well, i was born a prickly princess. and i knew that the silver spoon i have in mouth wasn't the best thing. some was born with a gold spoon. you, as a quick example. i knew deep in my heart that all this is just a way of life. a way to furnish your feelings with all the kindness a world could offer. i was a demanding bitch (in fact, i still am). i could ask for anything and mommy, ouh mommy mommy, will give me everything. a few weeks before mommy popped me out, daddy bought a car. it was just a common sedan car, but it was 1990, a car was everything to my family. probably they never thought that i'm going to be the last one to come out from mommy's vagina. probably mommy just wanted to stop being productive, well, i never know. or maybe, just maybe, if i have a younger sister, she would more-of-a-slut than i already am. well, God knows what he's doing. probably i should stop asking why i am the last one to arrive at the MJ station.
i had a brother whom i loved so much, i could never imagine a word to describe it. i don't know whether this is just a type of enzyme that tries to calm my soul, or it was really my feeling. he died when i was 12. yes, the one person that i was really close with, was the one person that was taken away from me, i mean, from us. well, i should tell this in a better manner, i think. he died trying to fight a lorry. well, he must have thought that his rib is far stronger than the lorry itself. well, too much Ultraman doesn't bring my brother to a happy-ending (in life, at least). he was a loser, i guess. he lost in the fight with the lorry, and he also lost in the fight with Death. 'God loves him more' is what people told me when i cried my eyes out during his funeral, a real fucked-up contrary from my freaked-out-perspective, that he probably get tired of spoiling his prickly little sister. at least he has the guts to fight with Death. but nobody escape Death. NOBODY except for Dean, the supernatural boy.
we are not the perfect family. daddy wasn't any custodian. he is an average daddy with an average qualification (in the 70s at least). he worked as a slave, a fucking slave to Public Work Department of Malaysia. Jasa Kepada Rakyat is their motto. and daddy was not quite a rakyat, i guess. poor my daddy, poor. mommy was a cleaner in a district school. district school is a school managed by the district office. not the central government, what-so-ever. she was a graduate from Singapore high school with quite an excellent grades, but Malaysia and Singapore at that time are just two neighbors with tantrum written on their clever napkins. but, regardless the travail, their salary was enough to bear five bears in a less than 500 square feet home. yes, bears that brings wrinkles from the deepest side of their faces. bears that drag the tiniest tears in their souls out. daddy and mommy are angels that are gifted by God to all of us, the five bears.
well, i wasn't suppose to publish all this. i kept this in the deepest side of the holes i have, just to keep people coming, to sacrifice their lives, to be my friend. but i don't want, in fact i don't need, a friend who adore the bungalow we have now. i don't want them to see me in daddy's untouched car accelerating on the expressway like the superb-ly, modified Civic EK9. i dont want them to judge me by the outfit i'm wearing.
i want YOU to hold my mind, and flashback to the darkest sides of my memories and hold my fist when i try to punch Fate on his face.
but deep inside, i know there is no YOU in my life.
and again, fuck the feelings.