Dear Somebody, (A Book Of Open Letters)

To My Parents Who Are Many Things...

You are my parents, and I am your child.

But sometimes you turn into dictators, always making sure I do what needs to be done, I don't do what I should not do, and gives me curfews to "ensure my safety".

You can be psychiatrists, asking me for problems and pestering me whenever I say I'm fine, there's no need to worry.

You can be paranoid, always warning me about bad things that will happen if I don't listen to you.

You can sometimes be the "villain", always getting in the way of me and my friends whenever we want to hang out.

You can be inspectors, always combing my room for inappropriate materials.

You can be prison guards, always asking me "Where are you going?" if I so much as take a foot out of the door, and followed up with, "Who are you going with?".

In short, you may be far from being loving and sweet, but you are, still my PARENTS.

You always tell me what to do because you just want to teach me the word "responsibility", and if I can't do simple chores how will I be able to handle bigger responsibilities when I turn into an adult?
You seem to have a never-ending List of Dont's for me, because you want me to learn what "discipline" means, and because when I know the things that should and should not be done, I am the one who will look good in front of everyone.
Curfews are a way for you to guarantee my safety, (regardless of gender) because you know that at home, I will always be safe because you wouldn't let anything harm me.

You keep on squeezing me for problems, because you miss the times when I was a kid and you are my go-to persons, always reporting to you the slightest event in my life.
You also miss the times when you were my heroes, always pulling me out of trouble, always being there for me in times of need.

You never get tired of threatening me with bad things that you say will be the consequences of any negative actions I might take, because my well-being is more important to you than any temporary happiness I claim to get.

This is also why you don't always say yes whenever I ask permission to be with my friends, because you don't want to put my safety in the hands of people you don't know.

And when you inspect my room, it is probably because of worry, because you want to make sure that I am not foolish enough to succumb to peer pressure. How hard it must be for you to pray that you will never find any drugs hidden in my stuff.
And when you found "inappropriate materials" like those magazine and posters with bikini-clad girls, I can't imagine the sadness you must have felt, reminiscing the moments when I was still an innocent little child.

How hard must it be to see me grow up and drift away from you more and more each day.

How hard must it be to punish me even when it's breaking your heart, because I need to learn my lesson, for my own sake.

How hard must it be to feel that I keep on thinking that you don't want me to be happy, but all you wanted was for me to be safe, since I am a treasure to you.

How hard must it be, right?

And here I am, thinking only of the material things you failed to give me, not for once thinking it must be hard for you to budget your hard-earned money, with all the bills plus the rent and food allowance and many other things that you need to prioritize.

Here I am, thinking only of the days wasted because I was not with my friends, thinking of how left out I was because you weren't kind enough to allow me. I spent the rest of the day being nasty to you, not even thinking of how worried you will get if I go somewhere far and unfamiliar, without any guarantee that I will return to you safe and sound.

I only thought of how cruel you were, whenever you punish me, because my teenage mind can always justify my actions no matter how wrong I am. I refuse to accept my error because I always readily point out that I am misunderstood and unloved.

How foolish I am since I became a teen.

But do not worry, my parents. We may not agree with each other at all times, I may sometimes be rude, impolite, nasty and cruel to you, and you may punish me heartlessly at times, but let us not forget that I am your child, and you are my parents.

We are bonded by blood.

FAMILY.

Family as in, Father And Mother, I Love You.

I love you in my own way, and I know that whatever happens, you love me too.

:*

☺

Sincerely,
Your Child