The Monkey Says: Butterfly

I am your 18 year old daughter. Gone are the days I am incapable of making my own decisions, incapable of setting my mind straight for important agendas. If I seek for help, it's for assistance and not a direct solution. What I need you to understand is that you're not losing me. There comes a time where you have to let me go, and be it baby steps or big ones, the gun shot must go off. I see the disappointment in your eyes and honestly it puzzles me so. I may not be your generic daughter, one who pampers you and shower you with hugs and kisses but I sincerely do care. You firmly stand on the point that there is no comparison made, but we both know there is a lingering thought in your head that wishes I was an exact replica of your other daughter. I am not angry that you do, because I suppose it comes naturally. Perhaps I wander around, but at the end of the day, I return. Perhaps I'm not a model student, but at the end of the day, my results speak for themselves. I can't have you breathing down my neck when I'm in need of my personal space. We all have our moments and it's about time you knew I'm human too. Then maybe, you'll stop blaming me for everything that's going wrong.