Let me dream.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

How could you be my mother. How?
I don't understand, no matter what I say, and how hard I cry. I don't understand. You don't either.

You're not really my mother, right?

I really thought that things had taken a turn for the better, and you'll stop treating me like an inferior sub-human. I thought we could have a completely civilised conversation without so much as shouting.

Guess that was too much to ask for even.

Thanks for telling me, that you are entitled to treat me with disrespect, and in any way you deem fit. You can scream and shout at me, and beat me up again and again. Just because you're my mother.

Thanks for finally waking me up to the fact that I should just stop trying so hard, because in your mind, I don't deserve any basic respect that humans should have.

I don't knw what I do all these for. First, you say I don't do chores for you and you beat me up. So, I do them for you. Not taking into account the fact that my promos were in progress. No, you never cared. Then, now you tell me I treat you like you're transparent, and you beat me up again.

Tell me, honestly, hand on heart. How the fuck do you expect me to treat you normally, with the respect any mothers deserve, when you're just someone who don't care about my feelings, and don't respect me? You think I am a plaything? An object? And I don't have feelings? Does this idea sound very wild to you? That I have feelings?

I'm really not asking for anyth. Not anyth that you say, really. I don't need you to do every single thing for me, not make my breakfast, not do the laundry. I don't need you to give me everyth I need and ask for. I don't need and I didn't ask for any of that. I just ask for a little bit of understanding and some patience. Which I knw, okay I knw, I don't deserve right? Because you are my mother. What a fucking irony.

But all you can do, all you think is that you're right and I'm wrong. So really, is there a point to continue? I am so tired of this. I return home, you bark at me to cook soup. And while I was looking around for the saucepan, I just go "eh, where's the saucepan ah?". And fuck knws you'll just explode and run at me with the cane again.

One single "eh", and a few more slashes on my body. I tried grabbing the cane but I couldn't get it. It slips out and on my body it goes again. Next time, I wouldn't try I think. I should just sit down and let you hit me all you want because I really can't be bothered.

All this time, I talk in a completely civilised manner with you while your voice just raises a notch higher, and higher. I knw what I say don't really matter, but you could at least pretend to listen. Everyth I say, you just gave me an incredulous look and "how can I be wrong about that?" Yeah, alright, I'm wrong okay? I'm wrong. Everyth is my fault.

You tell me, when all the aunts came over, I didn't greet you, nor any of them. And I told you, you couldn't spare me a second when I called out to you. When I wanted to talk to you, and ask you things, you couldn't give me a second to even stop and listen. Now you're saying I don't acknowledge your presence. I wonder why I would even want to try if you ignore me three times straight.

Why? Why? Tell me, honestly. Why the fuck do I bother with you?

I tried. I tried to do everyth you want me to, and I never complained to you at all. You come and beat me up because you think I don't respect you. You tell me the day that I can dare demand for respect from you is the day I rely no more on you.

Mum, take it from me. If I had the ability to, I wonder why the hell I am still staying here. But okay, I will listen to you. From tmr onwards, I will greet you everyday when I see you. Do everyth you want me to. Never "eh" you again, even though I really don't knw what is wrong with that. Though bearing in mind that, I still hate you as much as ever, if not more.

And when I grow up. You wait and see alright? You'll wait and see.
Things really didn't have to turn out like this.

You hit me once, you did it a second time.
I knw I will just sit down and let you hit me. It doesn't matter. Doesn't even hurt anymore, you knw? Seriously. Just kill me if you will. It doesn't even fucking matter.

Every single thing I say. You tell me I am wrong. The way you almost spat out the words that "yes I am your mother and that's why I can speak to you in a nasty way, but no you can't because I am elder".

Okay. I get your idea. My tears have dried up. And I don't feel anyth anymore.
We'll just see yeah? See if a few years down the road, things are going to change. And you're going to be the one falling to the kitchen floor crying your heart out because your daughter couldn't give a shit to what you feel.

No. No words can justify what I feel. Unjust and just misunderstood. We have this huge misunderstanding which I keep trying to tell her about. But each time she only answered with a slash of the cane. Alright. That's all I want to say really. Nothing is going to help. Unless I move out or something.

Whatever. Bye.

When I see my sorry face in the mirror, all I really want to do is start crying all over again.

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Sinyee. 17.
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