When I think about never speaking to him again, I picture a girl walking in a crowd that’s all moving in the same direction, and then suddenly she drops everything she’s holding and turns around and starts running as fast as she can, smiling and pushing past everyone till finally she reaches an open space and her face looks like sunshine as her hair blows behind her in the wind and she’s free she’s free, oh God, she’s free.
But then I think about walking into a doctor’s office ten years from now and sitting on a cold metal table, staring at my legs dangling off the edge, waiting. And then I look up as the door opens slowly, not expecting to see his tattooed arms hidden in a lab coat, but there he is and, oh God, his eyes haven’t changed, and I can’t breathe, and he just stands there, looking at me like an unfinished sentence. Then I’d have to let him put a stethoscope to my chest and listen to my heart and I wonder what it’d sound like, if it would sound like messy half beats of missing him. If he’d be able to tell. If he’d care.
Or maybe the next time I see him, if I ever see him again, we’ll both be whole versions of ourselves, content and in good places, our lives all sorted out and how we always hoped they’d be. And maybe we’d be able to talk about the weather and our kids and the lives we created apart. And maybe I’d be able to look at him with only feelings of pleasant acquaintance and relative indifference, not seeing the boy I fell for when I should’ve been focused on catching myself.
And I know I should find comfort in thinking about how one day I may look at him and feel nothing,
but it’s four in the morning and I don’t want to let go.
I’m quite depressing. I don’t want to be like this but I can’t control the situation. I know what I want. At least I think so. I don’t think that my parents have to provide me anything. they have born me. Oh well, do they really have to be responsible with me?
Can you argue with someone who can’t get their mind out of the box? I think I failed at this, convincing my mother to do something I call “an investment on her so called daughter” I can’t reason out my mother. Who is also a women but I don’t think she has the same thinking as mine. Sadly I’m stuck in the same circle as her. Not only my mother, many people out there is still trapped in the circle of woman who can’t do big things, who should stay at home, try to find a job, an “enough” job to prepare herself for a husband who can provide her. And then the circle goes round again. woman has to depend on their man. Fighting, yelling at each others, at their children. People thought that a home, a family with husband and wife and 1 or 2 kids is enough for a happy family.
But I’m not content with that. Time has changed. People want more than just a house with members. It’s about selfishness . In others words, I want chances too. I want to see this world. I want to learn, I want go more, do more, be more.
Fly away isn’t the only choice. I have to admit it, I’m just too selfish. I just want my parents to sacrifice everything to me. I have no money to cover up this need of studying. Until now I can feel the pressure of not having enough money to do something big.
My mum she can’t stand in front of me nor sit down, have a conversation face to face with me. Explain to me the real situation of my family. I can’t trust her own words. Suddenly I realized that at home I can’t communicate with anybody. Since when did this happen? Why or how come did we come this far?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
I guess I’ve been this isolated daughter, sister for so long. I stay out also every reunion. I just sit there, join it as a obligation without eagerness. Family. I only reach out for them when I need something, help or money to be specific. What is family to me? I just feel this burden, heaviness inside my heart. I don’t want to be like this, loosing the meaning of life, of everything I have. I am who I am, I can’t be something I’m not. I’m not sorry that I don’t meet your expectations. I don’t blame you if you hate me, don’t want me. It’s ok. It’s not your faults. You are my mother, someone who I can call “mother”. You have done your best. It’s ok that you rejected me. Hate me. You have all right to do so. Because after all, you’re my “mother” or at least it is your title.
I burn/delete everything about him. This doesn’t mean that I’m trying to erase everything. Well, unless I can do some kind of brainwash or else you can’t just forget things about someone that easily. Its still there and it will always be there. But the things is my feelings 10 months ago isn’t the same anymore.