...and you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone, or anyone at all...

Currently listening to: The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most - Dashboard Confessional

.meanbecauseyou'restupid.
Kawah Putih, Lembang, 2008

...You know what?
Good job.

When I was little, you didn't give a damn about how well I could draw, or sing, or write, or fluently recite classical poems kids my age weren't even supposed to be able to read. All you cared about was my freaking academic achievements.
You didn't care how sociable on the surface I was, or how many friends I had. You didn't care how sad, and depressed, and lonely I was as a kid, deep down inside.

When I came home with my end-of-semester report feeling elated because I got full marks for English, you sulked and asked why I almost didn't pass Maths.
When I told you my vocal teacher praised me for nailing that absurdly complicated Ella Fitzgerald song at practice, you pointed out I could've done so much better if I had continued with my boring piano lessons.
When I asked for permission to join the high school choir, you protested, claiming singing would distract me and thus further damage my already messed-up grades.

You never gave me the space I needed.
You say I'm slow. And lazy. And unmotivated. And simply good for nothing.

You got yourself worried sick everytime I came home late from school, even after I reached seventeen. With no reason, because I wasn't even acting out. Not anymore anyway.
You scolded me when I decided to choose Social Sciences over Physics and Chemistry. Then you assured me that I had successfully let go of my one chance to succeed later in life when I made that foolish decision.
From then on, you refuse to acknowledge my academic achievements. Even when I managed to get an almost perfect score for my TOEFL test, you weren't even proud of me.

You bragged about how you were already making money when you were my age, and brought me down for not being able to do the same for myself right now.
You threatened to kick me out of the house when once I had the courage to stand up for myself and question your integrity.
You took my first love away from me at such a young, tender age.
You deprived me of my teenage freedom. And you forced me to grow up far too soon.

You never liked seeing me happy in my element.
You wanted me to embrace your ideal picture of what you thought I needed. Everything wasn't about me being happy; it was all about you wanting me to relive your unfinished ambitions and unachieved goals.

You told me, over and over again, that I would never be as good as you. Ever.

And yeah, come to think of it, I wouldn't want to be as good as you even if I could.
Everything is just so out of control that I don't know what to believe anymore.

Now that I'm graduating soon, you're already starting to worry about what I'm gonna do with my entire future now that it's lurking close right around the corner.

No excuses. No space for me to even worry about myself. Everything is about you, and your thoughts, and your insecurities, and your fucking neverending expectations.

I can't even look at myself in the mirror now because you have stripped me of every last bit of self-confidence that I used to have before all this.
I can't even force myself to believe that I'm at least good for something because you have never convinced me that I actually am.

Hell, I can't even be free to see the people I love, and the one person I care about the most, simply because you have jailed me in my pretty little golden cage. Well-groomed, but trapped. Self-sufficient, but helpless.

And now that everything's said and done, I don't fucking know what to do with myself.
Thanks to you.

"This is for your own good" just doesn't cut it anymore. Alright? And neither does "You'll understand when you're older".
I think I'm old enough to decide what's good for me. Seriously. Back off.

You gotta start learning to accept the fact that this surly, over-demanding son of a bitch is really who I am. Warts and all. Your call.

I'm sick of always trying to be the person I don't wanna be.
I'm sorry. But this isn't what I want.

Please give me some space. To breathe. To break free. To think this over.
And to recover.

Heaven knows this may only be the only chance I got.