Monday, 12 November 2007
i'm angry and so, so sad.
I've tried my very best to not give a fuck to what you have to say or what you've said, everytime you open your mouth dad. You never really think before you speak. Or maybe you did, cause your words are so piercing, intense, agonizing, bitter and cold. It stabs right through just about everything. My ears, my heart, my confidence, my will, my patience, my tolerance level. They'll all get affected once you start talking about things you think is right in your very own shallow thinking. You never knew I've always had enough of you. You never knew. How I prayed so hard everyday, that God will make you realize I want you out of my world if I could. But that's all beyond my will. I thought maybe resentment won't do myself any good and so, I resorted to being nice as best as I could. But. You've never appreciated anything from me, you instruct like I'm no daughter of yours, you insult like I'm an outsider, you scold and vulgarize like I'm your opponent, like I have to be brought down, like I have to be hurt. Why? I made you proud just yesterday, now I really don't see the point to my objective. I never should have included you in my mind whenever I think I should make people proud. I don't think I want you to be proud of me anymore. I live my days (and to think that I'm only 17 and have so much resentment for you already) as a typical daughter, I do my things the way god instructed a good Muslim teenage to be, I hope god understands how I can't be sincere, how hard it is to be sincere, for you. They've hurt me enough dad. They've shattered me enough. And I hate to let myself cry because of you. I thought a father should give the best to her daughter/children in all aspects of life. Be it your words, your actions, your gifts. None of them has ever appealed me in any way. If you think you're making me stronger/wiser/improved with those words, I never found any reason for being so, so far. And as far as I'm concerned, you're just about bringing me down, and winning the Fact Fight. I hope one day, you'll realize, I, your daughter, don't need to be involved in your Fact Fight game and let you win to allow you to feel you're superior. Don't blame me if my affections towards mum is far more healthier than what I have for you. I hope you read this. 'Cause I believe you've been checking on me. This blog is no longer a secret I keep, I hope. I'm hurt so badly. I guess I'm not the happy girl after all. Whatever for? It seems like my happiness comes with prices to pay for; everytime I smile for a moment, I'll be silent the next. What's up with life.
