I checked my eyes in the mirror. It’s not red and it’s definitely not swollen. That’s great. I wiped my face one more time to make sure there’s no traces or evidence that I cried.
Once again, I found myself in the bathroom crying my feelings out. I just can’t face my parents. I just don’t have the courage to tell them what I really feel; what I think. Another day has passed by in silence.
“Why can’t I just go and confront them?” I muttered to myself. This question haunts me every single day of my life.
I was furious. I got home from a group meeting for school matters. It wasn’t even seven o’clock and my parents gave me a whole lecture of how dangerous the world can be. Especially for a 17-year-old girl like me.
Grrr… I hate that word. I am now 17 for goodness sake! People just don’t get the fact that I am most definitely not a girl anymore!... or at least my parents don’t.
They treat me like I’m only 7 years old! I don’t get to hang-out with my friends often. And if I get the permission to, my parents would ask me LOTS of questions. And I do mean LOTS. It’s like they were trained by a specialised company designed to train detectives, police and people who works at something like a forensic organisation. I don’t even get to choose the day to get a haircut and how short, my parents do. You see, they pretty much control me and my decisions in everything! If you think that’s bad, you haven’t heard the half of it!
I feel like the bathroom is the only thing I can truly trust; the only friend I could truly count on. It’s my special place. Whenever I feel like crying or just sad, I just go to the bathroom and let all my emotions out. But something about today is… different.
‘Whatever Cathleen, you’re just too furious … yea that’s it… You’re just too furious’ I reasoned with myself in my mind.
Most people won’t understand me and say I’m just over reacting to things. That my parents are just trying to protect me. But seriously, if you’re in my position, you wouldn’t say that. I tried not to think about it but it doesn’t seem to work. It should’ve worked. It always work.
“Happy thoughts! come on think of happy thoughts!” damn! I was chanting this line over and over but it still doesn’t work. Normally, I just cry it off and I would feel better. I just don’t know why I’m feeling really different right now.
I looked up into the mirror. I can see myself. I can see my dark brown hair falling just underneath shoulder length. It has its own natural curls. With me standing at 5”8’ I was pretty tall compared to other girls my age. I’m basically just like any other teenager. I’m not skinny like those self-centred models but I am also not fat nor chubby. I can say my body is just right. I have curves in all parts in my body where it’s appropriate. I have brown eyes and long eyelashes. I got my dark brown hair from my mom while I got my eyes and nose from my dad.
I am pretty much the perfect mixture of my parents compared to my older brother and younger sister. But still, it doesn’t help me feel better whenever my parents treat me like their puppet. In my family, I am the least favourite. No one cares about my achievement. All my parents notice are my mistakes.
My reflection started to become a blur. Before I realise what is happening, I felt hot liquid falling from my eyes, down to my cheeks.
“God, you’re pathetic. Stop crying!” I told myself as I wipe the tears angrily from my cheeks.
I closed my eyes and pushed the eyelids together really hard. I tried to think of a place I want to go. Where I can feel free. Where I can let loose. Where I can find peace. Where I feel at home.