My sister and I watched 2012. In fact, we just finished the movie a few minutes ago. The sound effects got a bit too loud on some parts of the movie, of course, what with the tsunamis crashing on the arks and all. Amidst the bangs of the subwoofer, my Ate heard knocking on the door. We didn’t open the door and just lowered the volume on the set. The knocks were persistent until they disappeared, replaced by the beep of my phone. The message was lengthy and in Tagalog and it would be very hard to translate it in my emotional distress now. As always, I rolled my eyes and tried to relax my eyebrows from furrowing. We can’t even enjoy movie night. X|

Heck, she won’t be anywhere near a computer so I might as well rant here.

When I’m with my mother, it’s like nothing I ever do is good. I could never do anything good with my life. I would always be their burden. Always the one getting the “free” ride.

I feel worthless. I am a college graduate, a registered medical technologist, and I am proceeding to med school. Guess what she told me when she reminded me of my application for med school. Get on with your life, if you want anything at all to happen to you. WHAT? It wasn’t even sugar-coated in a sweet tone, it was direct and full of disgust.

It’s like she despises us for having it easy, while she never had that in her life. That would be her mantra – You guys are lucky, you have it easy. The thought would always be there and she would always hit us with it every chance she got. Did I get it wrong, or wasn’t that the whole point of their hard work? To see us live comfortably? Or what was the whole point? I don’t get it. I don’t, I don’t.

Does she want us to live on our own? To earn for ourselves? I’d gladly volunteer for that if they hadn’t held me on lock-up with the whole med school gig. Don’t get me wrong, I would LOVE to continue to med school. That would be G-R-E-A-T. But with her constant nagging, I would rather go and find myself a job. I could very well do it.

Gahd, I feel so suffocated.


Random Bubble #3:

I’m a good cook. I cook easy dishes and they turn out to be quite tasty. They don’t know that. As far as they are concerned, I can’t do anything. That sucks. Really.

And then the depression hits.