RANT 1

I was gonna write something that had some kind of order. Something that had a destination. Something that started where I wanted it to start and ended up where I wanted it to end up. I wrote like two painful paragraphs and I stopped. I just couldn’t write the shit anymore. I have no order. I have no destination. Starting wasn’t my choice and I’m probably not gonna end up where I wanna end up, so why not let my writing reflect my life? Welcome to my first official rant.

There’s this thing I do with my phone. I don’t know why, and sometimes I don’t even know how. However, before you can get to talk to me on a phone, you have to have called me so many times that your phone is almost as pissed off at me as you are. And that’s how it is mayne. At home, everybody’s always complaining about me. Everybody hates me. Even when they offend me and they call to apologize, I still don’t pick up the fucking phone. Then they get pissed at me even when I’m supposed to be the one that’s pissed. It’s just a fucking thing.

Maybe I have a problem with control; or rather being controlled. The few times I have dared to ponder this problem, I have realized that I don’t like people calling me because when they call me, they don’t give me any notice. You see, you call me at your own convenience, not mine. And it’s my phone. I don’t see why I have to speak to you when I don’t wanna speak to you. When you call me, you’re speaking to me when you wanna speak to me, not when I wanna speak to you. So what the fuck do you expect me to do? I don’t wanna speak to you now. When I wanna, I’ll call you.

I guess many people would be fine with this arrangement. It actually does save them call credit. But my problem is that I usually don’t wanna talk to anybody. So if you leave the responsibility of making the phone call to me, we’ll probably never talk until we see each other face-to-face again. That’s why everybody hates me.

Typical quote from my mother “I call you, I send you a text message, you never pick up, you never reply. And you never call or send me back a text message. What kind of person are you?”

I swear to God mummy, I don’t know.

Do you know the other thing? If a text message is longer than two sentences, I probably won’t read it. Yes mummy, it’s true. All those texts you sent, I never read them; I just skimmed through. Sometimes I don’t even open the message. When I see that it’s a prayer I just leave it unread.

I swear to God mummy, I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know.

I love my mother to death. She would die for me even as flawed as I am so I would die for her even if she knowingly stabbed me in the back. But I won’t pick her phone calls. I won’t talk to her. I won’t send her text messages. But I will think of her. I will worry about her. I will do everything a human being does to another human being he/she cares about except do the things that she can see or hear or physically feel.

Up till today, I still feel awkward hugging my mother.

Sometimes she says she thinks that I hate her, and one time I cried because I thought she really believed it.

I confided in a friend about this, and she said to me “Why don’t you just tell her? It will make a big impact on her life.”

And it probably would make a difference. In fact, I came to the conclusion that it definitely would, but I still just can’t bring myself to do it.

I love my mother to death but don’t tell her, and I don’t show her; so how do I expect her to know?

On the other hand, everyday she shows me that she loves me. The endless sacrifices. The bending over backwards, forwards, and then backwards again.

I don’t deserve her. I don’t. She doesn’t deserve me. She deserves a better son. She deserves a better child. She deserves a better family member.

I think I’m just a bad person. There’s no turning it this way or that way. I’m just a bad person.

I don’t like people. I prefer to be alone. I only have one roommate and I swear to God, this has been the best room I’ve ever been in. We don’t talk much, and when we do we talk a lot. The room is divided by a little boundary, the lights are always off. Everything I like. This dude, no homo, has to be my favourite person in this school. Ever even.

I mean, I like other people, but they always wanna be around. Or they always want me to be around. There are only like two people ever that I wouldn’t mind being around 24/7. Me and Me.

I think that’s why I like Twitter. There are so many people I have conversations with on Twitter, and these conversations are so animated. You’d think we’d been friends since childhood. But I only like them because they’re not here. We’re talking but they’re not here. I like that.

When I see my ‘friends’ on Twitter outside my room, I try not to be too friendly. It’s because I like them and I don’t want to mess up our friendship by actually becoming friends with them.

I don’t know mummy. I don’t know.

The most ironic part is that when I’m alone for too long, then I crave human companionship. However, even in this weak moment, I don’t crave just any kind of companionship. I crave specific people. If it’s not them, then it’s nobody.

When they come around, then I want them to go.

I don’t know mummy, I don’t know.

I think it’s all about control. People are so unpredictable. Sometimes they ask me questions that I’d have never anticipated. The question is probably a yes or no thing, but because I didn’t anticipate it, I don’t feel comfortable answering it.

I wanna be able to control everything in my life. I hate unpredictability. I hate it. And I think I know why.

Before every semester, it is always uncertain as to whether I’m going to school or not. You have NO idea how much torture this is. It is totally out of my hands and in the hands of two people who are not thinking rationally.

I think this is why I have to control everything. It’s just safer.

This is why I need to know everything. My ex-girlfriend used to hate that. Even if it’s unnecessary, I wanna know. I just wanna know because I don’t wanna feel like you’re hiding anything from me. I think she realized this and ended up hiding way more from me than she ever even told me. She’s clever.

Because of my thing for control, I am probably the one most susceptible to it.

I don’t know. It’s probably why I don’t seek out musical and writing opportunities as much as I should. They control the opportunity. If they don’t wanna gimme the record deal or the writing stint, then I’m done for.

I don’t like that. I could kill myself over that shit.

Control. Control. That’s what it is mummy.

I’m just a fucked up person. You deserve a better son.