September 22, 2005


There must be something wrong with me.
Just this afternoon, while I rode with Mama and accompanied her to Ayala for the repair of our CPU, I had those syndromes again.
Lousy walking.
Shut mouth.
When I talk, there's that tone of irritation.
She must be immune to all these. She doesn't say a thing about it, nor does she scold me right then and there...
Someone please tell me that eventually I can forgive myself. Family means I have to not talk much, only present an air of indifference, impatience, and irritation... Why this stance towards them I can not totally explain. The nearest explanation would be that I am too tired of speaking and laughing and giving my opinions to them.. I always come out senseless and trivial. I remember telling myself over and over again (highschool days) that I will never ever talk when I am with them. Never. It was a self-proclaimed promise that I kept chanting to myself... silently.. repeatedly..
It was a hard-earned goal.
And then I found myself acquainted with friends. The type whom you can keep forever. The type whom you can tell everything to, not because there's that silent law that says "you're friends so go tell him/her everything" but because things and circumstances put all of you in the direction of familiarity and intimacy that you would all later find hard to trace or explain.
And then home suddenly became a blur... a sort of far-away Love that you know will always be there... so you need not reaffirm things... that well-planted security, a certain dullness that does not ask for constant visits or a strengthening of sorts... and I have become the prodigal daughter, a floating child and sister who comes home late, frowns almost all the time, lazily evades household chores and always at the root of fights in the house...
But this would be a one-sided story-telling.
In reality, I think I have been this black sheep ever since I was a little kid, then youngest to two other sisters, a giggly girl, quite irresponsible and very much insensitive to others.
Do you think I am way beyond crucifying myself? Maybe going past burying myself in guilt and presumed sins?
Oh but I am a sinner in all respects.
That is me.
And I pay for it every night. Accumulated thoughts drenching my nights. Sought-for-answers for why I have become this or that. An all-out carrier of the self. I refuse to believe that there may be other factors involved. I am who I am because I bred this self, perhaps wanted it even. I can not blame anyone of them - my sisters and my parents... I think it all depends on the way I shape myself while taking in all the other inputs from outside myself.
I must look very pathetic. Even using the word makes me gag.

I love my family too much that I can not write about them. I fear them too much that I can not write about them.
Everything else that I have written or may write about this world with them will fall short of the real stories that bind us.
This interonnection of lives is something that I can not bear to handle.
Not now.

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