Childish

Well, I was supposed to blog yesterday, but I got home too late, and even if I'd gotten home earlier... Well, I wasn't in the right emotional state to form a proper sentence, much less a full blog post. I was upset. Beyond upset. Try angry, murderous, yeah that's how I was feeling. And all because of one asshole. Freaking BITCH.

Well yesterday was a seventh month dinner thing that I was forced (read: FORCED BY MUM) to attend. I don't really know what such dinners are about, just that there will always be dinners like these during the Hungry Ghost Festival (seventh month of the lunar calendar) and that there'll be auctions held during the dinners, and loads of old uncles drinking loads of beer and getting piss-drunk.

And when they got piss-drunk, they tried to get ME to drink, too. Lucky they were too drunk to realise that I was gulping glass after glass of chinese tea, hehe. The colours are pretty similar, after all! ;)

And well I won't say too much, just something that I typed down in my dying phone yesterday during the dinner when I was still fuming mad. It's childish as hell, I know, and I'm slightly embarrassed by this, but hell.

Once upon a time, you were my hero. You have no idea how much I looked up to you, respected you, admired you, loved you, when I was a little girl. You were the one who would bring me out on mini field trips. You were the first person to reach me math and science. You were the one who rescued me when mum got too strict. In my tiny little world, you were my sun. Your word was law to me.

What the hell changed? After primary six, you were different. Colder. You weren't the same person I knew as a child. You started to pick on everything I did.

If I did something wrong (because lets face it, everything I did and do was and is wrong in your eyes), you said I had "something wrong" with me. When I made small mistakes, you said I was stupid. If I tried fighting back, you said I had an attitude problem. You even slapped me a couple of times until I figured out how to radiate the "touch me and fucking die" aura.

I hate you. You know that, right? I remember you once said, while yelling at me, that I'd do anything for mum but nothing for you. When you said that, I didn't do anything to defend myself. Why deny the truth, right?

I hate you. It's as simple as that. On good days I don't feel anything for you. On bad days I want to kill. Not you, though. Me. I hate you so much, but I can't see anything besides the fact that you're probably like that because of me.

I hate you. I actually genuinely hate you. But it must be my fault. So killing myself would make things better. Mum would cry, I know. But she might realize that there wouldn't be any more fighting between you and I.

And you...

I bet you wouldn't cry if I died. Because I probably wouldn't if the situation was reversed.

You hear that? I wouldn't cry for you if you died. I wouldn't laugh either, but I'd probably just feel nothing.

You're a prick. You're an idiot. You're the stupid one, the one with the attitude problem. It's you. It's always been you.