No, Seriously...
listening to: Story of the Year - Anthem of Our Dying Day
wishes for: sweet, sweet melancholy

Things happen. And when they happen, we usually can't do anything about it. It's already happened, it's already done and there's nothing we can do about it. What we can only do and hope for is that we make the right choices, the right decisions to make the future a little more desirable than what we're experiencing now. That's what Fate and Destiny is all about. Whatever decisions we make, what actions we do, whatever we think about, it all leads us to one destination. We'll always find ourselves facing our destiny. We are being guided, being shown choices, but our decisions, our choices is what makes our destiny.

So why am I blabbering about these things? At first, it was for nothing. For no reason at all. Except maybe some hints at DesCha. But when I realized it, I wanted to write about something else. Something I haven't written about yet. Something that I haven't talked to anyone about yet. Or maybe I *have* talked to someone about it, I just forgot.. Or that person never really thought much or did much about it.

What I am going to write next, I just want to be read. I don't want to wake up the next morning with my inbox/flooble/comment box full of pity and being sorry for me. No, I don't need those. I just need to get this thing out. See, if I keep it in, the pressure of it will build up, and if it stays in and never gets out, then BOOM! One day, I'll just snap and people'll probably find me behind bars or in the loony bin. Who knows. All I ask is for you to read. Don't do anyting, because you can't do anything anymore. Don't say anything because I already know what you'll be saying. I don't need that. I don't need anything right now except for people to read this. And get this out.

You see, this all started even before I was born. Some people might already know the reasons of my birth. Some might just shrug it off thinking I wask kidding, or just won't believe me. I was born just a month after my parents' wedding day. My mother was 19 years old when she had me. And she was eight months pregnant when they married. I guess it was a fad then, or maybe up to now. Premarital sex leading to a somewhat unwanted marriage just to make sure that none of the parties concerned feel guilty. And then, I was just there. And maybe it was my fault. And maybe it wasn't. But it was THEIR choice. It was my parents' choice. And who am I to complain? I *am* just a byproduct of two sex cells meeting. Nothing more. And so, I grew up. But I wasn't raised by my parents. They were too busy "studying" for college. My dad was in his last year taking his pre-med and my mom was finishing up her Jouralism course. My mom passed, no big. My dad never continued to study medicine though. Don't know why. WIll probably never know why. Wouldn't care. It's his decision. The point is, they didn't raise me. Technically, they just brought me to the waking world and left me to my grandparents. I don't think they have any right to be called "mom" and "dad" by me. I don't think they even deserve to be called "parents". But that's how the world goes. It's better to have something called "parents" than none at all. It's how society deictates it. It's a standard that everyone has to have or else you're not part of the circle. Frankly, I dont' care anymore. Anyway, getting to the point. I used to be nice. yeah. I used to care a lot about them, because I didn't know. Maybe if i still didn't know, I'd still care. But I grew up. I grew up, brought up by good people, had a seemingly normal life. By the time I reached elementary, I knew something wasn't right about my family. I was a loner when I was in grade school if I wasn't clinging on to Carla or to Jaya. They were the first ever friends I had. We used to hang out a lot. Until third grade, where we kinda got split up. That was when we rarely got to ever see each other. And that was also around the time i first got to know the word "dysfunctional". It's an adjective. The adjective that describes my family. So nothing is perfect. Nothing ever was. Three or four years later, I had no God anymore. Because all I did when i discovered that word was "pray". Just like my Grandmother told me. Because "people up there" will hear it and will make things better. But it never did. And I just didn't believe anymore. I only believed in what I can do, in what people can do. And usually, people hurt you. I met new people, made friends, some of them still are, and those who still are remain very dear to me. And I guess, I consider them more my family than what binds me by my blood. Family never necessarily meant being bound by blood to each other. You just have to understand each other. And that's what we have. We understand each other, behind all that fighting, all that misunderstanding. Because me and my friends actually find a way around whatever problem we have. Sometimes, we do isolate ourselves, but in the end, we find that we're together again. I never had that in the family I'm blood-bound to. THe problems just keep appearing, and if any one of us try to at least solve it, something goes wrong. And it's usually because of my mother or my father. More often it's because of my mother. And no, I don't want any part of it anymore. And i think my parents know that. I ran away once or twice. Because I never liked how my mom treated me. So I'm a rebel. Who isn't? That probably is my fault, but it's my decision as well. And so far, I've been good. And frankly, I'm glad I made that decision. I know it's going to hurt me at some point, but I don't care. I'll live through it. I know I'm strong enough. And so, right now, the only person most affected by all this is my youngest sister. She's the only person left living with my parents. She's the only person left who's putting up with their bickering, their fighting, their late night arguements. And I'm sure that it's hurt her emotionally, psychologically. And I've always wanted to take her away from all that. But she doesn't want to be taken away. I don't know why. Never asked why. It's her choice. I have to respect that. But I hate what my parents are doing to her. Lately, I've been noticing that my dad's been acting secretively. Having phone calls with whispered voices, going to "work" late at night and coming home two days later. That made my mom snap. And it's been like that for the past years already. No, I'm not caring because they're my parents. I don't care about them, about what they do. I don't want anything to do with them. I'm caring about my sister, who I'm afraid will not grow up right. In fact, she's already showing signs. What signs? She's bloody carving numbers on her bloody hand with a bloody knife. She's bloody going out with someone twice her bloody age. Gods, i won't be surprised if she gets pregnant during her college life. The point is, I don't think I can help her anymore. And everything is up to her. Up to them. Up to whatever choice they make.

And there I ranted without thought. And there I rabled on without coherence. And there I declare that I do not give a damn anymore.