They say that life is hard, but how hard is it to live inside this home, no one apart from the very people who live here will truly know.
There is never a day that goes by without voices being raised, people getting hurt and dreams being shredded into little pieces. First by hands, then put into a shredder and then stabbed with an ice pick. Yes, my dreams have gone through that. They lie in minuscule pieces on the floor and I look upon them with grief.
They say that families are supposed to take care of you, and I suppose they do. But that care always comes at a cost and that is when a certain individual flips, a monster makes an entrance, we get flamed and scorched good. Crispy, if you will.
It is at times like these that I want to run away from home, but I can’t because I’d be leaving behind people I can’t really take with me. And that makes me want to cry and cry and cry. Crying never solves anything, but at least the agony that my heart feels right now, would dissolve into the salty water and the weight of these problems will ease, at least a little. But I sometimes think, does it really? I don’t think so, but at least I can pretend that it will.
Nothing is ever good enough, and we are never good enough. No matter what is said and done, things never get resolved and we just continue in this cycle of life and hate.
Let’s say that my life is 90% Misery and 10% where I’m trying to maintain my sanity when I live under this roof, and I preoccupy myself by hiding behind text books and my faithful laptop. When I’m not within the confines of these walls, I’m 90% deliriously happy and 10% carefree! I might sound like a bitch for saying this, but without my closest friends, I don’t think I could survive this long in this crazy so called ‘Home’. Because this isn’t a home, it’s my own personal prison, and the mother is the Prison Warden. With constant threats, never knowing what tomorrow might bring, the only solace I know is that the people who I have found my peace with will still be around when dawn breaks. For that I’m thankful.
Sinhala and Tamil New Year is always a very nice affair. It starts with food preparation from at least a week prior to the day, and then there’s the cleaning, and oh the shopping of new clothes and gifts for others. Then the day comes, and there’s the lighting of the hearth and the crackers going off, and gorging on sweet and oily sweets, the food plate distribution and then off to see the relatives.
Now, about this food plate distribution business, it’s quite something. Like, for example, House A brings you a plate of deliciousness, you take it from their hands with wishes and thanks, and then stock the plate up with your goodies and go back to House A to give them the plate. Now, normally the point is to distribute YOUR goodies, but sometimes that doesn’t necessarily happen. I noticed today, how some have sneakily attempted to capitalise on just one plate. Like, for example, in the previous example, we saw that House A gifts a plate to House B (that would be you) and then you return to House A with your plate. Now, notice that YOU wouldn’t send back the same plate but would have stocked it up with delicious goodies. But, with the food plate capitalisation plan, House A would take House B’s plate and send it to House C, and then you get the same cycle. I watched this happen in front of my eyes. Our plate, got sent to the Rajakaruna’s. I was like “wtf man”
Though the title says ‘Children’, it is really a family-oriented quote.
“Children will not remember you for the material things you provided but for the feeling that you cherished them.”
Richard L. Evans
Many parents think that if you douse their children with materialistic love, that will equal the emotional love they have lacked bestowing on them. Children however, don’t forget, they remember every time their hearts break because their parent’s didn’t or forgot to shower them in the love they needed – the love that comes from the heart and not from a wallet or purse.