I'm just… trying to understand this feeling. My dad, 50, factory worker, still asks *me* to fix things. Not just any things, but the heavy machinery he built with his own hands, back when he was a foreman, before he immigrated here. Yesterday it was the old drill press in the garage, the one with the faded serial number, 007-B, stamped right into the steel. And I get this… visceral ache. It's not resentment, not exactly, but this deep, almost somatic discomfort, like a cognitive dissonance between what I am doing, a software engineer, and this expectation, this inherited competency. It’s 2:17 AM and I keep replaying him saying, "Bacha, this one, it needs your touch." Is it attachment theory? A displaced desire for his approval? Or just… a fundamental misunderstanding of filial duty in the diaspora?