Vinco vici victum

By: Dave

Jun 22 2010

Category: Uncategorized

2 Comments

I don’t know what you want. I don’t think I belong here.

Firstly, you keep emphasizing that I’m 23 years old when I’m barely 22. You insistence that I grow up and show some maturity has been more than I could tolerate. I hope you do realize that the disorganization in my life has to do with the devastation I went through. They may be nothing compared to the kids born into unfortunate situations in Afghanistan but they’re enough to damage me. While I don’t expect others to fully empathize my situation or my feelings, you among everyone else is the last one I expect to be unaware of how I feel about my entire life. Maybe others can’t comprehend me and my dreams where I actually see it crushed again and again each year but you are my Mother. I wish I could tell you about what is going on in my life right now. I wish you understood how the outcome of my academic performance have shook me. I wish I could explain the demoralization and late night parties. If I could tell you it’s me escaping from my problems, I would. But you know I can’t.

Your health is a bigger issue than you realize. It’s effects on the family has reverberated beyond the house. I don’t smile for my friends anymore. The brother doesn’t dream anymore. Dad doesn’t seem to care about anything else since all his energy is just drained by work. We understand that the illness had taken a toll on you. You can’t swim or exercise like you used to. The physical appearance and daily activities that challenge you have to deal with hurts us just as much. But I am only human. I used to think it is selfish – wait – I still think it is selfish which is why I never voiced my thoughts to you. Despite what I have been dealing with, have I ever asked you to support me financially? The entire allowance I got in my academic years are less than what a Sec 4 kid gets for an entire year. We didn’t have a financial situation. It was your need to give less and spend less. Your constant lament that I become fully independent and move out hit me harder than the rod you used to discipline me.

Not to make things any better, you’ve declared a major renovation for the house. Non of us wanted this. We’re living perfectly fine in whichever way our house has been wearing out. Your slightly past middle-life crisis and psychological demand to start afresh is the cause of this. I don’t understand your illness. I could empathize with depression and low morale but this is a whole new level of mental. You may not have expressed it to us but I know you were once proud of me. I know you’re disappointed that I didn’t get into a local university. Despite your verbal encouragements for my next choice and step, there is obvious apprehension in your actions. I wish you’re here and closer. I feel like you’re a greater distance away from me than ever. After we’re done with the house, any tiny spark of imperfection is going to set you off. We have big plans. I had big plans. But this – it’s definitely not going to cure you or help us.