I don't know why I'm writing this here. I probably shouldn't. Someone will know it’s me. But… it just feels like it's getting too big, you know? Too heavy. Every single day. Every day. My parents, they're getting older. Dad's blood pressure is up, Mom's knees hurt all the time. They're good people, just… traditional. Very traditional. For them, it’s all about family, about the right way to do things. And the right way, for me, was always going to be an arranged marriage. They started talking about it again last week. Over dinner. Like it was just a regular thing, like asking if I wanted more green beans. "Your cousin's daughter, she just married a lovely boy from the old country. Such a good match." That's what Mom said. And Dad just nodded. Smiled. I sat there, stirring my tea. It’s a habit. I just stir it and stir it until it's cold. I could feel my heart doing a little thump-thump-thump, like a bird caught inside me. And I just said, "Oh, that's nice," even though inside I was just screaming. Not literally, of course. I never scream. I just… observe the sensation of screaming. It's an internal thing. The thing is, they expect it. They always have. My brothers, they both did it. Good marriages, they say. Stable. Predictable. And my kids, they're grown now. Off to college, starting their own lives. They don't need me hovering. It’s supposed to be my time now, right? To settle down properly. Get a proper husband. Someone from 'our kind.' Someone who understands. But I don’t want to. I don't. And that's the part that makes me feel like such a bad person for even thinking it. Like I'm betraying them, their whole life. My whole upbringing. But the idea of being tied to one person… forever… it just feels so… restricting. Like being put in a box. I see my friends, their marriages. The way they talk about their husbands. The little complaints, the big complaints. The compromises. And it looks like a lot of work. A LOT of work. And for what? I've been thinking about this more and more lately. Every single day. Every day. It's not that I don't like people. I do. I like company. I like going out. And I like… physical intimacy. When it feels right. But the whole package deal… the shared finances, the shared house, the shared identity. The "we" instead of "I." It just feels… unnecessary. Obsolete, almost. Like a rotary phone in a smartphone world. Everyone else is upgrading, but I'm supposed to stick with the old model. I even talked to my friend, Brenda, about it. Sort of. Over coffee at Starbucks. We were complaining about our commute, and she was talking about how her husband forgot their anniversary again. And I just said, "Sometimes I think it would be easier to just… not have one." A husband, I meant. And she looked at me with her eyebrows all scrunched up, like I'd just said I was going to run off with the mailman. "What do you mean?" she asked. And I just sort of laughed, a short little cough, and said, "Oh, you know. Just thinking out loud." And changed the subject to the new dry cleaners. But I wasn't just thinking out loud. I was serious. Very serious. I actually believe it. Lifelong monogamy. It’s a nice idea, maybe. For some people. But for me? It feels like an obligation I don't want to sign up for. But how do you tell your parents that? Your parents who sacrificed everything for you to have a good life. A traditional life. How do you tell them their whole worldview is… just not for you? So I just keep stirring my tea. And nodding. And saying, "That's nice." And the pressure builds. Every single day. Every day. It’s like a little balloon inflating inside my chest, and I keep pushing it down, trying to make it small again. But it doesn't stay small. It just keeps getting bigger. And I don’t know what to do about it. Not one thing. And I'm afraid to find out.