Childhood @ 8:38 AM

I woke up, filled with memories of my childhood. Strange. There are happy memories, and there are sad ones.

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That year I was in primary 4. It was Teachers' Day, and Dad promised to bring me to visit my teacher. I was excited, oh I was! I looked forward towards that trip like nothing else in the world. And I was dissapointed like nothing else when the day slowly went by and Dad seemed to remember nothing about his promise to me. I asked him about it, he said he was busy with work at the moment and would bring me later. I waited, and waited, till I couldn't take it anymore so I pestered him again. This time with tears and hysteria. Dad couldn't do anything to calm me down, even after threat of a good beat and things like if-you-don't-stop-this-i-would-tell-mum, he just gave up. And then he went off to work. I was so pissed, so angry. I felt like I was nothing at all. Not important at all. I vented my anger on Dad's package of rubber bands he used to tie up his maps. I cut them into pieces, every single one of them. And then I went into a corner, hid myself and continued crying in silence. That was my childhood early sign of rebellion. And how I came to hate empty promises.

---------------------------------

That year I was in grade 7. Our teacher told us to write down what we thought about our parents, and we could keep it anonymous. Oh how naive and stupid I was. It did not occur to me that even if we did not indicate our name, our handwriting would give us away. So I poured all my heart out. About how I thought my mum was a good person but she did not understand me. Little did I know that this would be given to our parents during Parents - Teacher meeting. Oh boy, my Mum was pissed, that much I could tell. Somehow she was hurt by what I wrote down. Somehow she couldn't accept the fact that I did not think of her as a good parent as she thought she was. And somehow I was annoyed with her for scolding me for telling my true feelings. Somehow I was angry that I was betrayed by my teacher. Somehow I was pissed too that they thought there were something wrong with me, not something wrong with the way they taught me. For all I know, nobody was able to understand me, nobody would listen to me without judging me, and accept me for who I was. I was 13 year old, and that was when I stopped telling people what I truly think about them and the world.

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That year I was in primary 5 when I got a first-ever 5/10 for my maths test. It was below acceptable for my mum. She scolded my in the middle of the night, and threatened to tell my dad about it. Oh how my parents love telling me that they would tell the other if i did not do this do that. I now find how ironic it was. But I did not then. I was afraid. I knew what Dad would do. He would cane me. He would. But what could I do? The test was over. The mark was final. I promised I would improve. But, as fate would have it, that promise was not enough to save me from Hell. And when my Dad was back from his business trip, I was somehow still got caned. I could not remember the details clearly, but my mum was angered by something else I did, and she spilled all the details of my bad behaviour, including the degrading 5/10 paper, and I got what they thought deserving for all my accumulated sins. 10 years old, that was when I learnt the fear of failure. I could not afford to make any mistake, for I would get severe punishment.

-------------------------

I do not want to be the same type of parents that mine were. Not all was bad, but negative memories tend to imprint more strongly than good ones. I hardly could recall any happy moments of my childhood that both my parents are present in the picture. But then, that was the only type of parenting I have ever experienced. I want to do better than that, but could I?

It is utterly ironic to me how some important people in my life think that I could just get married, give birth, and I would automatically know how to be a parent. Of course I would know how to be a parent, but I want to be a good one while at that. Im only 23 for God sake, I can hardly take care of myself sometimes, what can I do with a tiny baby...

-------------------------

On a brighter note, I think I slim down. But I still can't find a weighing machine to prove this. Haha. Wait till I find one!

Childhood @ 8:38 AM

I woke up, filled with memories of my childhood. Strange. There are happy memories, and there are sad ones.

--------------------

That year I was in primary 4. It was Teachers' Day, and Dad promised to bring me to visit my teacher. I was excited, oh I was! I looked forward towards that trip like nothing else in the world. And I was dissapointed like nothing else when the day slowly went by and Dad seemed to remember nothing about his promise to me. I asked him about it, he said he was busy with work at the moment and would bring me later. I waited, and waited, till I couldn't take it anymore so I pestered him again. This time with tears and hysteria. Dad couldn't do anything to calm me down, even after threat of a good beat and things like if-you-don't-stop-this-i-would-tell-mum, he just gave up. And then he went off to work. I was so pissed, so angry. I felt like I was nothing at all. Not important at all. I vented my anger on Dad's package of rubber bands he used to tie up his maps. I cut them into pieces, every single one of them. And then I went into a corner, hid myself and continued crying in silence. That was my childhood early sign of rebellion. And how I came to hate empty promises.

---------------------------------

That year I was in grade 7. Our teacher told us to write down what we thought about our parents, and we could keep it anonymous. Oh how naive and stupid I was. It did not occur to me that even if we did not indicate our name, our handwriting would give us away. So I poured all my heart out. About how I thought my mum was a good person but she did not understand me. Little did I know that this would be given to our parents during Parents - Teacher meeting. Oh boy, my Mum was pissed, that much I could tell. Somehow she was hurt by what I wrote down. Somehow she couldn't accept the fact that I did not think of her as a good parent as she thought she was. And somehow I was annoyed with her for scolding me for telling my true feelings. Somehow I was angry that I was betrayed by my teacher. Somehow I was pissed too that they thought there were something wrong with me, not something wrong with the way they taught me. For all I know, nobody was able to understand me, nobody would listen to me without judging me, and accept me for who I was. I was 13 year old, and that was when I stopped telling people what I truly think about them and the world.

-------------------------

That year I was in primary 5 when I got a first-ever 5/10 for my maths test. It was below acceptable for my mum. She scolded my in the middle of the night, and threatened to tell my dad about it. Oh how my parents love telling me that they would tell the other if i did not do this do that. I now find how ironic it was. But I did not then. I was afraid. I knew what Dad would do. He would cane me. He would. But what could I do? The test was over. The mark was final. I promised I would improve. But, as fate would have it, that promise was not enough to save me from Hell. And when my Dad was back from his business trip, I was somehow still got caned. I could not remember the details clearly, but my mum was angered by something else I did, and she spilled all the details of my bad behaviour, including the degrading 5/10 paper, and I got what they thought deserving for all my accumulated sins. 10 years old, that was when I learnt the fear of failure. I could not afford to make any mistake, for I would get severe punishment.

-------------------------

I do not want to be the same type of parents that mine were. Not all was bad, but negative memories tend to imprint more strongly than good ones. I hardly could recall any happy moments of my childhood that both my parents are present in the picture. But then, that was the only type of parenting I have ever experienced. I want to do better than that, but could I?

It is utterly ironic to me how some important people in my life think that I could just get married, give birth, and I would automatically know how to be a parent. Of course I would know how to be a parent, but I want to be a good one while at that. Im only 23 for God sake, I can hardly take care of myself sometimes, what can I do with a tiny baby...

-------------------------

On a brighter note, I think I slim down. But I still can't find a weighing machine to prove this. Haha. Wait till I find one!