Today I wrote those letters (or rather, finished writing the letters) to those people. I discovered 2 things:
1. I can actually write straight and neat, but only in one letter.
2. I can write a LOT one minute and have a complete writer’s block the next. Which I know is usual for a lot of people.
I can’t wait until the recipients read the letters. Because then they’d know a small part of me. (“Can you feel it? Can you feel me inside of you?”)
Apart from that I didn’t manage to achieve much. I wrote Eunice’s and Dani’s before the weekend, and today I wrote Bee’s and Carmaine’s.
Right now, mom had just come home and immediately had started screaming at my dad. I wonder how much more of this he can bear before he really blows his top. And by that I mean either something directly towards mom or something kind of passive. Most of the time I can block her voice out but it does become hard sometimes. I hate that he doesn’t retaliate, and I hate how she’d not let something go, and would keep picking at it and picking at it.
Like when I lost my Metcard (which I know is stupid but just bear with me) I got a telling off which I know I deserve. But I figured she’d respect that I’m nearly an adult and know that I feel enough shame already, and punish myself and learn from my mistake, but no. She spends the whole day telling me what a disgrace I am, and how useless I am at looking after myself. She tells me that she’s sick (which she was, 2 years ago, for about a week) and that she’s always tired, yet she manages to find enough energy to scream at me at a volume that in other households would be considered as a full-heated argument. Once she came home and didn’t stop screaming from the moment she walked in, until dinnertime (dinner which dad and I cooked for her) and then after dinner as well. That’s of course, not mentioning the abusive names she call me. But I might be wrong. It could just be a Chinese tradition to call a husband an imbecile.
Whatever. I think I need to get myself a stressball. That, or more TV time. I’m lucky that I’ve found escape when I’m by myself, and friends when I’m with others. I’m not like some kids who have no one, and I’m not like some kids who gets bashed.
Crap, this blog turned emo.
Writing the letters was soothing, definitely. Because every word I wrote reminded me of the person I was writing to.
You should try it some time, just write a letter to a friend, best friend, sibling, family member if you have one you actually like…(which brings me to the point that my mom would openly and while I am around tell people my bad points, and even somehow make my good points into jokes or silly ideas, but STOP SHUT UP!) and tell them what you think of them, or what you’re thinking in general. Even if you never post the letter, it could still help you. I COULD take my own advice, write a letter to my mother, then burn it, but I don’t want to waste ink, paper nor time on her.
De Fluffe, Out.
P.S. My nose and chin (yep that too) has reached its final stages of peeling. Now it’s just dry. I’m going to use some of my scent-less moisturiser. It hurts like a bitch, my nose does. Thanks Julia for your suggestion.
P.P.S. Geez my blog’s a bit bipolar. I talk about how much I love my friends then WHAM how much I hate being at home. Then back to friends again then WHAM snap back to bad feelings.