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It's when I'm alone that I let the tears come. 
I've contemplated pulling out, yes, after barely a month of all this. It wouldn't be impossible, we haven't debuted, nothing is really confirmed. In fact, should I wish to withdraw, this would be the best time to do so. 

It's my pride that doesn't allow me to do so.
So much has been invested in all this. My parents' money, their love. They hoped for so much, my family. I can't let them down. How can I go back and tell my father, that the son of a successful man has failed? Report to my mother that the nine months she spent in pregnancy were wasted on a useless child? Grandma pinned all her hopes and dreams on me, as her only grandson, I can't disappoint her. 
I have to stay, at least until I've earned enough to pay back the money they've wasted on me.

Expectations should bring encouragement, no? 
They should motivate me, push me further. But I think, in my case, they're suffocating, dragging me back. It's ridiculously hot here, suddenly, and my mind is whirling. Pushing back my covers, I sit up.  

A list has been stuck at the foot of my bed. Schoolwork, studying.
Practice times, schedules. Lyrics and sketchy drawings of dance routines and floor patterns. So much, I have so much to do. Too much.

On the tiny shelf I call my own, textbooks and folders sit. What time is it now? 10 a.m.? 11? I should be in school right now. I'm wasting my time here. I should be improving myself. Gr