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Thursday, April 15, 2010

Troubled Mirror

Fighting tears is one of the hardest thing a person can do. It takes concentration and stubborn disposition. Obstinacy, is what I tried so hard to persistently apply. Though the force of the dropping tears burst out within a couple minutes. I managed to control them in a well timed moment. As my mom spoke to me with her cracked voice, she mentioned the name of my grandma. It was then when all the hated memories came crashing back. I felt as if two suburban trains and my brain came crashing in. At that moment, rivers of tears fell like lightning. The sound of sadness squeaked in my mouth and nose. Knowing my mom was crying too, I began to feel guilt crawling up my feet to my heart. She spoke with an open heart while mine was struggling. It was my fault, this time. 30 minutes went by until she stood up and kissed my cheeks, and said to keep on being the daughter who was so loving, and nice before.

I feel asleep that night hating myself. For I have mistaken my mother for my brother. Thinking, he was the one who opened the door and light only to annoy me. It was only at the end of the lecture that I realized who I mistakenly screamed at. I screamed at a person who was only folding my clothes away.

Like the clean and caring mother she always been. But, I'm filled with so much hateful memories that I began to lose trust and respect. As the years went by my mother has changed so drastically. The happy and cheerful mother I always admired vanished as soon as the dark took over my loving family. We all lived in the same roof. But everyone in it, and everyone who stood below that roof, were separate people who barely spoke to another. Every head had cornered walls that had no way on entering.

There were so many things I wanted to say, and so many things I couldn't say. There were so many chances I had to tell her everything that I have been hiding for so long. I had all the chances in the world to finally say what I had to say. It was there in font of me. Spilling my chances one by one, I laid down in silence with my right arm hiding my eyes. My ears began flooded with tears. As I felt every drop of tears, I wished so badly she didn't notice them. I was afraid to wipe them away, afraid she'd think I was weak. Though I heard her sniff and wipe her own tears, I had no courage to wipe my own. 
She would call my name for my answer. My head was filled with sentences I could say. In the end, all that ever came out was,
"Yes."
"No."
I hated my speech. So demanding, so heart breaking, so stiff that I couldn't accept my own words. I know that will my every action I was breaking her. I was the cause of her tears. I felt her pain. But did she feel mine?

How can I open up to someone who I thought was another lie? How can I open up to someone who I barely even know? How can I open up to someone who I lived with my whole life, yet feel no close attachment? How can I open my heart to someone who hid the truth for so long? How can I be her child who reflects her so well, be stained with so much insecurity? Is it my fault that I've become a fallen daughter? Who am I, to you? Who are you, to me?

Your a person I can only see. Your a person who my love wavers. Your a mother, who I so lovingly wish to know. Your a person, whom I'm afraid of knowing.

The next day,
I only attended half of the day at school.
I fall next to a mirror.
Facing it directly, I began to learn and understand some factors of me.
 I had the eyes of a broken soul.
Cut in two, I have no way to find the bonds that connect myself together.
I feel as if my true self is trapped behind what ever lies on the mirror.
Seeing the person I despise out of the mirror.
Where its reflects shows a tint of who I can be, and can't be.
I feel this slight hatred in my self.
I see her and my eyes.
There's a screaming effect in her and my eyes.
Like a stubborn window, I find it hard to open the glued fake glass framing my eyes.
The fog of the window makes the outside world seem so uneasy.
Trying to clear it up with my hands, just made the vision much worse.
Wanting to smash the mirror, there no courage inside. 
I feel like throwing up. I sicken myself.
An apathetic facial expression is on my face. But yet, I can see a grin on the girl facing me.
I see myself,
as a troubled mirror.

1 comment:

  1. I don't know how to reply to such a sad post. But at least there is one connection you do have with your mother that will never change. Blood.

    ReplyDelete

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