my random musings, now in words.

3 days to Twenty

To the person who went through the painful process to bring me to this world, this is for you, sincerely from me, a confused and fairly destructive soul.

First of all, I want to apologize. For never being up to your mighty standards. I think the last time I made you happy was when I got my only straight A’s when I was twelve. You were happy then, right? And from then on, I’ve discovered that I’ve turned your life into such unexpected gloom. And I really am sorry for that. I wish I could turn back time and make you happy and all, but I was (and still) stupid back then.

You don’t know much about me, do you? Well, first of all, like you, I don’t know how to profess my love to you, and it kills me inside. Everytime you tell me how much I’ve disappointed you, it felt like I’m battling myself, trying to tell you that I am actually suffering inside, on how much I need comfort from you, rather than a slap, or a 20 minutes pep talk on my stupidity. But that never happened. Not even once. But I don’t blame you for that. I suppose I got this from you too. I can never reveal the real me when I am with you, it’ll be surreal then. But its absurd too, to come and think of it, I’ve grown in your womb, for God’s sake, but there I was, controlling my gush of emotions when I am with you.

I always wonder what will I do if I am going to leave the world tomorrow. I’ve decided that I will do this. I may not say the three little words,to you, as it will be awkward then, but I’ll tell you that I really want you to be proud of me, but with the things I like to do. And by that, it means acting, and journalism (or something like that). I know you hate that word. I know you’ll be thinking how on earth you gave birth to such a ridiculous child. I don’t know where I get this passion either, and most of all, I don’t know how to push it away. So if you hate me for that so much, please bear with me, because it had become an emotional trip for me to shy away from the thing I love the most about life. The ability to pretend to become something that I am not, by acting. Also, I’m gonna tell you why I did not want you to come to my Graduation Day. I am truly sorry for that. If there’s a word that I can describe it here, how bad I felt, I’ll probably type it , but I can’t find any. I want you to know that I don’t do this on purpose. That I purposely did not invite you to see me graduate because I am embarrassed to let my friends know who took care for me all these years (to whom I end up disappointing). Actually, I’ve decided not to let you see me graduate because I am very unhappy with myself then. And I know how unhappy will you be then either. So being 7teen, I’ve decided to not invite you so that we can all pretend I never get such idiotic results. See? I am in a denial then. I can’t accept how much I’ve hurt you guys. It was not a happy day for me, to see parents being so happy with their kids graduating, and there I was thinking about nothing. Thinking about absolutely nothing. I wish you could see me in my robe, I think it is the stupidest shade of crimson red ever, but most of all, I want you to be there with me, to see how much I’ve worked on the grand finale of the Graduation day, the ten minutes music orchestra that took me a month to figure out. Were you proud of me, having the ability to produce music? I hope you do, because I really love doing that. But I am sure you can never understand why. I remembered the time when you first see me play, and you asked me am I the one who arranged the music and I said yes, but truly I can’t remember any traces of pride on your face. Oh well.

I’ve complained to you about my tooth today. And you gave me a long phone call, telling me (again) about how disappointed you are in me. I get it, okay? I get it. I’m frustrated with myself too. But that has nothing to do with my tooth. And do you know why I kept on complaining to you about these tiny things? Because I am unable to tell you about mighty things like my dreams and all, the stuff that you’ll never understand, so by telling you about my teeth, I was hoping comfort from you. I know, I am pathetic even when I am pushing Twenty. It’s hard being an adult already because the adolescence life that I led is emotionally unpleasant. But you wouldn’t know that, because you were busy thinking how to make my life better financially, rather than asking me what I want in life. You said you know better. But I don’t think so.

Your talent to compare me with supergeniuses is remarkable. Your talent to make me feel like I am a loser is beyond words. I’ve got so much to tell you, but I have studies to do, Ma. Let us just think that one day I’ll get to do the things I love to do, and be happy with it, so that my kids wouldn’t know how much I’ve suffered all these years.

It’s good to know that you won’t be reading this. I think this is the crappiest shit I’ve written in a long time. See? I can’t talk to you about this. I can’t even write to you about how I felt. What the fuck is this, Ma? This is depressing. I felt such a loser now. Such a loser. It does not matter now, where I stand. I’m thinking of a new game plan. I know you wanted me to be clever and shit, I guess I’m trying, but not exactly thrilled about it, though. I really don’t give a shit now, about my life. That’s the truth. I wish I could just make music all my life and be happy with it. That’s what I felt like doing. This law thing is fucked up, but I don’t want you to know that, because you’ve dreamed so much for me to be like you in five years time, but do you know who I think I am now?  A loser, someone very similar to those how stoned themselves shitless. But I’m not gonna give this up. Because or else you’ll see me as a worthless piece of meat. I haven’t brought you any happiness, so I’m trying. Just because. I’m sorry for my sins. I should beg for God about that, but Imma apologize first for being stupid.

p.s: I am not going home this weekend. Just because. And my tooth still hurts, as much as my heart.


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This entry was posted on October 25, 2010 by in MY CONCERNS.

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