I don’t even know where to begin, honestly. It’s 2 AM and I’m just…furious, I guess. At myself, mostly. And the whole situation. This whole thing with Maya and her heritage, it’s just bigger than I ever really understood, and now I feel like I’m already messing it up. Roy, my ex, he keeps saying I’m overthinking, but what does he know? He’s not here with a toddler who looks nothing like him and a culture he barely understands. So, the holiday. It’s Diwali, which I knew. Obviously. And I wanted to make it special for Maya. She’s only two, so she won't remember it, probably, but I wanted to *try*. I read all the articles, watched all the YouTube videos, messaged literally everyone on those adoption forums. I even bought her this tiny little lehenga, I guess you call it? It was gorgeous, emerald green with gold embroidery, and she looked…well, she looked amazing. Like a tiny little princess. That’s where it all started to feel, I don't know, wrong. The plan was simple enough, I thought. I’d make some traditional food – I mean, I tried. I really did. I spent all day yesterday in the kitchen, following recipes from a cookbook I ordered, trying to get the spices right. I ended up burning the rotis, obviously, and the aloo gobi was just…meh. Edible, but definitely not authentic. I kept thinking about Maya’s birth parents, about what *their* Diwali must have been like, what food *they* would have made for her, and I just felt this crushing wave of inadequacy. Then there was the whole lamp situation. Diyas. I bought a bunch of clay ones and some proper oil, and I was so excited to light them. I wanted to tell Maya stories about the meaning, the triumph of good over evil, the return of Rama. But trying to explain abstract concepts to a two-year-old while simultaneously trying to keep her from touching the flame is…a lot. She just kept pointing and saying "fire!" really loudly, and I sort of panicked and put them out before I’d even told her anything. And the lehenga. Oh god, the lehenga. I put it on her, and she was so cute, just twirling around. But then my neighbor, Brenda – who is perfectly nice, I guess, but a little…oblivious – she came over to drop off a package. She saw Maya and immediately said, “Oh my goodness, is she playing dress-up? How adorable!” And my heart just sank. Dress-up. Not celebrating her heritage, not connecting to her roots. Just…dress-up. I tried to explain, really I did, about Diwali, but Brenda just sort of smiled and said, "Well, it's certainly colorful!" and then asked if I was watching the football game later. I just wanted to scream. I know Maya is too young to understand any of this. I know that. But it felt like such a monumental failure. Like I’m already screwing it up, already letting her down. How am I supposed to teach her about where she comes from when I myself am so clueless? When every single thing I try to do feels like a performance, like I’m just pretending? It’s not fair to her. I should be able to give her this. I just kept thinking about all the articles, all the books, about how important it is for adopted kids to have that connection. And I'm just…not doing it right. I’m a freelancer, so my schedule is all over the place, and I don't have the steady income to just drop everything and go to, I don't know, India. And even if I did, what would I even do there? I don't speak the language. I’d be just as lost. I’m so angry that I can’t just *know* this stuff. That it’s not just inherent. That it’s this constant, uphill battle of research and trying and failing and feeling like an impostor. And maybe that’s dramatic, but that’s how it feels right now. Lying awake at 2 AM, staring at the ceiling, thinking about a toddler who just wanted to play with fire and a burned roti. It’s just…a lot. And I’m exhausted.