Wednesday, June 24, 2009

the angst teen in me, came late

in a corner of the crowded mos burger joint, em nudged jermaine to get me some tissue, while nodding sympathetically to my sob story (literally and physically). only to have jermaine and rod fascinated for the wrong reason —— why there wasn't any black streaks of tears caused by ruined mascara. grrr.. hello, it wasn't my intention to end up in puddles of my own tears, hey, who the hell would have 'crying' on their agenda list. yet i did it, twice, first was in han's car on the way to her 20th MacDonald's pajamas party, and now, the encore. it was simply the stress which stemmed from home, overran.

my parents didn't give the understanding and support i craved. (see: past tense, i'm taught to know better) the culture of asking about each other day is not cultivated in my family. i can live with that, although sometimes, i secretly wish that brother of mine could do more than just barking/grunting when i care about him. instead, i either scream at him for that lack of manners or i give a fine-i-couldn't-care-less look. sometimes, the disguise slipped, i kept my peace and walked off sadly. communications is at its worst when i talk to my family.

what started out as giving a short account of the incident (cell phone stolen at work), fueled by my dad's bad temper, accelerated into a shouting match. at least my dad matched back with every statement i made, whereas when i reasoned with my mom, the best line she managed every time to end things —— 'you know i can't out-talk you, you're pro at talking back.' all the eloquence escapes me when i seek for comfort at home.


el⋅o⋅quence /ˈɛl ə kwəns/, -noun
the art of turning every word pleasing and gentle on ears, rather than speaking as it is, matter-of-factly as i do, be it in my debate competition or household arguments.


the only difference is it hurts. big time.

whenever my mom dishes out her best line, (just because simply she knows that she's not in the right) it feels like a slap across the face, stinging and ringing soundly in the ears blocking out any other noise. she has no clue the power of her words as of a mother would make such a violent impact on her strong yet actually sensitive child. while dad's words are more like paper cuts, would make me bled, but more often than not, it's a senseless careless mistake. when his impatience and temper caught hold of him, he blabbers without thinking. his angry rants/bitter comments are even too flimsy for me to be bothered with defending myself.

"......WHAT KIND OF WORK IS THIS? HOW COULD YOU EVEN MANAGED TO GET YOUR PHONE STOLEN??! (you made it sound like i wished for it) I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY ARE YOU WORKING! WHY YOU'RE WORKING. I HATE THAT LOOK OF YOURS, LOOK SO TIRED (how could i not be when after a whole day of incident have to deal with your ranting?)........."

all the strength left in me, was injected into, "I ALSO WISH I COULD NOT WORK AND LAZE AROUND LIKE SOME FILTH RICH MISSUS." and that gained me silence, he walked away, defeated?

i don't wish that i'm trust fund baby. i never grumble about having to work and support myself, and i think it's only right that i save up now to put myself though university education.

so please
stop Stop STOP STOP STOP

..thinking i'm earning to splurge, to pay.

you jolly well know how much i earn per month, when i hand over the paycheck to be banked in. and i try to give 1/3 of it to household, but sometimes i could only manage 1/4 or not at all, like this month when i've to replace my stolen phone. the rest of it, i spend it without GUILT. i've tried my best to manage my own finance. tried my best to do my sum and await patiently till i can afford my school fees plus living expenses.

there are friends who care about me, who felt indignant for me, who thought that you should be thankful for a sensible and labourious child. no. in your eyes, i fall short. i'm not that independent and responsible girl that others know. i don't do housechores enough, i'm untidy, careless and absent-minded. i don't deny my flaws. just that...

sometimes, maybe just one day, you'll look beyond the flaws, and feel proud of me too. maybe, you'll know i'm not that happy-go-lucky, not the ultimate optimist girl, even if i build up a brave front pasted with a smile.. just listen AND support me for once? if i don't have your understanding, at least don't twist my meanings and comprehend it on your own terms.

not only your son will get depressed.







i do too, at times. and you don't see.

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