When it hurts, was I really the one at fault? I've continued to live this life. I've continued to be what I was supposed to be. But, when? When was I ever 'fine'?
I am a product of my mothers choices. I was told that no matter what, I am still her daughter. But, as I grew up, did she really consider me as one? How am I still here?
Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of flying. Flying away from everything. Flying away from everyone. To grow up, I was taught values. Morals that were considered absolute. When you are an illiterate girl, who only longed for a mother's love, you would take this gamble. I took the challenge. I lived with them, I lived the way they wanted me to. I laughed and smiled the way they taught me to. But, for what cost?
Looking back, I was really happy to see my mother after years of longing for my real family. But when was I ever really happy? Growing up, I've noticed that I was different from others. I am weird. They called me weird.
Ever since I was called weird, I have strived to study. I drowned myself in reading. I spent my whole childhood doing nothing other than fulfilling my ambitions. To make a name for myself. To make them proud. Looking at it from my standpoint, studying is all I have. And it's all that I can ever have.
To waste your precious childhood over something materialistic is stupid. But at least because of it, I hung on to that small thread of hope I had.
And for that, I am proud of myself. For at least, I was brave. But, for all it was, and for all it took, I guess this is time for it to end. It's been a long journey but now, I get to fly.
