Involuntary independence has always been a part of my life. At the age of 10, my mother left our home with my older brother for three weeks, leaving me alone with my father. For the longest time my parents had marital conflicts that tore our family apart. Due to my father’s intense schedule, I was always awake for school after he left for work and off to bed before he came home. Naturally, I was confused and spiteful towards my situation. Where had I gone wrong to deserve being isolated and deserted? How was I expected to feed myself, much less get to school myself? Regardless of my disposition, I survived. My anger brewed for the next year to come, until I reflected on the instance. Sure, I could say I was deserted by the only people in the
