Another day...

I was doing what I occasionally do, and that is think. I was reading my journal. There was a lot of stuff that made me think of when I was little. When I was little I remember distinctly feeling lost. I felt unwanted by both my mother and father. They weren't bad parents. They just had me too young. My mother learned she was pregnant right after she was married. That is where I think they wronged me. They should have had time to get ready for the arrival of a new responsibility. A big responsibility. I don't remember ever being close to my dad. I never remember hugging daddy and saying I Love You to daddy as little girls are supposed to. I remember driving with dad in his Honda Prelude to places, and asking him lots of questions, but I always felt like he was just an uncle. Because uncles can act distant and its all right because they're uncles. I don't remember daddy hugging me goodbye before he left for work. I can't remember dad speaking to me in a tone that didn't pierce my feelings. Then my sister came into the world, and it was like she got the love that I never felt. She was the cute one, the one that was quiet and obedient; while I was the loud, bratty one. That was when I began to yell back. Screaming at dad; then when he asked me why I had to yell, I screamed that I learned it from him.

My mom was a little different. At least I felt like she cared. Maybe it was because daddy always had those garage parties at night at our house, and he worked all day, and it was just me and mom. I remember eating Bibinka with her from Magat. Going out with mom, running errands. Eating at McDonald's with mom. We'd go out, and when my sister was born, I went off to preschool.

Among my cousins, I was the one who taught them how to yell. Being the oldest, most of the time, I was polite to aunts and uncles, but rebellious to my own parents. So when they learned to yell, no one blamed me. No one looked at me as the bad kid. Because I got the good grades, I was polite.

As a child, I broke up a team by joining it. And now it feels like my parents are trying to keep me in it. And I wonder why. Because they pushed me to this place where I'm stuck. Stuck with these memories and feelings that are only realized on nights before school, and forgotten the day after. It feels like they like me better now than when I was little. Because I feel them trying to hold. And I feel this tugging on my shoulder, telling to be angry and scornful, and so I am. So I feel resentment for being part of this unit that they alienated me for joining. Either way, I'm scared of bursting out this bubble...and I have thoroughly succeeded in making myself cry...