04 September 2011
Family
I found out two nights ago that this blog has been viewed by people other than myself.
Like.
People from Malaysia.
Germany.
The Philippines.
America.
Like.
What the fuck?
Who knew?
That's a bit scary.
But who cares.
I'm quite certain none of these people know me anyway.
Anyway.
I wanted to say this yesterday.
But I was too tired by the time I got home.
What I wanted to say was.
That I'm unhappy with the way that she treats me sometimes.
The things that she says.
Like a remark on what I'm wearing or how I look.
Not the in-your-face kind of remark.
But the effect is the same as a slap in the face.
And I hate it.
I hate it.
Do you know that even when you look your worse I'd be honest but nice about it?
That when what you wear looks just a little iffy, I don't say anything because I know that it'd make you feel self-conscious and uncomfortable?
Because I know how it feels when something imperfect about me is pointed out.
And it's worse for me when it comes from you because it feels like you're ridiculing me.
I mean, fucking sue me for trying to decide for myself what I want to wear.
Even if it's not something you'd recommend.
Even if it's a bit unconventional.
Just don't fucking make me feel bad.
Because I'm nice enough to not tell you that in that instance you look ugly.
I feel sometimes that I'm much nicer than you are because I don't try to bring you down.
I mean, seriously.
How many times have I been the one to shower you with praises and positive remarks about the way you look?
Does that even mean anything?
I don't need you to fucking tell me that I look good or anything.
Because maybe I don't.
But just don't point something ugly out and make me feel bad and doubtful about it.
Make me feel little.
Because I've been nice to you and all that I expect is for you to not be bad to me.
It just pisses me off the way you go about judging me sometimes.
Do you know how insecure I feel about myself?
And to have you magnify them, it just kills me sometimes.
It really does.
You know, after a while.
This all just reminds me that I'm old enough already to not have to hold on to your finger and be like a fucking servant to your own vanity.
That I actually don't need to validate you.
That, really.
I don't need your validation.
I don't need it.
I really don't.
That just like how it doesn't matter what other people think, it really doesn't matter what your 2 fucking cents' worth is.
But you know.
That's just stupid.
Of course it matters.
Even if a little bit.
It all matters.
So that's why I'll still tell you that you look nice.
That you look good.
That you look okay when you need me to say it.
Because I know, just like me, you need me to say it.
But please.
Don't be a bitch to me when I'm nice to you.
Don't be a bitch.
In other significant developments.
I went jalan raya with my relatives today.
It was okay, and it was fun.
And today, I verbally acknowledged my appreciation for my father.
It went along the lines of, "At times like these, I'm thankful that I have my father because my father would never do this, he's way better than that."
Cues opening theme of "My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad."
I know that my parents have always taught me better and that comforts me.
That makes me grateful for having them.
1:51 AM
