"Ahh, putangina! See this is what I'm talking about!"

The sharp sound of hands slamming against the desk echoed through the room.

"Joseph Angelito L. Ramondez, how many times do I have to tell you? Go back to college! You're not going to achieve anything if all you do is play video games and waste your time on that... that petty writing!"

Joseph's father pulled his hands away from the table, throwing them up in the air in exasperation.

"This is why we can't have a single peaceful dinner in this house. Joseph, you're 19 years old! Get a grip! Is this really all you're going to be? A failure?"

Joseph winced at his father's words, but instead of feeling guilt or shame, he clenched his fingers, his frustration boiling over.

"I'm not a failure, okay, Pa?! I'm telling you, I'm going to make it big as a writer!"

Joseph shot back, pushing himself up from the table.

"Writing won't get you anywhere! Writing won't pay your bills! Be a doctor, a lawyer, a dentist—anything! Just go back to school!"

Joseph's gaze dropped, unable to meet his father's eyes. This was the same old story, the same argument that played out over and over in their house.

Joseph's eyes remained on the ground, and the dining room has gone completely silent, it was then when various sounds of steel clanking can be heard from the kitchen

"Now, now, we've already discussed this, boys. Joseph has made up his mind—he won't go to school, believing he'll become a good writer. Isn't that right, Joseph?"

Joseph's mother appeared right on cue, stepping in from the kitchen to break up the heated exchange.

Joseph's father scoffed, turning away. He grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and strode out of the house without another word. Joseph could see a hint of sadness from his father's eyes, but that was probably his interpretation.

Left alone with his mother, Joseph felt her eyes on him—a gaze that was stern yet softened by concern.

"Joseph, didn't I tell you not to talk back to your elders?"

Her voice was gentle but firm. Joseph could sense she wasn't angry—no, not exactly. She was worried. Deeply worried.

"I know, Mom..."

Joseph sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.

"Your father is just concerned. We're not as well-off as your friends' parents. He... and I... we only want a better future for you."

Her warm hands gently cupped his face, her touch soothing yet filled with unspoken emotion.

"We won't be around forever, Joseph. One day, we'll be gone. That's why your father is upset. He doesn't want you to struggle with poverty. You understand that, don't you? The world is harsh—much harsher now. We're not like our neighboring countries, where opportunities might come easier."

Joseph leaned into her touch, his heart heavy. He had no rebuttal, no argument to counter her words. She was right.

"I know, Ma. I'm sorry..."

Joseph finally looked up, meeting her eyes. She smiled softly, her expression a mix of love and reassurance.

"Now, go wash the dishes. And don't forget to brush your teeth, wash your face, take a shower, and get to bed, okay?"

With that, she turned and made her way to the living room, settling in to watch her favorite teleserye.

After seeing his mother settle in the couch. Joseph made his way to the kitchen, where there's a lot of dishes racked up..not to mention the messy tupperwares

"Hayst..."

Joseph couldn't help but sigh. This was going to be a chore... but then again, that's the whole point, isn't it? If it weren't a hassle, it wouldn't be called a chore.

No wonder he'd been hearing the clatter of metal and all sorts of noises coming from the kitchen earlier.

His mom had gone all out today—utensils, plates, pots, and pans. The aftermath was a mountain of dishes that now sat in the sink, staring back at him.

Just looking at it made Joseph feel exhausted. *Can't I just do this tomorrow?* he thought, already dreading the task.

He felt a tear welling up in his eye, but he quickly blinked it away. There was no escaping this.

If he didn't wash the dishes, he'd be dodging a flying chancla before he knew it. With a resigned groan, Joseph grabbed a plate and got to work.

He reached for the dish soap, squinting at the dispenser. It looked... off.

Was this even dish soap?

Probably not.

From the looks of it, it was more likely some kind of face wash. *Oh well*, he thought, shrugging. It'd have to do.

Chores were never Joseph's strong suit. He half-assed anything that wasn't writing or video games, and dishwashing was no exception.

He scrubbed, rinsed, and stacked the plates with little enthusiasm, his mind already wandering to more interesting things.

Before he knew it, the dishes were done. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed it, but the sink was empty.

Whether the plates were spotless or just passably clean, he didn't care.

His chore was done, and that was all that mattered.

Afterward, Joseph shuffled to the bathroom.

He grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto it, and brushed his teeth with the same lack of enthusiasm he'd shown for the dishes.

A quick face wash, a lukewarm shower, and he was done for the day.

House chores were pretty much Joseph's only responsibility in the house, and yet, even then, he couldn't seem to do them properly.

But hey, at least he tried...

sort of.

As Joseph entered his room, he walked straight to his bed and sat down, his gaze drifting upward to the ceiling.

"Lord, maybe this time..."

He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as he leaned forward. Stretching his arm under the bed, he fumbled around until his fingers brushed against the cool, metallic surface of his phone. He pulled it out and unlocked it, immediately navigating to the website where he hosted his light novels. His eyes fell on his latest work—a story with only three chapters.

"Still no ratings, no views... not even a single comment."

Joseph slumped back, his heart heavy. Writing had always been his passion, ever since he was a child.

There was something profoundly fulfilling about crafting worlds from mere words, about exploring uncharted territories through the power of imagination.

It felt like a pale imitation of being God—creating a universe where he held all the power, where every decision, every twist, was his to command.

He had poured so much into this dream. He'd studied dictionaries to expand his vocabulary, devoured countless books to understand the craft, and spent hours honing his skills.

Yet, despite all his efforts, none of his light novels had ever managed to capture anyone's interest.

Was it because his ideas were too cliché? Or was the market simply oversaturated?

Joseph didn't know. He had even tried using AI for inspiration, hoping it might spark something unique, but even that had fallen flat.

Defeated, he lay back on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Maybe I'm just a failure,"

he muttered to himself.

"What else can I do? I don't have my dad's support, and all my friends are already in their second year of college... How do I even find my own voice? How do I make people care about what I write?"

Joseph's arm draped over his eyes, shielding them from the dim light of the room. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.