Not my own personAgain, as part of her petty behaviour, she doesn’t call me to pray at the family altar.
Sometimes I am just so tired, so angry, so heartbroken. And again I am terrified that if I were a mother I would be just like her to my daughter… and that she would hate me like I hate her.
I wish I could get away from all these. Live on my own. Be my own person. I am not myself whenever I am home or with people. Who I am and what I am, is so stifled, I wouldn’t recognise it, even if it dropped on top of my head or slapped me in the face.
I wish I was not born.
You are nowhere near understanding me as a daughter, as a person, than you accuse me of not understanding or being insensitive to my brother.