Through Your Notes

How?

 Can I ask you a question?

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Hmm… So, how do you hide your pain?

Some shut themselves off, they push people away, they stop smiling, they cry more. Eventually, all they have is themselves but they don’t mind because they know they won’t hurt themselves or so they believe they won’t hurt themselves.

They are afraid of people leaving. Everyone says they will stay. They promised. But, no. It’s all a lie. Because that’s what they do. They promise, they break the promise, they leave.

Some hide behind their books.

Some hide behind their pens.

Some hide behind their music.

Some hide behind their laptops.

And, some hide behind their smiles.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

      That’s all a lie.

So, how do you hide your pain?

I wasn’t hurt. No one hurt me, or so I believe no one had hurt me.

My dad left. As in, he left to see his creator.

I believe, experiencing death of a loved one is much worse than getting hurt.

I hide my agony.

I hide behind my books. I hide behind my pen. I hide behind my smile.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

  Truth is, I am never fine.

 

I grew up with my dad. Mum walked out on us when I barely turned 4. It all happened in the living room of our old apartment.

I was only four but it haunts me till today. I remember that horrible scene vividly. She was crying and holding onto her hand luggage and she left leaving my dad kneeling on the floor, crying his eyes out.

I hate her. No, I don’t. Not really, though. She carried me for 9 months, gave birth to me and took care of me for 3 years. I am happy.

I don’t think I can hate her. Everyone has reasons for their actions right? So, I don’t hate her. She must have had some complications while raising me. It’s all right.

Ever since that day, I have never asked about her and dad never brought her up.

I’m okay with that. But, I do miss her sometimes. I am afraid dad will be sad if I bring her up so I never did. As long as dad is not sad.

He died of cancer. B-Cell Lymphoma, specifically. Albeit, I never knew what that means. That’s what the doctor told me. So, I believe them.

Dad is rich. I mean, was. He was rich. He was a businessman, the CEO of AMI Inc.

After mum left, he stood back up and decided to prove to her that he can be successful even without her. And also, to get her back. Though, he never told me that. I know he still loved her. He cried almost every night.

He left everything behind. His fortune and his precious, me.

We live in a penthouse, just the two of us. Now, it’s just me.

“You’re a strong girl. Study hard, K.” were his last words and God took him.

In school, I hide behind my smiles and laughter.

I smile and laugh liked nothing happened. I put up a tough front. I wanted to be known as a strong and independent girl. So, I smile. I laugh. Like, my dad is still around. They don’t know the pain I go through.

I smile. I laugh. Like, my dad is still around. So, they take me for granted. They thought I was okay when I am not. They didn’t realise how sensitive I have become. They thought I was strong when I am not. They didn’t realise how weak I have become.

They don’t know I cry myself to sleep.

At home, I hide behind my books.

I read. I read a lot. Dad had built a mini library in the penthouse. He did it for me because he knew I love to read and he loved to read too.

At midnight, I hide behind my pen.

I write. I write poems. I write short stories.

I draw. I sketch sceneries and my dad’s portraits.

I don’t have friends. I do have fake friends.

They talk behind my back. They are angels before my eyes. They are devils behind my back. They befriend me because I am rich. It makes them famous.

  They sympathise me. They don’t empathise me. Because, they don’t know how it feels like to have a dead father.

I want a true friend who understands how I feel.

I want a true friend who can help me go through this agony.

I want a true friend whom I can trust.

I need a true friend.