I have wings that could soar high in the sky, but I am forced to keep them hidden.
Growing up, there has always been a recurring disagreement between my family and me — I wanted to go outside and explore, while they ordered me to discard this desire and stay inside. A lot of hateful words were thrown whenever this happened. Each of them caused invisible wounds on every part of my body. They never realized it until now — their daughter is carrying the traumas they’ve caused.
There are multiple adjectives my parents use to label me — disrespectful, hard-headed, self-centered, and the one tattooed on my mind: rebellious. I was called a rebel for using my voice to fight for what I knew was best for me. Explaining my side was equivalent to talking back to them. I only wanted to be heard and to clear up whatever they were thinking about me, but I was always silenced. And if I did the opposite — showing no emotion and being mute — they still had something to say.
I have a voice, but it is useless in this household.
From childhood to now, there have been many explanations left unspoken. It is my dream to have my words validated, to finally use my voice to defend myself against their judgmental minds. I was just a kid who was still learning and growing, but they already expected me to perfectly execute their rules. I had my desires and needs as a child, including socializing with my peers, but I know they never paid attention to that. Thus, now, when the time comes for me to speak up, my mind rumbles. I never learned how to do it properly as I was growing up.
My parents often questioned my shyness and quietness, asking, “Why are you so shy? Why are you so quiet and rarely talk to anyone?” They kept asking me without knowing that my answer would include them. I knew as a child I could be extroverted and bubbly, but the way I was raised molded me to be an introverted and quiet one. I became someone I knew I wouldn’t become if I were not bound by their strict rules. I had this habit as a child of kissing them on their cheeks whenever they went outside, but it just stopped one day. I was the sweetest child back then, but I became the opposite.
My sweetness turned into nonchalance as a way of protecting the real me. The fewer the emotions, the fewer the judgments.
I am a curious kid, eager to discover more in the world. But how can I do that with a tall and thick barricade around me? By restricting me from what I want, they are also clipping my wings. I’ve missed countless opportunities because I was forced to obey their “no’s.” How can I maximize the potential I have if there’s always a hindrance to everything I do? Who could I be if I had no boundaries? I was once a dreamer, but my dreams are slowly dying now. I had high hopes that as I reached a certain age, their grip on me would somehow loosen. But that hope is becoming a blur.
The first people who should understand me are my family, but that’s not the case for me. The only people whom I feel understood are the ones outside our house. My parents often see people who are not inside our house as enemies — people who will eventually leave me and won’t care for me as much as they do. They are wrong for having this mindset. How could they say this when the “enemies” they refer to are the ones who made me feel heard, something they are failing to do? Being outside feels more like home than being inside our home. I just know that once I utter these words to them, I will be referred to as the rebel daughter once again.
Growing up, I knew I was an adventurer, someone who seeks to unravel places my feet haven’t stepped on yet. But living in a strict household also meant becoming the opposite of who you really are.
I could have seen more sunsets and sunrises if only my wings had the freedom to fly.
