Censored.

This new year is damn fucked up. This family is damn fucked up. I don’t really give a shit about my language anymore because the things that are holding everything else together are coming apart. Disintegrating. Bursting at the seams because the thread is disintegrating, it just isn’t strong enough to hold things together.

We had such an enjoyable day yesterday, honestly. We all went out, well except Dad of course, because Dad doesn’t act like part of the family anymore. The cousins all came, but well they still look at the other cousin with a discriminatory eye. What the fuck, there’s discrimination within the same family!! Though of course they aren’t related by blood because they’re cousins from different sides of the family but still, damn it. Grow up, kids.

I lost my temper at the dinner table last night, though it’s the first day of the new year. I got fucking annoyed by those tweens. They just didn’t stop making jokes that weren’t funny anymore, when all the while I was trying to take care of their welfare. I was looking out for them all day long so that Mom would not be so tired, because Eric is enough to keep maybe TWO of her busy. And looking out for them for THAT LONG was just too long. I guess I’m not as good as I used to be, not as capable.

Oh and I forgot, I cried yesterday, TWICE. OUTSIDE. Well once I was hiding in a toilet cubicle and another time I was in the car, so no one saw. But still. Both times because of things that Mom said, and because of my own incompetency. I can’t keep the family together. I can’t keep things in order because by some stupid law I forgot what, everything tends towards chaos. God damn it. I cried on the first day of the year, twice, yet I’m sending people messages saying that it’s going to be a good year. I really want to believe in that. I really want every year to be better than the last. Part of me still believes that. But I’m tired. And Mom is a hundred times more tired. And I know that there are so many things to fix but I don’t know how to begin and I don’t know how to fix them.

Mom is dying. She may as well have said that, rather than this long story of how she has been feeling more pains and getting more illnesses. She never told anything. Why doesn’t she tell?? Why didn’t she ever let me know that she went for all those medical check ups all by herself? I always thought she just went to the office. But no, she’s not at work, she’s in the hospital on general anaesthesia. Why didn’t she ever say? Why is she only revealing a tiny fraction of her fears to me now??? The fact that she’s even letting any information on to me means it must be really really horribly bad for her, because otherwise she would always keep things to herself.

And Dad, he’s so unhappy with the fact that Eric is here to live with us. He is bloody pissed off by everything else too. And he stays in his room all day long except at meal times. He still talks to me, but mostly we have talks about how to make Shaelyn work harder for her PSLE, because she just isn’t working hard enough. She left almost ALL her homework to the last day, and all of us were so busy caring about our own lives that we never checked on her. Now she’s still there, trying desperately to finish, and there’s nothing we can do to help with that.

And there’s pressure about PSLE from allllll places. It freaking sucks. It’s like I’m going through my own PSLE once more, with the pressure to perform. I never had the pressure to perform when I was going through PSLE. There were no other kids before me. I was just gonna do my best, and who knew that my best turned out to be 277, which is this impossible target that all the other cousins have aligned themselves to?? I never wanted that. I never wanted Shaelyn to be so stressed.

But back to Dad, he has a freaking bad attitude. He didn’t even countdown with us. He stayed in the car. STAYED IN THE CAR. What the hell?? And he didn’t go out with us yesterday. He stayed home. STAYED HOME?? On New Year’s Day, and left his wife to take care of four kids, whose average age was like… 9. And then one of them had to fall off his bike and bleed.

And Shaelyn doesn’t ever say what she feels, until way after. I’m like, come on, you have to TELL me if you’re not happy with this. She doesn’t ever say! She’s just like, okay if you want me to do this then I will. But in the back of her mind she’s thinking, yeah I will do this and then I’m gonna die of fatigue and see if you feel guilty about it. I’M NOT PERCEPTIVE ENOUGH TO TELLLLL what this girl is thinking inside!

In this whole family I’m the only one who keeps communicating what I feel, and how do I do that? I keep losing my temper! I don’t raise my voice so much anymore, but I say vicious things! It’s uncontrollable. (Good thing is, at least I never lose my temper at Mom or Dad or Shaelyn. Just at strangers and at cousins. And at everyone in general. So they can hear about my displeasure.)

I’m tired of a lot of things. I often feel like I don’t wanna go on anymore. I want to shut down. The world is fine to go on without me. But then I realise there’s Mom, and if I’m not here to share the burden, who will be? No one else. No one at all.

Mom doesn’t ever want me to bear any of the burden. But she doesn’t have a choice. She’s not strong enough to carry so much on her shoulders, especially not as her health is quickly deteriorating. It scares me when she talks of death. It scares me to my core. I cry, and I get frustrated. Small things make me lose my temper. There’s so much anger built up, anger that I don’t know how to direct elsewhere. So when a lady selling umbrellas made a discriminatory comment about my mom’s China accent, I wanted to go back and look for her to fight. I was too preoccupied looking at umbrellas that I didn’t hear that comment at all. If I had, I would have flared up right then and driven all the other customers away, and made a huge scene that made my mom embarrassed, which would then have made me feel guilty. But at least I wouldn’t have to swallow the anger, because doing so gives me indigestion.

Oh, just the other day the whole family was laughing over various stories of how I’ve quarrelled with strangers over small issues, all over my teenage years. They laughed about how that most timid little girl, who never dared to even ask for chilli sauce at McDonald’s, grew into a loud teenager who shouted at pickpockets, at inconsiderate people, at taxi drivers who were rude. I didn’t realise that I’m using this as an avenue for all my frustrations from other aspects of life.

Okay, I’m done venting. Life goes on, I still face it with a smile, I still try my very best to treat everyone at home pleasantly. I guess the more angry I am here, and the more vulgar, I suppose, the more reasonable I can be in real life.

I’m just really tired of all the unjustness of everything. How unfairly treated good people are. And how much burden there is to bear. And how I’m not strong enough to do it. Not mature enough. Not good enough. Just lousy. But I’ll make sure I can do better. It’s a promise. I can do this, and this year may still be good, no matter how bad it is it will still be good. I won’t have unrealistic aspirations, no more. There’s nothing more about me. I just need to keep this family together. I need to be the daughter to be depended upon. I need to be the big sister to not just one kid now, but two. I need to be a role model and the person they turn to for advice.

Well, I’m beat. I’m honestly beat. And to make matters worse, I just gained back all the weight I had lost, and even more. I’ve never been this heavy before, and never felt this fat. And I’m ugly. But all that is going to change, that’s a promise too.

I’m so tired.