Journey

09: Hatred (O)

Do you remember, Hussaiba?

I've been your brother for almost fifteen years now, so just by knowing you, I can definitely tell that you've probably forgotten... or perhaps it's more like you're just choosing to forget. Whatever it is, it's about time that you come to terms with the truth. I'm not letting you run away anymore; I'm going to pull you back into the depths of reality.

Our parents weren't exactly the best people... at all.

Just because they passed away, it doesn't mean that they deserve all the endless mourning and grief that you cling onto with the naïve excuse of them being our parents.

Do you remember, Hussaiba?

It's painful to think back on those moments, isn't it? I know it is. The way they treated us, the hurtful words they said and the hurtful things they did over trivial matters that could have been easily resolved with just a little bit of understanding and patience.

The way they always pretended to be normal, upstanding citizens... but when there was no one else around, they'd release their true colours. The way they used to play coy and sometimes act nice towards us, just so that we would be tricked into foolishly forgetting about every little thing that they've done.

Manipulation. That's how they made us believe that they were good people.

For too long, you've been stuck in a headspace where you lived in a utopia; you've locked yourself into a world with false memories, you've been trapped in a utopia where everything is happy and filled with love, when really, everything used to be the complete opposite.

That bruise on your shoulder... you remember how you got it too, don't you? If you've chosen to forget, I'll remember. I'll always remember. All you did was spill a little bit of milk on the carpet while you were helping mom bake cookies for some function, and then...

I remember helplessly watching with teary eyes as it happened. If I'd interfered, it would've only made things worse than it already was. I already knew that from previous occasions - I still remember... the anger, the horror of it all as the events slowly unfolded...

How about the bruise on my leg? From what I remember, you've always been told that I got it because I fell off my bike. That's what you've believed to this day, isn't it?

It's wrong. I didn't even have my own bike to fall off from to begin with.

That day, I was helping dad to rework his tool shed, and I accidentally dropped and broke his hammer. It couldn't have cost him that much, considering he was the owner of a company that ran in three different countries.

But he did it to me either way.

I remember that day all too well. The rage in his eyes, the pure hatred storming throughout his entire body, the control that the two of them possessed over us - it's not something that one could just easily forget.

In the past, I tried to ignore it all... I tried to force myself to love them as my parents either way. In 3rd grade, the teachers would always talk about how our mothers nurture us and give us all the love we need; they talked about how our fathers were the strong and protective ones who bought us everything we had and raised us into the fine children that we were.

I could never relate to whatever was being said during homeroom, but I was a child. I forced myself to relate to it all, even if it wasn't true.

"My mom makes me my favorite breakfast," I said. "My dad takes me to a lot of places and makes sure that I'm happy," I said.

I said all of these things without ever meaning them from the bottom of my heart.

I guess... that's why, when I heard the news about their passing, I wasn't exactly... grieving. Of course, I did feel the rising desire to give up, just like you did... but just like you, it was not because I felt like I was weighed down by the news.