The things you say make sense to me. They really do. But I can't accept them. There's this buffer between my heart and yours that I just can't quite break down.
I know you love me. I guess I keep telling everyone that, almost as if I'm still trying to convince myself. Maybe all your actions of love were just mere acts of responsibility, like how you feel obliged to provide for your siblings coz they're so used to you doing so.
Mommy says it's the work of the devil, messing with my head, making me think that you don't love me. If that's really it, then the devil is doing one hell of a job right this moment. But I still know that you wouldn't have lectured me and be concerned for me if you hadn't loved me at all.
Maybe what bothers me most is knowing for sure that you don't love me quite as much as che.
Usually people talk about it and make jokes out of it. But when it's blatantly in my face I don't find it so funny. Che makes mistakes and does stupid things too, dumb things that I'm gracious enough not to rat on her about, but somehow you manage to widen the space of your heart to take all that. Without giving her the cold treatment, without looking at her with that slight disgust on your face, without reprimanding her with a voice meant for your employees.
I don't get it. At times you guys tell me you wish I was a boy. Is that why you love me less, coz I didn't come out the right sex? But that can't be right. If there's anything you weren't, it was a sexist.
Maybe I just rub you the wrong way. Too much like your dad, people say. Your actions, the way you talk, the way you deal with people. Che's more like mommy, so maybe that's why.
Anyhow, I know and I even believe most of the things you lectured me about last night. I know it's for my own good, and that I probably should do most of the things you recommended/pushed me to start doing.
But I don't want to. Somehow the way you said it rubbed
me the wrong way, and your lecture felt like a nicely prepared bowl of porridge, warm and smooth till you really start eating it and the fish bones poke you right at the back of your throat - where it really hurts.
I'm not trying to be rebellious. I dunno what I'm trying to be. All I know is that I wish I was still a kid, when all these family politics and hurts still couldn't break through the protective layer of innocence every kid has around them.
If I ever decide to work upon your harsh words, it would be for myself, and not just to please you, or to wipe that heart-breaking, disappointed look on your aging face. I think it's healthier that way.
