who complained about my sister’s music, her friends, her literally breathing too loudly. Now it’s too quiet? He said he keeps catching himself about to call her name for dinner, or to ask her to turn down the TV, and then he remembers. And then he just… stops. And the silence is "deafening," he said. Deafening. My father, the stoic, emotionally unavailable patriarch, used that word. It almost made me laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it's so utterly, completely ridiculous. It's like a bad sitcom plot. I just don't get it. Is this… anhedonia? A reactive depression? Like, is he experiencing some kind of… existential void now that his primary caregiving role has evaporated? I mean, he's basically been a single dad since mom went back to the homeland almost 15 years ago. His whole identity, I guess, was wrapped up in providing for her. And now… what? He literally has nothing to do with himself. And the thing that REALLY gets me is, I should be relieved. I should be celebrating that I no longer have to worry about him constantly. But instead, I just feel this… morbid curiosity? And a little bit of guilt? Like, is it my fault for not pushing him harder to find a hobby, or a friend, or literally *any* other outlet? It’s just so… pathetic. And I feel like a terrible person for thinking that about my own father, but it’s true. It’s just so incredibly, profoundly pathetic. And now I’m the one lying awake at 2 AM wondering if he’s okay, which is EXACTLY what I wanted to avoid. This is just… cyclical. God.