dear mom,
my mom who looks prettier smiling, whose laughter is a treat that people receive only on rare occasions. dearest mom.
i don't mean to block you out. i've never wanted to. but you understand this heart of mine more than i do. that's the problem. i cry a lot over the times that i could've spent with you, just talking. i cry because i won't get them back. i cry because you have to suffer for my own lack of courage. but when will i be able to tell you about my first kiss, which was more than two years ago, or the way someone can make me feel? when will i be able to explain to you that age doesn't play a factor in love. or that it makes me sad to see you and dad apart. it breaks my heart. but it's this damned cycle that keeps going and can't find a way to stop. i made a mistake, you lost your trust for me. you can't believe me for my words, so i have to keep everything hidden. anything not said, won't be held against me.. so i just don't tell you. and so this continues, until the last part of me has been shattered and i can't look to anyone else. it's my doing, you're right. even unni says so. your actions are a direct consequence to mine.. but don't you see? that's not at all how i want it to be. i just want to be able to tell you the latest gossip at school or who i think is cute. i'd like to tell you that when i grow up, i want to be something more than an ordinary girl from an ordinary town, and change the world. i'd like to explain to you the feeling of nostalgia. and the way writing makes me happy. i want an argument over my curfew, not over why i don't love you.. because i do, mom. i really do. but i've got the heart of a scarecrow. there are so many things i wish i could tell you, but i don't, because my words are always so misinterpreted. what am i doing that's so wrong? why does it hurt me so. dear mom, i'm in love. i can't tell you how i know, but i'm sure of it. dear mom, i miss daddy. i wish he visited more often. i wish i could see him again. dear mom, i know how to differentiate between wants and needs.. and when it comes to my wants, i like to be reasonable about it. but i dont want a sweet sixteen. it's overrated. i'd rather have that money go to kids in the third world country who have never seen a pair of shoes in their lives. i'm not trying to be selfless, i just don't want to be selfish. dear mom, i like to fit in.. but not in the way that i must do every single thing that my friends do. i just honest-to-goodness don't accept the idea of cheerleading. but you ask me. over and over again, why. and each time i tell you the same thing: i just don't want to. you think there's a story behind my every word, something you're missing. but there's nothing about anything i say to you that i don't mean completely. dear mom.. i want to give you a hug. a good, long hug, and tell you i love you. dear mom, i wish you could read my tears not as an act of blame, but evidence of a suffering that's tugging at me ever so much. i wish you were happy. i wish..
