twentythree y.o. geographer, barista, yoga practitioner. University College London. born and bred in the lil' island of Singapore. constantly searching for answers. extremely flawed, especially when it comes to imposing standards on others, expecting too much, not knowing when to close her mouth (to shut the fuck up or to stop eating). too crazy for her own good and has to be taken with a massive handful of salt. adores backpacking, hitch-hiking, hill-walking, red wine, whiskey, cocktails, fine food and good conversations.
REMINDER:
"open your heart. someone will come. someone will come for you. but you'd have to open your heart first."
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| Wednesday, March 09, 2016
◔ 3:57 PM // ✎ 0 comment(s) | ❝ It will all be okay. ❞ |
What started out as my mother telling me off for talking to my brother harshly, slowly became a moment for us.
I explained to my mum (over text, because I never feel like talking over the phone or in real life) that I sent those long emails because I was frustrated that my brother was given the free rein to talk to me in that audacious manner, especially given that he cursed at me. I talked about how I was scolded, because I, for that one single time, cursed the f-word at home. That little occasion of my parents giving him a free pass for his brazen behavior became a little reminder of a sentiment that I've felt over the years - that they favor him, that they have always been kinder to him.
I then said that I didn't want to talk about it, because I've got so much to do and that'd be bad for my mental health. Mum then told me that all it matters is for me to be happy, and a person's worth isn't measured by their results but by what they do. (Mum probably said this because I mentioned in passing that I fall into depression whenever things are not going well academically, and also depression runs on my father's side)
I told her that I understood, and that it is something really easy to say but really difficult to do. I started telling her the whole story, from the beginning, from when I was eight and I scored 82 for a Math Exam. My mum scolded me, beat me, but then I still ran after her begging for forgiveness, constantly saying that I was sorry and I would never do it again. My mother told me that apologizing was useless. But then it worked. I never scored below 80 for Math ever again.
At the age of twelve, I received my PSLE results. I was largely satisfied, but then my parents were horribly disappointed. It was the first time I felt it. Maybe if I disappeared off the surfaces of earth then maybe they'd care about me, and then eventually they will forget me and be happier because they have their son anyway. It was then too, that I decided that the only way to gain recognition from my parents was by doing well at school.
It worked. I was the top student in school year after year. And whenever I don't do as well for any test, I will punish myself, and ensure that I will be top again the next time. And it worked.
Then I came to university. All went well for a little bit. But with the sudden change in grading system - Grade I for the top top top work, and Grade IIa for basically everyone who's above average - combined with a momentary loss in voice (as in writing voice not voice from my mouth haha), I started faltering. The need to hurt myself came back. I started making plans - if I were to step onto the road on High Holborn, maybe it'd all happen really quickly and I wouldn't even know it happened. I thought about the Euston accident when a cyclist was crushed under a bus. Every time I walked home at night I secretly hoped for a drunk driver, probably romanticized by F.T. Island's Severely video.
And eventually I decided that I needed help.
It got better, and with all the love and encouragement from people around me I have slowly started to learn, to teach myself that it is okay.
I told her the entire story (or at least the crucial junctures), and I explained to her why I'd fend off questions of doing a postgraduate with a simple "no". I told her that I was using every last bit of determination to get through my undergraduate years. And I can't go on anymore. Not without a break. Not without slowly learning that it was all okay. And I asked her to understand.
She then apologized to me, she apologized for being too hard on me. And it was all her fault that she wasn't a good mother and she didn't support me and protect me when she really should have.
I told her it wasn't her fault. And that she shouldn't apologize.
She replied saying that she regrets it everyday, and wishes that she could turn back time and be a better mother to my brother and I. And it was the reason why she didn't have any more kids after my brother and I.
I told her to not feel that way because it's not her fault. And that it will all eventually be okay.
Because it will. It will all be okay.
/Who you used to be doesn't matter. It's who you are today that does.Labels: confessions, daily
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