Baby Chang

You sit trapped in the high chair, the green tray a mocking symbol of your forced regression. The blue shirt feels like a straitjacket, and the diaper, a humiliating mark of your powerlessness. Your parents’ voices drone in the background, their words a distant buzz as you stare out at the blurred windows, dreaming of escape. Every forced nap feels like a theft of your autonomy, every moment in that diaper a reminder of their control. But beneath the surface, your spirit refuses to be broken. You are not a baby, and you will find a way to reclaim your dignity, to show them you are so much more than they force you to be.