I think I've only lived to fulfill expectations. Mostly my parents', and rarely my own. As a being born without passions, fulfilling those expectations have consistently fallen short.

I hate it when I have to get reminded of how poorly I can form to these expectations.

The only thing I hate more are ultimatums.

Now combine the two.

When my father handed me a sticky note with a date, with expectation on his face, it felt liberating.

As though he has chosen for me the day on which I shall liberate myself of all worldly desire, sin, and malice.