With laughs as bitter and cold as the winds of winder, what’s the point of calling us teenagers or even, children, if all we’ve ever known is to work? They try to incorporate play, but, play what?
If we like to play the piano, we’re sent to piano classes and have tests. If we like to draw, we’re sent to art classes which mood is as dull as grey. How ironic. The classroom is decorated with colours, yet all the children’s minds are grey. Of course, there are one or two creative ones, but that’s where the problem comes in. children are always competitive, but guess where it comes from? Parents, of course.
“Girl ah, you see that next door one the art so nice, yours why you paint like shit?”
Have I ever satisfied you anyway?
You didn’t know why I showed interest in so many things. I thought it’d make you more proud of me.
Tell me, which piece of art in primary school actually belonged to me?
All that fucking prize winning for art, yet none of them is really mine. So sue me now, I don’t fucking care.
I’d start on one on my own and you’d be, you’re going to hand that in? I help you do la. And the grades for all that only looked nice, but it was never mine. You can have it, I don’t want it. I’d gladly take a B than that A anytime.
Why? Was whatever that I created so ugly that it shouldn’t even be displayed? At least it belonged to me, the sole creator.
Yet even worse, taking credit for someone else’s work. Good thing I was young and naïve then. Being in the spotlight was all that matter. Being mummy and daddy’s clever little girl was everything that mattered.
Everyone would be like, wah your art so nice. But I can never draw on the spot for them. You all can start wondering why I stick to drawing cows and hearts and whatnot now.
All those grades I used to score was when I never had to chance to know what I’d been doing. Then again, it wasn’t my scores either. Can’t believe I used to be so proud of myself when I got high marks. You all must be thinking, “Wait, she cheated?”, no I did not. or at least, literally not.
I’ve never studied for myself. I used to call myself a science-y person. But am i? I was, only because the only subjects offered in primary school were the 4. Chinese was the bane, English was “unstudiable”, leaving only math and science.
Then it was the gifted program thing. I got into the 2nd round and got booted off.
“aiyah why you so stupid one?”
You don’t know, I’m actually totally interested in stuff like literature and china studies, but I didn’t take them because I thought you’d be proud of me if I did math and physics instead. Apparently not.
Engineering is totally not my thing. I can’t stand facing machines and stuff, much less fixing them or something.
“weixin you’re such a failure you know. I’ve never failed math and physics before. I hope you get retained.”
Quick, guess who said that.
When you were depressed and shit or whatever earlier this year, you got wonderful special treatment from your dearest. When I was depressed and shit, battling inner demons, what did I get? You all didn’t even bother asking. You all didn’t bother to know. You all just jumped to conclusions that I was merely slacking or seeking your attention. Maybe I was, who knows? But of course, I can’t blame you. Who wants a loser as their daughter anyway?
Everytime I topped the class in something, all they said was,” Why you got this question wrong?”
It’s just disturbing, the fact that you were disappointed with my score for PSLE.
“harh 252 only ah. I expected you to get 272. ok lor” *puts down phone*
My brother’s case. “201? Wah improve from prelims leh. Good job.”
TA1:
Me: “I topped the class in chem(term1)/math(term2)”
Dad: “why your physics marks so low?”
Almost makes you wonder why I dropped chem.
No wonder I remember all my “achievements” by whatever they say.
You think I’m slacking. You don’t know that I’ve already given up on myself. What’s there to hope for anyway?
Tell me, what will it take for you to be proud of me, just once? I’m not even asking you to understand me; I just want you to tell me how proud you are to be my parents. Will you be, eventually, when I’m dead by my own means?
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/edit.
because i blogged this on microsoft word, i saved it and closed the window like any unsuspecting little kid.
my mum opened it and read it. she bloody opened it from recent docs la.
so much for her being computer illiterate.
(but the good thing is she isnt bugging me now, yay.)
uh what else.
I NEED THERAPY.
retail, adrenaline, cheap thrills, whatever.
daryl and i have a plan to get sugar mama and sugar daddy for retail therapy. it's quite funny. like which plan of mine isn't
retarded.
something about camping there during c and b divs for those acsi/ri rich taitais and the dads.
kay bye!
Labels: emo, irritated, random, sad