i wish you had other ways to express your sadness, your frustration, your jealousy, your pride being damaged, your god damn ridiculous amount of tolerance you can manage.
i wish you would find a way to deal with your pain, you know, like painting, singing, dancing, taking interest in something, anything.
i wish you took the chance to see the world by really travelling within its width and its length, rather than just spending nights in posh hotels eating unnecessarily good food.
i wish you met more wonderful people rather than just people who are worse off than yourself so you can feel a little better about yourself and your life in a very sad way.
i’m saddened by the fact that i can’t help you with anything else in dealing with this shit just because you didn’t let me. But maybe it’s time i moved on with my life. it’s been 10 years mom. 10 years.
people teased about the sad, moody gloomy look on my face. it’s like a trademark now. and even though i try to smile as much as possible, sometimes it’s just impossible to hide it from people who really look into my eyes.
i will watch your every step, but you gotta be on your own now, ok?!
don’t be a weakling duckling. i know you’re better than that.
sometimes i think that the way my mom taught me how to ride a bicycle was actually how she taught me to be a person.
the kind of person who has to stand back up when she falls.
the kind of person whose her beloved wouldn’t hold the bike from behide so that she could fall off the bike all by herself.
and that’s, apparently how i learnt to “dance” through life: by falling, and getting back up all by myself.
occasionally having friends would help, or a boyfriend. but then it’s all on me again. all on myself.