Ask me anything
Ma, ma. Yang marah-marah siapa, yang naikin suara siapa, yang diam siapa, lalu yang merasa dimarah-marahi siapa. -_-“
Trus ngambek deh -_-“
All these over some fucking files that I have prepared to email and is all prepared and is all in her hands. Fucking, fucking bitch.
Yes I’m angry. So is she. But I’m the one sitting passively, she’s the one blowing her fucking lungs out. (A few minutes ago at least.)
And of course, society being the way it is, I’m always the insolent disrespectful, sinner child while she is the wronged, disrespected holy mother. The power games makes me so fucking sick.
Yes, I know this is Indonesia, kids don’t move out of their parents’ home until they’re married even if they’re way past 30 years old, bla-bla-bla.
I gotta get the fuck out of this shithole. Without getting married. Let her die if I leave her fuck all. She’s proved over and over again she can live without me, without us her children, its high-fucking-time we prove we can live without her too.
Update: It’s scary what you write when you feel you can write anything at all…
These emotions are scary and no I definitely don’t want my mom dead. But… but I have got to explore my emotions more. Suppressing them only creates time-bombs. This energy, I can use them for other things….
Pinboards I make for Pinterest when I’m angry, but shouldn’t really post ‘cuz it feels bad. And doesn’t do anything anyway.