I guess.. I guess this is the end.
This isn't unfamiliar at all; I've been here before, haven't I? Except this time around I'm actually scribbling more than just a well-meditated "I'm sorry", sitting at my desk and trying to write my best explanation + apology combination that would let everyone feel a little less guilty, a little less angry. I guess there's also a part of me that wants to be understood, until the very end.
I'm not happy. To be honest, I don't think I know what it means to be happy. Deep down inside, I just don't feel it. I don't know if it's because I'm not letting myself to or because I'm just completely hopeless.
I don't want to play the blame game, not in my last hour. I don't want to sit here and cry about the things that have ultimately led me to this very point. But I have to offer up some kind of reasoning behind my motive here, and the more I try to think, the more I realize that this isn't because I was raped and molested when I was six. This isn't because I have an abusive father. This isn't because I have a just-barely-there relationship with my mother. This isn't about any of those things at all, even though those things kind of chip away at my heart and soul to this very day.
This is because I feel stuck. I'm stuck. I'm stuck between being the daughter my father wants me to be and striving towards what I want to do and what I want to be. I'm stuck between trying to be the daughter I once was to my mother before I worked so hard to appeal to my father and dismissing her as someone who, ultimately, still thinks she's twenty-five years old. I'm stuck between being a good sister to my prepubescent thirteen year old brother and holding a grudge against him for being my father's favorite kid who never had to go through as much physical and emotional abuse as I have. I'm stuck between jobs, I'm stuck in this God-awful financial predicament of mine, I'm stuck. I'm stuck inside this body and this mind that just doesn't know how to let things go.
I'm stuck. And the more I analyze everything, the more I realize I'm suffocating with my own life. With the things I leave in the back burner. With the people I meet that only fade away, with the friends I can't even manage to keep up with.
Blame it on my religionless existence. I have no use for faith in superior beings or of a son who resurrected after three days, or a messiah to patiently wait for. They're all theories. Maybe, maybe ultimately that's the reason why I feel like living is pointless because we all die anyway. Maybe that's the reason why I find no joy.
But even if I did believe, and I did have faith...if my heart's not in it, if my very being is asphyxiating, what then?
Writing exercise #1, thank you Laura Camilia Chau.