"That Look!"
If you have a good relationship with your Father, keep it. You're lucky enough to have him. But if you don't, at somewhat point I know you understand me, you understand what I feel for the person who brought me here in this world. Eventhough I hate him, I know that deep inside I still love him, He's my father!
Trese de Nobiembre, Dos mil Dos.
There you go again, how i hate you sometimes. Just now you gave me that look. It's d Look you've perfected, probably for me, the one that says "don't give him a thought, he's young and impressionable". You just don't get it dont you? I hate being the object of condescension, i hate being told that what I'm doing is wrong even when it is wrong. I hate the fact that you don't treat me as an equal. I hate the fact that to you I will always be young and therefore inferior. Have you never been young? Maybe that's what the years do to people, they forget, and they forget that they have forgotten.
So I don't read as much as you did when you were still a kid or a teenager. I'm surprised you can still remember those years at all. So I listen to what you so derisively called "noise" eventhough you drove your own parents crazy with your generation's music. So I don't dress "properly", but frankly, your taste in clothes is abominable. So I don't listen to your unsolicited advice, I do what I do just like you did what you used to. You don't listen, You hear my words but you do not get what I mean. What you hear you interpret according to purposes that suits you. You don't talk to me, you talk to the wall behind me or to the flower vase beside me. And you say the most annoying things like "this and that". You're right of course, sometimes, all right, maybe most of the time. But I don't particularly enjoy your rubbing it in.
And even how many times you deny it, you don't know everything. You scorn at my idealism and at the beliefs I hold on to, if only to keep my sanity in the world. You think I know nothing of the real world while you've discovered all the secrets of the universe. You're wrong, I know more than you think, believe it. You think you know everything there is about me? You don't! I hurt too, more than you think possible, I don't show it, I'll die first before I do. When I hurt I keep it hidden inside. Why should I show you my pain when You don't show me yours? All I see or all you allow me to see is your "All-Knowing" and "All Understanding Shit".
I'm not faultless I know, and I know I'm too proud for my own good. Sometimes, maybe a lot of times. But my pride is all I have in the face of your arrogance and your haughtiness and condescension. I can be arrogant too, haughty and condescending sometimes, maybe a lot of times. What can I say? I believe in fighting fire with fire, fangs to fangs. I'm always changing, inconstant, inconsistent. No rhyme or reason can explain d transition.
You're all soured up. Your mouth's disfigured because it's always pressed together in disapproval. You're old, you don't scare me anymore. Well, not like you used to anyway. Remember this: "Your wisdom of the years does not apply to me, not by like that!" Maybe one day you'll see. Maybe one day you'll understand. Or maybe you already do but you're just being stubborn like me. I'm young, I'm restless and Don't give me that damn Look!
I wish that if I die, I want someone close to me read this aloud for my father at the day of my burial. I want him to know what i feel for him. That every single day of my life, I Rommel Arboladura Africa was never been happy to have a father like him!
Trese de Nobiembre, Dos mil Dos.
There you go again, how i hate you sometimes. Just now you gave me that look. It's d Look you've perfected, probably for me, the one that says "don't give him a thought, he's young and impressionable". You just don't get it dont you? I hate being the object of condescension, i hate being told that what I'm doing is wrong even when it is wrong. I hate the fact that you don't treat me as an equal. I hate the fact that to you I will always be young and therefore inferior. Have you never been young? Maybe that's what the years do to people, they forget, and they forget that they have forgotten.
So I don't read as much as you did when you were still a kid or a teenager. I'm surprised you can still remember those years at all. So I listen to what you so derisively called "noise" eventhough you drove your own parents crazy with your generation's music. So I don't dress "properly", but frankly, your taste in clothes is abominable. So I don't listen to your unsolicited advice, I do what I do just like you did what you used to. You don't listen, You hear my words but you do not get what I mean. What you hear you interpret according to purposes that suits you. You don't talk to me, you talk to the wall behind me or to the flower vase beside me. And you say the most annoying things like "this and that". You're right of course, sometimes, all right, maybe most of the time. But I don't particularly enjoy your rubbing it in.
And even how many times you deny it, you don't know everything. You scorn at my idealism and at the beliefs I hold on to, if only to keep my sanity in the world. You think I know nothing of the real world while you've discovered all the secrets of the universe. You're wrong, I know more than you think, believe it. You think you know everything there is about me? You don't! I hurt too, more than you think possible, I don't show it, I'll die first before I do. When I hurt I keep it hidden inside. Why should I show you my pain when You don't show me yours? All I see or all you allow me to see is your "All-Knowing" and "All Understanding Shit".
I'm not faultless I know, and I know I'm too proud for my own good. Sometimes, maybe a lot of times. But my pride is all I have in the face of your arrogance and your haughtiness and condescension. I can be arrogant too, haughty and condescending sometimes, maybe a lot of times. What can I say? I believe in fighting fire with fire, fangs to fangs. I'm always changing, inconstant, inconsistent. No rhyme or reason can explain d transition.
You're all soured up. Your mouth's disfigured because it's always pressed together in disapproval. You're old, you don't scare me anymore. Well, not like you used to anyway. Remember this: "Your wisdom of the years does not apply to me, not by like that!" Maybe one day you'll see. Maybe one day you'll understand. Or maybe you already do but you're just being stubborn like me. I'm young, I'm restless and Don't give me that damn Look!
I wish that if I die, I want someone close to me read this aloud for my father at the day of my burial. I want him to know what i feel for him. That every single day of my life, I Rommel Arboladura Africa was never been happy to have a father like him!
posted by The Big Daddy at 12:21 PM
2 comments
