Nothing like a visit from the parents to make you realize that not only are you failing to live up to your own expectations, you're failing to live up to their expectations as well. How many times, in the course of two days, did they stare at me expectantly while I struggled to translate for them? How many times did I have to refuse because I couldn't do it? And the reaction I got when I had to admit that I couldn't do it...as if I had told them I had forgotten how to tie my shoes. "What do you mean you don't know how to say that? Just tell them what I told you, but in Spanish." And do you think they gave me a minute to think? The pair of them firing questions at me faster than I can hear them, about what to do, how to act, what to say, where to go, what to order, where to stand, and why don't I know everything there is to know about Spain?

They even managed to make me feel responsible for things that were not my fault. "How's your lunch, Mom?" Brief pause, which she should have used to think of something tactful to say. "Fine, it tastes just like the pizza I used to eat every Friday in the school cafeteria." (Insert disappointed shrug here.) And the whole time keeping her nose and mouth tucked into the collar of her sweater to shield herself from the one cigarette in the restaurant. I'm sorry people smoke here, Mom. I'm sorry the pizza isn't amazing. I'm sorry I don't know how to explain to the saleslady that you need a more detailed receipt because the airline is giving you $75 in compensation and they need valid proof of purchase. And I'm sorry the airline lost your luggage. It's not my fault, but I'm sorry anyway. I'm sorry that most people don't speak English, I'm sorry I didn't know how to translate "hand lotion" for you, and I'm sorry you had to feel like you were in Spain at all.

And that's only one half of the parental unit.

Dad, I'm sorry for every time you had to look at a map because I don't know the location of every restaurant and museum in Salamanca. I'm sorry it rained the entire time you were here. I'm sorry I couldn't think fast enough for you, and I'm sorry that you always knew a faster and better way to get to the places that I am familiar with.

Now the real question is: Why do I let them get to me? They obviously don't mean to make me feel like a failure. They're parents, and parents are critical. If I understand that, why can't I just shrug it off and stop feeling like I disappointed them in every way? Maybe because the only time my mother ever complimented me, it was for something that was destroying my health and my sanity. And she claims she didn't mean it; she just thought that's what I wanted to hear. If she tells me what I want to hear instead of the truth, why does she come here and criticize me nonstop? Is it any wonder that I would cling to the only thing that ever elicited praise from her, even though it's been killing me? I only want to make you happy, Mom. And I know how. I just don't know how long I can keep it up.

It was my 21st birthday on Tuesday. I suppose I had fun. I got a hilarious email from my brother that made me laugh until I cried. Thank God for him. I was glad to see my parents, because I did miss them, but I'm exhausted now. But I can't rest. I have to go to the gym and transform myself into the perfect daughter, one that my parents can be proud of. I'm trying.