The Monkey Says: The Pokok Is

Sometimes when I reflect on the person I've become till this day, I disappoint myself.
Sad to say, I don't live up to my expectations and I am actually okay with it. I have this thinking whereby I believe everything will fall into place sooner or later. That everything will just be fine in the end. I'll still be that rich gorgeous looking tai-tai even though I fail at everything I work for.

I've never actually made anyone proud. There's always that black sheep feeling whenever I'm with my family. It's like everyone's tuned into the same channel except for me. At times, I really like it that way. Because then, I wouldn't have to give two fucks about them. However there are days I wish I knew them a little more; their favourite colour, their favourite cake.

I don't know how did I grow up to be such a person who thinks everything is fine even when it's not. Perhaps it's mainly because I always got whatever I want even without working for it. Not that I'm complaining but it's not really good isn't it? As much as I want to tell everyone I'm not a spoilt brat, I know very well that I am one. I am the type of child who always gets whatever she wants, sooner or later.

With my family, I often wish I wouldn't bump into anyone I knew. Not that my family has those family outings you lucky lucky people have but complain about. I grew up in a family whereby my father would point out my mother's mistakes and vice versa. The last time we actually went out on a "family" outing was in 2000 if I'm not mistaken.
Although I yearn very much for a loving family with parents who actually love one another, I'm not really complaining about how things are right now.

Just today, Gin pointed out how clingy my sister was to my family eventhough she's abroad. Then I thought, what if I was the child who went overseas? Would I remember to call would I actually go through all the trouble to order a cake online to be sent over to my mom?

You know whenever that ad on Mix FM comes on - the community service message one, where Serena C goes on saying what an excuse-a-holic she is, I try my very best to switch radio stations. Because it bothers me you know. And like today, at 12 am, it was Mothers' Day and I was contemplating on whether to call or to text her (I was out). In the end I settled for a text message and she called me back.

For 2 seconds or so, I wished she hadn't. I wish she hadn't notice the message till the next morning then try to call me but then I'll be too tired to answer anyway.
Reluctantly I answered and she started asking me my location what time was I going on and after all the interrogation she finally said a thank you and we said our goodbyes.
I wish I knew why I was reluctant to answer her phone call. Was it because I am forever uncomfortable with family love?
Yup, I don't reply I Love You(s) nor do I randomly hug my mom. Hold her hand big no no. And it wasn't till this year that I stopped being anal about sharing food or straw with my mom. Yeah I know I came from her womb where my food intake is infested with her saliva but still for the past 16 years I couldn't bring myself to actually suck from the same straw she drank from or eat from the same cutlery she used.

I was a Daddy's girl till I became a teenager. I used to wake up at 7 in the morning just to follow him for breakfast in the nearby coffeeshop. He always had his Teh Ais while I had my Milo. There was just this satisfaction of being close to him. I always thought he was so smart, till I realised everything he ever told me were just his perception on things. He never really did discuss the real deal with me, just the things he thought were right about. If I may add, my dad is a very boastful man. Those MCP (Male Chauvinistic Pigs) I loathe. Those who will never stoop down to admit he's wrong and constantly looking for a scapegoat.
I was, still am always the scapegoat.

Last June or so, when my sister came back to Malaysia for 3 months or so, I saw my family actually interacting at once. The three of them actually sat in the living room together and talked. Yup, talked. Conversed without shouting at one another. I was in my room, typing away on the computer when I realised what was happening when I went to the kitchen to get a drink.
It was then I thought, how come none of this happens when I'm around?
Was it the distance with my sister that made both of them share a similar feeling of miss?
Or was it because I never really did try to talk to both of them?

The reason behind typing this post is because these thoughts have been haunting me for quite sometime now and the fact that I cannot sleep and the fact that all I can think about are these. How my mom would never fail to compare my sister and I? How she is heaven and I am hell. How she's the brilliantly smart one and I'm the mediocre one. How I should forever learn from my sister and be an exact replica of her.

Not that I'm saying my sister isn't a bad role model but I do believe we all exude different traits and personalities and despite having saying so to my mom in tears when I was in F1, she still constantly does the same thing over and over again thus leading to our yeast-like relationship.

Whenever my dad sends me to tuition, I never have anything to say to him. When I look at him, frankly, I see how disappointed he is in me (once again, compared to my sister), and I wish one day I could tell him I feel the same. But let's not go there shall we?

The few paragraphs above, is exactly why I am disappointed with the person I've become. Yeah I know the whole treasure your loved ones before it's too late jengjengjeng cliche thing but it doesn't actually come across to me that it is going to happen. Sooner or later.

There was this one time I had this random thought about my father dying and I thought, I don't even know him. I don't even know what he wants to be done with his body, nor no what to bury alongside with him. Not that I want to imagine him dead but if it happens, what do I do? I also thought about how I never got the cooking recipes I wanted from him. And then I cried.

I had a dream whereby my sister died once and I sobbed non-stop for 20 minutes after that.

Mom was something similar to Dad.



I don't even know where is this going. Just needed to let it all out. Thanks for reading. Bye.


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Happy Mothers' Day!