Tuesday, May 22, 2007
♥ Tuesday, May 22, 2007
What I'm writing today is going to be boring.
My gram suffered a stroke one day before Chinese New Year this year. She was in the car sending food everywhere until our driver found her speech slurred and her strength gone. He then took off her shoes and rushed her to my uncle's house. They left for the hospital after that.
I was in charge of contacting my mom. I was at my uncle's house when the driver came by, and he couldn't get my mom on the phone. He was screaming for my aunt to hurry up, hurry up, but no one would tell me what happened. So I just called my mom and told her that they were at the hospital. I got really scared. I was the oldest kid in the family, and next in line back in Jakarta was my brother, who I suppose wouldn't understand a single thing that's going on.
So I was stuck there with two spoiled brats who were playing computer games while I was feeling like a tree who was gonna get deforested. It was a feeling I can't describe - anxiety, probably. But it's not right it.
That night my mom came to sleep in my uncle's house (he has a bungalow) as the hospital was just in that complex and it would be easier to see my gram and take care of her. It was from her that I found out.
My gram was in the ICU for four days. My mom finally took me there on the last day, since the age limit to enter the ICU was 12 and none of my other cousins in Jakarta then were over 12. As I approached her I felt my heart breaking. She was not the gram I used to know. It was hard to believe that the fragile little old lady lying in the bed was my grandmother. The same one who woke up at five every morning to go walk in the park for an hour, who could shop for two. It didn't seem right, but it was real. I wanted to cry but I didn't want her nor my mom to see me cry and so I stuck through ten minutes there talking to her, holding back my tears. I told myself to stone my heart just for those ten minutes. After that I could cry like I want to.
After ten minutes I went out and ran into the toilet. I hid there for five minutes where I tried to practice silent crying but failed so miserably. No one suspected a thing, though, and I was relieved. I could resume being me again, who didn't seem to worry at all, or whatever I was in their eyes.
One night my mom told me that my brother cried when he heard about my grandmother. I didn't say anything. I don't think I was gonna let out the secret.
Sometimes my mom lectures me for not paying attention to other people. She says I only care about myself and my friends and my grades and she says grades are not all that important and what I really need to do is to care more for the people around me. But she doesn't understand. She doesn't know that I cry everytime I think about my grandmother lying there on the bed in the ICU that day. She doesn't know that I want to but it's just that I don't do it because everytime I'm going to help someone else does first, right before my eyes. She doesn't know that I'm going through what she's going through. She thinks I'm a beast without feelings whatsoever.
She doesn't understand the reason why I cry at night. She doesn't understand, she thinks it's school, school, school, as if all I care about is school. I don't. I don't really give a damn about school, if she finally sees, and if given a choice I would rather live by the countryside and enjoy the love, the morning breeze and the trees and fields and my most loves - horses, nature, a friend. I don't really give a damn about school. Really. I don't cry for grades at all.
Sometimes I just want to tell my mom everything that's bothering me but I don't. Because she can see me in whatever way she wants to see me, if she believes she knows me enough. All I want to do is just not to cry in front of her. I want to give her support, to be the strongest person.
Perhaps that's why I expect so much of friends. I know it's not fair but when your family life is all screwed you'll understand why. I know, as Lucy thinks, we shouldn't expect much of people because we'll get disappointed in the end. It's more practical to rely on your family, or yourself - but I can't count on both. That's eventually what drives me crazy. I can't count on anyone. It's sad, but it's real.
So I prefer being misunderstood. I prefer when my mom or gram thinks that I'm unfeeling, or cold, or whatever. I'd rather have them think that than ask for sympathy and be the Kid Who Doesn't Care. I don't mind what they think me out to be and somehow that isn't acceptable in the family, or the society, or wherever. I don't want to put on a show and go, Oh You Poor Thing Don't You Feel Sad And Tired. Whatever I say comes from me, and I'm not thinking of changing that.
Even if my mom tells me about my brother crying for my grandmother and expects me to say something too.
I will graciously cry in silence and leave without attachments.
