Long long long time ago, on the 10th April of 1996, a little baby was born. The father cradled her in his arms, which were so muscular and steady, and told the baby that he loved her. Ironically, he lavishly spent the $8000 his wife gave to him to pay for the expense for the delivery of the child. He was a dreamer, a wasteful spender, and a man, like any others, with a ego size of the universe.
Hey, the baby was me.
I remembered my childhood days being relatively happy. My family was not well off, but my parents cared about me a lot, and I always had a yummy birthday cake on my birthdays. My dada will sing birthday song with me, and mom will laugh at how silly we were. Dada cared then, he did.
Back then he even cared about whether mom was overworking me in studying, and when mom scolded me too harshly or smacked me hard for not studying well, he will come forward and say, Hey, that's enough.
That's right, he used to care.
Ten years later, he stopped caring completely.
He didn't stop caring in one day. Not like 'poof'', and he stopped. It happened over this period of time. Like gradually he just stopped asking about me, and my mom, and no longer concerned himself with us.
I haven't seen my father for three days.
And yes, that is a lot of days, I think. He hasn't come home for three days, either that he came home in the wee hours of the morning, stayed for an hour or so, huddled up on the little sofa he called his own, and left before the break of dawn.
Unannounced. He came, he left, and I didn't know a thing.
Does your father know how old you are? My doesn't and I thought it was common till I asked around and people gave me shocked looks like, how can he not know?
Does your father know what level of education you are in? My father thinks that I am still secondary 2, either that he asks how is JC life. Dad, I am in Secondary 4.
Does your father know what school you are in? My dad knows for a brief 10 seconds, then the next time I talked about it, he seems not to know what school I am in again.
We haven't spoken to each other properly for so long. I tried to initiate conversations with my usual lame jokes like "What do you call a white man in a white shirt? Kit Kat Chunky White!" (Lol, I am not racist by the way) He often gave patronizing answers or little laughs with little sincerity. The most frequently heard sentence from dada is, "Have you eaten?" regardless of whether or not it is already 2a.m. in the morning and I was drooling over Bio.
Have you eaten?
You have no idea how much I loathe that sentence. I mean, we are not passing acquaintances, why the small talk? It sounded like there was nothing else to say between him and I. But, I told myself, at least he tried. At least he tried and for that I was happy.
So why doesn't he care?
Well, one of the super major reasons is that he loves his work very very passionately. He thinks that his work is everything, his whole life. And even sleeps at the office at times. Each time when he talks to my mum, it is always about how fabulous his job is. I always suspected that his job was an excuse for his mischief outside, but there was no concrete proof and with his overflowing zest and passion, I was bought to believe that yes it is his job he was in love with, not a homewrecker.
I am so upset that I just sat on my bed and bawled while momkins patted me on the head and chuckled at how red my face gets when I cry.
She says that we shouldn't waste our tears over people who didn't care, and she definitely was not upset over his lack of concern because she doesn't need it.
Aww momkins is just too nice and sweet. That's why I feel like kicking the balls (or ass if you no have balls) of anyone who hurts her.
Anyway, mom is not upset, and she is amused by how I was behaving because conventionally, I should be her and she should be the one bawling. But hey no, my mum has never been one to worship the ground her husband stands on. :D
=Dada just came home=
I just spoke to him, asking why he never came home for so many days. I asked him why he no longer cares about mom and I.
He said he is too happy in his (relatively) new job, and he says that there was a lot of things that he had to do so he couldn't find the time to travel back and forth. He tole me he did care, and he will try his best to manage his time so that he can see us more often.
I am so very happy now that I can just burst.
But then a shadow of doubt flickered somewhere.
Is he patronizing me again? Is he lying? Can I trust him again?
I think I will. After all, to suspect is a very very tiring thing to do.
To end this post, I shall go back to my usual bitchy self since I feel so much better from 1. bawling 2. blogging 3. dada's explanation.
So this incident kinda reminded me of MAJORITY of my mother's friends who are all like husband worshippers. When they talk to my mom (and I eavesdrop a little, teehee sheesh!) all I here is like, "yadda yadda my husband says this, yadda yadda yadda my hubby think that...yadda yadda my hubby is god."
The God part is made up by me, but I am pretty sure you guys get what I mean.
Well, let us just be filthily honest for once, I think guys like woman who are spineless and worship them like whatever they say must be you know, from the Bible of the Husband. Well, we all know that that is not the case. Doormats are not nice, and I don't see why anyone would like one, unless you are guy with an ego the size of China and wants everyone to agree with you, no less.
Anyway one of those doormats my mother knows says that if her husband cheats on her or prioritize work over her, she would go berserk and go all Nancy Drew out on him, which my mother found pretty amusing (and not to mention a tad retarded).
Like for example, there is this friend of my mother that married this baldish looking guy that resembled so much like a potato that I thought he was the spokesperson for Pringles, and she thinks he is the hottest guy on planet earth. -pukes-
That blind doormat claims that her husband is damn awesome looking, so handsome and everything and my mom went like, "Is you husband the baldy?" which shut her up very nicely.
Maybe for her, the hair is not very important anyway. I mean the hair is after all a bunch of dead cells piaoooo-ing around in the wind, so not having them probably won't hurt either party that much. Unless you have a fetish for hair stroking, or you like to scratch people's head. Perhaps then, having hair would be a very very good thing indeed, because I for one, cannot imagine scratching a potato.
|Mr Potato is offended to be related to Baldies.|
Then comes this doormat which simply thinks that her husband is the president of USA. Teeesh. Every sentence of her has to have "my hubby" or "My darling" or "My laogong" inside. All day talk about your husband buay sian one meh? Like my mother hear already feel sian.
Anyway, I think we all should learn from my mom (I am going to, you can choose to be a smelly doormat for all you like and have people's yucky foot stomping on you :P) and be husbandly-independent. Yes my people. Husbands are no gods, nor are they the rulers of our lives. We do not live to just give birth and make them happy. We have our lives too, and darn good lives without them.
And well, I just gave up any hope of becoming a taitai with a poodle kiap-ed under the smelly armpit. I shall instead become a career woman muahahahaha.
And this blog shall aid moi in bulldozing in tonnes of nice fragrant money.
I am as nutty as an almond, good lord.
[Oh yeah, many thanks to Jian Way for listening to my complaints! That was really nice and thanks so much! And hehe keep reading this! :D]