You know when you just... can’t go home. Like, you *can* but you really, really can’t. My parents keep asking why I haven’t visited. I’m a grad student, so it's always "oh I have so much studying" or "research paper due." And yeah, that’s true sometimes. But the real reason is my brother’s room. It's still exactly the same as when he left for college ten years ago. Like, they turned it into a museum. His stupid soccer trophies, the ugly posters on the wall, even his dirty laundry basket is still there, like they expect him to just walk back in and pick up where he left off. All his stuff, just... preserved. It's like they're waiting for him to come back and be the perfect son again. The one who got all the good grades, the one who played sports, the one they brag about to everyone back home. Meanwhile, I’m over here, trying to figure out my own life, doing my own thing, and it feels like I don’t even exist when I’m in that house. It’s always about HIM. Every conversation somehow circles back to "your brother did this" or "your brother said that." Like, hello? I’m right here. I’m a whole person. Sometimes you just want to scream. Like, take down the posters. Wash the damn clothes. Live in the present. But I can't say that. It would be disrespectful. And then I’d be the bad child. So I just keep making excuses. And I stay away. It’s easier that way. But it also sucks. Knowing you're avoiding your own parents because of a dusty room... it’s just messed up.