Seeking for some sympathy

Before my brother died, perhaps you can consider me as a typical "youngest" in the family. People would often ask me now, "ah, so bunso ka? Spoiled!" This was probably true then, as I seem to recall getting everything I wanted. My eldest brother doled out all his love on me. I can barely remember him now. Just a few special fragments stored in my memory.

I remember, when I was still in my early elementary years, my mother would hitch a ride on my school bus and stay with me in school until the time I went home. She would always have a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand to replace the wilted ones on my teacher's table. Before class starts, she would buy me and my friends a bar of candy each, and would stay and wait 'till recess comes where she then fusses over me to eat everything she has packed. Almost all my batch mates knew her. She was "mommy golda" to them.

I too remembered the time when my sister loved me so much. I still slept with my mom then, since my dad was still away at work abroad. Every weekend, I would wake up early and sneak out of our room, climb a flight of stairs and sleep beside my sister on her queen-sized bed. I remember being so unruly in bed that I'd often wake up on the floor with a big "thud". I always climb back after and sleep as if nothing ever happened.

My eldest brother. My mom always tells me how much my brother loved me. I guess if I can't remember much memories of him, I do remember his love. I remember one afternoon, when he just arrived from work, I dragged him to a grocery store near our house and begged him to buy me a miniature deck of cards. After he died, I labeled the deck with his name. I never wanted to forget that that memory came from him. My mom always tells me that just a few days before he passed away, he offered my mom to shoulder the cost of my education. My mom never forgot this gesture of love and kindness from him.

My dad. There was also a time when he loved me so. Everytime he came back from work he'd bring with him walking dolls. Haha, I can still remember some of the songs those dolls used to play. It was in "arabic" I guess, or whatever language they speak in Saudi Arabia. But still, as a child, I tried my best to mimic the words. I probably collected 4 of those walking and talking dolls. I have no idea where they are now though. Actually, I think I prefer that they stay inside whatever cabinet they are in now. I don't want them staring at me with their shiny knowing eyes, as if they can see the sadness creeping inside me.

After my brother died and my dad quit his job, everything changed. I grew up.

Probably the most difficult time in our lives. I can still feel the gloom that then seemed to float around our home. My dad was devastated. Just mere 2 months after he came back from abroad, his most precious son died. My mom and dad where not just faced with the grief of losing a child, they were pressed to think of a means to provide for us, financially. My dad broke down. He blamed my mother for not saving enough, for spending too much on the house that his precious son so lavished on. At my tender years, I was not sheltered from the shock of hearing my dad shouting blasphemies at my mom. I was not spared from seeing my mom crying soundlessly as she massages the pain out of her failing legs. As a child, I witnessed my sister break down to a hysteria on the floor of our bakeshop as she screams her protests of frustration at my mom. I recall my sister banging and throwing everything on our kitchen sink in the hope of making our sister-in-law realize what a witch she has been, as my mom cries silently beside her, pleading her to stop.

Through all of these, my mom endured. But her silence did not hide away the tears that fall off the sides of her eyes as she fell asleep. To a child, spoiled as I was, it was an experience one would call traumatic. An experience that never seemed to end.

My mom. I never loved anybody as much as I love her. After everything she has gone through, and still going through, I cannot bare the thought of me adding on to her grief. Perhaps that's the reason why I now have issues on expressing my emotions in a healthy way. When my sister and I fight, no matter who is at fault, my mom would approach me and ask me to understand. For someone 14 years younger than my sister, my mom asks me to hold back my anger and frustration to give way to my sister's own unchecked emotions. Whenever I fail my dad and fall short of his expectations, he would ignore me -- a rejection that would go on for months. Perhaps, I should have confronted my dad then and asked him to love me just as I am. Perhaps, I should have raised my voice and ask him directly if I was only as good as the medals I brought home. Much as I'd like to, my mom would plead with me to remain quiet and endure this pain of rejection from my dad. Worse, my mom would sometimes ask me to humble myself so much as ask forgiveness from him, when all I ever did was fall short of the grade he expected. For my mom, I would do anything.

Probably because of this, I have become what some would describe as dormant. After doing it for so many years, it has become a habit for me to keep away all my hurt and anger inside. I cannot afford to break down and let lose. I cannot bear hurting my mom, not as they have hurt her.

Myke, a victim who fell prey to my life. I know I have hurt him beyond reason. No matter how deep I search within myself, and no matter how much restrain I pull out of myself, I can't seem to harness my anger. For almost my entire life, I have been asked to stand down. For almost all my life, the hurt, anger and frustrations have been left untendered inside my heart. How unfortunate that I seem to have chosen him as recipient of all these. I know it is unfair, but is life fair?

Patience, that's what he always reminds me. Haven't I been patient enough? My father has stopped talking to me since he suspected I was fired from work, my sister chooses the time and day she feels good enough to acknowledge me. My mom is still seeking understanding from me. In all these, who is left to hear me? I have no friends close enough to cry out my frustrations. I can talk to my dogs, but they only have a panting smile for me and a reassuring kiss when I hug them as I cry out my sadness.

Is it too much to ask for understanding? Is it too much to ask for companionship when I am sad or scared for a future unknown? Is it too much to ask for someone to listen when I have so many things to complain about? To be angry as I have been unjustly treated? To be sad when I am only left with failure? To encourage me when everyone else abandons me?

Irrational, perhaps that I am, some of the time. But how can I be not, when all I ever want is a little attention. I have been ignored for so long. Maybe, this is the reason why I am writing all emotions into my blogs. I just need attention. I just need to be heard. I just need a little understanding, even from strangers who just happen to read by. I am so pathetic I know, but still, I'd take your sympathy.