haze

a blog to release. in silence. anger. love. pain. but definitely not
sympathy version 1

when i was young..was afraid of everything. can't play. can't jump on beds. must sit straight back on the couch..cannot spill anything..

do maths correctly... write neatly. if otherwise.. its ok if his temper is down n low.. but if high... i get beaten. pulled back with his hand on my hair. so that my face couldn't move when he slap me.

must put every clothes neatly.. fold them..bath the right way.. if didn't... get slapped n punched in the face. get pushed out of my house with him shouting at me.."fuck off!" n me still pulling him.. pleading n begging no.. no.. neighbours coming out to look..

no matter how much i wail.. how much i plead n beg for help n for him to stop... he won't stop. n no one will come to stop him. not my stepmother. not my maid.

they didn't care.

i was at his mercy. yes. at his mercy.

even when i was 8.. my cousin were in the same school as i m.. it was the last day of school.. having party.. i was staying at his house... as my mom were having her last days..he took the beer from the fridge.. wanna celebrate with it in the school. i was stupid. i went to the fridge n took one too.

some teachers took it as a laugh.. but one brought it up to the headmistress. he were to be shown into her room when he come to fetch us later on. he came.

back home. he told me to strip off my skirt. then told me to take off my panties. i was sobbing.. my cousin didn't give a damn.. but my mom.. my real mom walked towards my father eventhough she is too sick to walk n scolded him as loud n as forceful as she could manage. when he left. she told me to wear back everything. n told me never to take off anything if he ever asks me to again.

humiliated.. always.. in front of relatives. he could just slap me in public n let me cry while he walk on..

make me kneel down in front of the altar when my autns n uncles are here just because i spilled soup.

beat me with the recorder ust because he didn't like me playing music.







n when thats all over.






the phone rang. my friends.

of cos my voice would be different. they'll ask if i m alright.

what could i answer??

yes eventhough it isnt?

no, my father just beat the hell out of me. n in the background have him hear that n make me slam the phone down n beat me again.?????


n wat? go to school like normal? oh yea. i seen them... first few times i told them..my father beat me.. they would be sympathetic.. console me with the usual.. u come my house n stay la!

the next few times.. silence.

next few tiems.. ignorance.

i just want attention eh?

just want sympathy?

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sympathy version II


oh yea. people have walked out on me. stuff me in public.

turn their back on me.

talk behind me.. even in front of me.


i m not real. i m fake. wat i write is different from what i do n what i say in reality..

do not have the courage to do wat i want. cuz its not how he wanted it. not how others wanted it. not how everybody wanted it. do not have the courage to even speak my thoughts to those that means much to me.


i m tired of hiding in the toilet. dun wanna cry in front of anybody either. dun wanna cry n see everyone go awkward.. going stiff.. n seeing closest ones to me lose their temper or get irritated by my tears instead.


so tired of being afraid i m doing the wrong thing again. wrong thing to whom? me? or others?

afraid.. being shut off their worlds again. n again. n without ever knowing wats in them.

without ever knowing what they r thinking.

u must be thinking i m quite unstable.


shut out. n off.

silence.


the night was wrong... my hand passeth it to the other, in fear of contact of another's..
as i was about to drop off the steep cliff of my eyes, i realize that temper is not my friend.. n so i ran to the confinement.


pity me?
... no don't. i hate it. i really hate it.
more so when people think i m doing it on purpose.

ah. humiliated. so conscious of how others look at me in public. whether izzit i m crying. or holding my hand to my face, trying to cover the shame that was slapped upon me. so much so too conscious. the recoil of my body, i could still remember... whenever he raised his hand.. would recoil... but will never defend. nor will i stop him physically. only verbally i will plead. for i love him.


n right now. i love him too. same or different person doesn't matter.
doesn't matter at all.
changes are few.