I just untied my bunned hair and it turned out so pretty and curly. If only my hair would remain this way forever rather than the natural waves I inherited from both my parents. I start to wonder sometimes where I got the straight hair from in my earlier years.
I feel so dead. Because I don't know what to blog about anymore these days. I lost touch with everything. I had a thought of what to type, but it ran away in an instant. This shows how stressed up I am with these few weeks.
I miss my grandmama. Because everytime something goes wrong, she's always there for me to run to and complain. And even though living in a simple house with not much luxury or modern technology like a computer or a dvd player, she always has this way of making things better by cooking up some of her simple delicacies. It always does the trick in bringing your hopes and faith up high, and she'll make sure that no matter what, she's on your side supporting you and protecting you from harm.
Seeing how they bring us up in comparison to others seem unfair, especially to me, considering I'm the youngest of the family. It may not be an issue, or an important one at least, but to me, it means everything. Because I'm standing here, as myself, but they look through me. I'm an eighteen year old girl, a different one as compared to the other three who were my age, but they don't see that. They see somebody else, a total opposite of a saint; their other wild and boisterous of a daughter. It's like I'm an insignificant key in their eyes. And it's not fair. It's never fair.
Maybe that's precisely why I love being around my friends so much. Because they see me as who I am, and never somebody else. I think I have really good friends, with good values and opinions. They'll always have my interests at heart, and having a positive impact on me, ensuring I don't fall astray on the wrong path of life. And I feel they appreciate me, despite all our busy and hectic schedules. We're all from different walks of life and combined, it creates this new illusion which, in reality, is real. It's so damn real. And every effort we put in to come up with the best damn outing, or a little surprise gathering for someone's birthday, it's greatly appreciated and acknowledged. I feel real. I am real. And I'm comfortable around them, because they make me feel welcomed, to do anything I want and please, to say anything I need to, just to get it off my chest. The secret keepers of my life.
It's funny how I can never be as close to my family as compared to my relatives and grandmama. I've only got one grandparent left in my living years, a role model I intend to take up after. The one person who has seen me grow to what I am today ever since the first time I entered the world. I've got my maternal aunt and cousin, the people who's there to hear me out each time I'm so frustrated with everything going on at home, my gossip chasers.
I have a complicated relationship with many, but they are the people who keeps it so simple, it's simply unbelievable at the same time. The people who gets me. The people who moulded me to what I am today; the only people in my life I'd die for.
I think I will write a book one day. A book about the relationship between a mother and father, and their children. I'll have it published, and make sure all the parents in the whole world would read that book. Then one day they'll understand us and know where we're coming from. It may not be possible, but it'll at least make a difference. Then at least, the future kids out there would never have to feel what I feel. It'll save them, it definitely would. I'll make a difference. Yes I will.
This is where I portray the many unfolding chapters of my life, in mute.