I actually think I’m getting better at this. At slowly weaning myself off my parents, systematically loosing dependence. If I were any older, I’d be a fraud to be writing everything I did, and to still be living with them. It’s too Singaporean, not that being Singaporean is bad, but rather the fact that we just seem to live with our parents… forever.
Living is quite incomprehensible, don’t you think.
For a long, long time, there didn’t seem to be any way around things. If you lived here, you’d know what I mean. Literally, there’s just such an inevitable sense of routine that seems inescapable most times. It isn’t actually, but some people never leave it (fact: I’m still stuck in it) because it’s too comfortable, but more-so, because they haven’t comprehended anything else. What did education ever do for me anyway, I’ve memorized more textbooks then can be good for me, and the only way I seem to be capable of making money is selling myself. I’m not being contemptuous and self-effacing. I know I have talent, it’s just that I can’t seem to make money out of it yet. Why’s that? Oh I’ll tell you why that is. It’s because I spent all that time memorizing books to which all I got out of it was maybe a couple of checks from the government for the occasional good performance (unfortunately very rarely). Batting my lashes and flashing a faux-pas pronounced cleavage (to which everyone knows I’m cheating with a maxi) buys me a better bottle of wine.
So one day, which is quite like many ‘one days’ I have woken up to previously, I get out of bed to a neatly lined row of tea cups filled with scotch, the room stinks of alcohol and blood, I’m decked in a deep red tank and black cotton panties, and I think fuck I need to get out. I need to get a grip on my life, as cliché as that is. I’m a balanced individual, normally. Boys are easy to handle, I don’t do hard drugs and will never do hard drugs, I have an eating disorder, but it’s much better now then it was a couple of years ago. But when it comes to my parents, God, I need to get out.
They expect so much out of me it’s insane, and horribly unfair. What fault is it of mine should my sister be the way she is, do the things she does. What fault of it is mine if she’s a fuck-up? (Not that she is) I’m a fuck-up, and no one taught me to be one.
She got whacked by a soccer ball once, and my mom really punched me up for that one. I didn’t kick the damn ball.
The door to the apartment was left wide open yesterday, and without rationalizing, it was certainly my fault. ‘Because Tori didn’t have the key. How could you have expected her to have locked it?’ So it should be my fault that she lost her key and couldn’t lock the door, and therefore I had to wait for her to leave, and then leave after her, just so I could lock it? She lost her key, and I was being irresponsible for not waiting for her to have made up for her mistake.
I need to leave them, get out. And I’m just starting to realize that I can.
Hate having to be considerate to them all, and all the time, especially when they’re not considerate to me. In fact, I hate being considerate to people because I have to; who does. But if you have to so that it makes life easier… don’t suppose you’ve given yourself a choice, have you. Have I.
I need to function as an individual. I honestly should leave, and it’s scary for me to think about it, because I know I can. They don’t teach it to you here. Everything here functions as one bloody big community, you can never live for yourself. Consider your parents, your grandparents; for Christ sakes they can consider themselves, they are adults after all.
I’m getting older and I really think this irresponsibility about my life on my part simply cannot do. But God, I am so lazy. Why should I work when I can live off them for a few more years? Perhaps I should find someone to live off, either way, I’m beholden to somebody.
I really need to figure things out, need to start doing something, make something, be productive. This world does not run on empty. I wish I knew how to, though.
I am going to paint.
xoxox
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