Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Figureheads

I remembered there was once, when I was still living at Woodlands, I had a big fall out with my mother. I do not remember what the argument was about, but I remembered her shouting at me and me crying helplessly and then running to my bedroom, and I slept for the whole day. I did get up, but I did not get out. I stayed in my bed, crying and hurting from her caustic remarks.

I ignored my grandmother when she said to come eat, and she got upset. She said I was shrinking and soon I'll be nothing but skin and bones. I did not shower, and my grandmother was even more upset.

Then I heard the door open, my mom was back from work. Knowing that she was at home, I squirmed into a tighter ball in my bed, thinking it would get me further from her. I pretended to be asleep, closing my eyes tight. Too tightly. When I heard nothing, I opened one eye for a fleeting moment and saw a shadow in front of me. I got scared, thinking it was a ghost and sat up straight and realized, horror-stricken, it was my mother.

I slunk away from her, clutching my bolster tighter to me, as though it would protect me from her. My mother gently pulled the bolster away from me - I did not put up a fight - and placed something else in my arms, something soft and furry. Curious, I pulled my eyes away from her and looked down in my arms - it was a toy dog.

When I looked up at her again, she said, "Sorry sweetie, for yelling at you yesterday. I did not mean what I said." Then she hugged me and I hugged her back, with the toy dog nestling very nicely between us.

Felt like a happy family.

Felt.

But things are different now, 8 years later. This home at Tampines has a different atmosphere. The family is different too. My grandmother now resides at Redhill and there is another man who is married to my mother now, whom I call my stepfather. This home, this home... this home is a museum of fleeting smiles, scarce mutual agreements and hurtful words. The basic requirements? Do excellently in school and keep the two figureheads pleased.

If you do not meet the requirements, they will throw words at you, words that do not encompasses love. Words that are meant to bite, to hurt, to pain. Sometimes I do not cry when such things are said, but sometimes I do. And when they see your tears, they will stop but they will say nothing. When I was younger, my mother would creep into my room, hug me, apologize. Sometimes she would even throw in a free plush toy.

But as I grew up, and as my mother remarried, it all stopped. And suddenly, apologies become halfhearted and old, and I realized that out of obligation, I had to accept these apologies. I could not say, "No, I do not forgive you for all the things you've said." I could not. But I had to apologize as well, "Sorry for making you angry." "Sorry for being the spark to your fuse." Sorry for this and sorry for that. I will always apologize, but I have stopped long ago being sincere about the apologies.

I am sorry is a lie as to I am fine.

But I will never say a word, not even a whimper. I will not raise my voice, I will not retaliate, I will not lose my temper. Only take the punishment, something I do not deserve. I was taught that this is discipline, this is something that I deserve, something everyone goes through. I deserved to be shown hate, because hate will discipline me. Love will only pamper and spoil me, in the end. I will not reap any returns. But hate, hate will help me.

One day, I will gather my courage and scream out, "Do not touch me!"
And I will run as far as the wind carries me, and I will not look back.

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