I keep thinking about my grandfather. He goes to church every week, same time, same pew. Always has. Everyone in the village knows him, respects him. Elder in the community, you know? Back home, that’s a BIG deal. Here too, I guess. He helps organize stuff, talks to the priest, always there for the potlucks. People look up to him. My parents always say I should be more like him, more involved, respect tradition. But I know he doesn't believe anymore. I mean, I don't even — whatever. He told me once, really late at night, after some family dinner, he just… stopped feeling it. Said it was years ago. Just goes through the motions now. For the family. For the village. To not cause problems. Imagine that, living your whole life a certain way, doing things you don’t even care about just so people don't talk. It's WILD. Like, he's faking it for decades. Decades! And it's not even like he’s unhappy, not really. He just… is. He’s accepted it. He’ll die, and everyone will remember him as this devout man, and no one will ever know he actually stopped believing in God years ago. It makes me think about everything else. What else are people faking? What parts of me am I going to have to fake for my whole life just to make my parents happy, or not upset the aunties and uncles, or just fit in. It's a lot. And I hate that I even get it, you know? I hate that I understand why he does it. Because I know I’ll probably end up doing something similar. It’s just… expected.