“Go ahead and cry,
Shallow pools of blood”
- The Warning, Money
What drives the human mind the most? Power? Motivation? Lust? Desire? Hunger? I would rather say revenge. Revenge drives us humans to commit actions that we wouldn’t do otherwise. Vengeance can fill the purest of souls with the fire of anger.
But when you are angry at people who don’t know that they are in the wrong, would it make any sense? This is the question I’ve been brooding on for the last ten years. My mum is “worried” about my mental health and my dad just wants me to live a happy life. But how can I do that when my life is ruined from the start?
I am the only child of a couple who were trying for a child for a decade. I was a portal through which they could live their lives. I was forced to be the genius that I wasn’t but yes, I loved the validation I got when I got straight A’s and was a generally good student.
But this wasn’t all that great. A big part of my life was that I had to always keep up a façade.
As a kid, I was never allowed to touch things that were deemed “expensive” because it was thought that I would not know their value and destroy it. I was also not allowed to touch any electronic equipment or watch the TV. Hearing pop songs on the radio was pretty much banned. I had a very tight schedule consisting of violin classes, dance classes, and school. I had no time to socialize or play with my friends. I was pressured to be good in academics and extracurricular activities, which was tiresome. I had to be the model student or there would be punishment.
And punishment ensued a long tirade of silent treatment and enduring a schedule of no sleep. My mum would give me extra homework to the point that on many days I survived on two hours of sleep. All of that was done for my own good or that was said. And this obsession with my life was turning me insane.
Hence, I formed n alter ego. I am the model student; she is the rebel. I am the kind sweet girl next door; she is the disaster. I was the one who endured, she is unleashed and bloodthirsty. But she was always confined in your pages, never sought out, never acted on, and never fleshed out. And your pages held me together for a long time.
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A huge part of my life was
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