i'm changing. i can feel it, beneath my wretched skin. but i can't show it to anyone because i'm expected; expected to be the good girl, the sensible one, the polite child. i have to continue, to put up with this charade. because what i say and do affects every single person. that's how my life is, my family is. i do something, my mom finds out, she tells her sister who tells her sister who tells her sister and they all get upset together.
my aunt really doesn't understand me, nor anyone for that matter. no one does. no one can ever even come close to understanding me. even i don't understand myself completely but just a smidgin. she doesn't know i do treat my aunts as my mothers, i understand they care for me so much more because they used to look after me when i was a baby, when i was a child, when ever, as long as i was me. good, quiet, little rachael.
few people fully understand the torture i had gone through all these years. they listen, yes, they criticise, yes but they don't comprehend. perhaps i did not make myself clear enough but it's difficult to. i've managed to hang on to myself during these years, i didn't try my hardest to blend in with the rest because i'm different. we're not the same, you listen here you. don't even think for one second i'll pretend to be like the rest of you, leading your shallow and bimbotic lives.
what is up with me? i have to act, in front of my own family. i can't let them know, ever, how i've changed. i think part of me is becoming mad. when i cry, i cry hysterically, i just can't stop. it's not those kind of sob-sob-oh-i'm-done crying. it's the type where your breath comes out in short intervals, your shoulders shake uncontrollably, you start to hiccup. it's horrible when you can't stop. then when i laugh, i just can't seem to stop the laughter from spilling out, my chest hurts; as though i'm trying to laugh my life out of my body. it's from one extreme to the other. it scares me. but i'm changing.
after breaking down in public yesterday, i was so embarrassed i wanted to go home. but no, my aunt wouldn't let me. she wanted me to pretend as though nothing happened because it would show that i'm ok. i'm not ok! i have never been! i was only pretending to make all of you feel better! sigh. so i had to go along. i was worried sick what a wreck i looked like, so as i walked about the throng of crowds, i looked at the floor.
they released me into the gates of kino and i quickly made my way to the washrooms. i snuck into one of those in a corner and locked the door. no i didn't cry, i had enough of that. i slept. yes i slept in the washroom cubicle. no, it wasn't smelly. i think i slept for about an hour? i felt better and my eyes were back to normal. i composed myself and proceeded to do what they expected me to do. to shop and buy something.
shopping is therapeutic but it only alleviates the pain for a fleeting moment. i bought "the life of pi" by yann martel and two of my japanese manga books and a decorative pen. at least i can immerse myself in reading. i miss reading, i miss curling up on my bed among the dusty soft toys and reading through the night. i miss how i picture the scenes like a movie in my head with my imagination, how i gasp or feel sad, horrified, glad whenever something happens to the characters.
i had to continue with my act. i had to spend the rest of the day with them. i had to apologise to my eldest aunt for being rude. i can't be rude. i can't throw a tantrum. i can't be mean. i have to be happy. i can't be angry. i have to be nice, polite, cheerful. i don't want to be. yet i don't want to be an outcast. because then everyone would have families except me.
my aunt told me how one day, when i was nearly 3 years old, i started bawling at the top of my lungs for no reason. no one scolded me, no one provoked me, i just wanted to cry. so i hid in the room, closed the door and cried for nearly half-an-hour. she told me, they kept asking me what the matter was but i didn't want to tell them. she said, i'm still the same. i don't want to tell them anything, that's why they don't know what i want. while i was crying in the room, she said "siao char bo" (mad woman) and i cried louder, or so she says. i finally stopped crying and when i came out, i said, "i don't want to cry anymore." hmm... was that really me? i supposed i've continued doing that. that was funny when i heard it, i was like this even as a young child.
i can't, i won't, let anyone know what i'm really thinking. because they wouldn't, couldn't even understand. they would turn on me and say, "why do you think like this?", "after all i've done for you?". never.
