Today, I broke down in front of my parents. It happened accidentally. It was something I only wondered about in my mind, but now it has happened, again. This is the last thing I wanted to happen, although part of me also wondered what would happen if it did. From this day on, I will witness whether things will change or stay the same.
The moment I heard a few words from them, my tears began to blur my vision and my hands began to tremble. I tried to fight it until I couldn’t. The rage and sadness boiled within me until they exploded. There, I came face to face with my father, who kept pointing his finger at me, yelling words that destroyed every piece of me.
He said a lot of things, but what I remembered most were the unkind words I promised my children would never hear. Every word was like a stone that kept wounding every part of my skin. He never failed to make me question my existence. Am I really that bad of a daughter? Are my words really undeserving of being heard? Am I really just dramatic?
This house used to be filled with the bright colors a child would love, but now, with their rage, it is filled with red and black. I miss how we used to be, how I used to be. I miss the days when I could still tell them everything. I was not prepared for this change. Those days only lasted for a short period, and the rest that I remember is how anger won over the parents I used to have.
I had no intention of disrespecting them; I only wanted to explain my side as it was already too heavy. Everything was too much, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I only wanted my parents to know how dark the situation inside me was, yet it went wrong. I was hoping to have their hands reaching out to pull me out of this hole, yet I was blamed.
I yearn to be understood and validated by my parents. Tell me, is it so hard to have that? Why do parents always treat everything as an act of rebellion? Why does judgment have to come first, before comprehension? Why do I always feel like I am their enemy instead of their friend?
There’s a lot my parents don’t know. Why? Because if the words come out from me, then it is wrong to them. There’s a lot my parents don’t know. Why? Because every time I speak, I often get shut down. There’s a lot my parents don’t know. Why? Because the moment they began to flip every harmless word I said, the fear of telling them everything befriended me.
There’s a lot my parents don’t know, and I hope they will realize that.
I have a different life outside our house, and that gives me more comfort than the life I have inside our house. I like myself more when I am with different people rather than with my own family. I am happier, more free. My laugh is not something I have to hide. My sadness and tears are valid. I feel more human, a normal teen who has yet to learn and explore life.
I am far from the perfect daughter for them. They are also imperfect parents to me. But things wouldn’t be this hard if only anger didn’t win over gentleness. It wouldn’t be this painful and fearful to tell them everything. I became a daughter who is chasing gentleness in a house filled with chaos.
I am grateful for my parents, but there are things I don’t want to mirror from them. There are things they failed to be or failed to do, and I promise to fill what they lack for my future children. I promise to become the parent who won’t let madness kill my gentleness because the moment I start to show them my rage, they will turn it into fire until all they know is to be angry. I promise to become the parent whose children won’t secretly rant about in their notes. I promise to become the parent whose children will be proud of and not the kind of parent whose children want to replace. I promise to teach them gentle love, and not the kind of love they’ll want to run away from.
I promise to become the parent my parents failed to be.
