I finally got the results of my last semester’s exam. I got 2As and 3Cs. Both As were from the same lecturer. Guess who’s his favourite student? :p I’m glad I scored C in the other papers because, to be honest, I wasn’t confident in passing in one of the them (Islam in South East Asia) because that one was a tough paper. I’m so relieved that I won’t have to sit for exams anymore since that was the last set of exam before I graduate in August.
Lately it’s been increasingly difficult for me to think of something to blog. There hasn’t been much happenings in my life and they aren’t even worthy to blog about so I guess I’ll just talk about my sad childhood days.
All of us has been gone through ups and downs in our lives, even when we were still children. My childhood days were laced with both joys and pain but the one that I remember most clearly until today is the pain. As a child, naturally I did a lot of mischievous things; that’s what kids do, isn’t it? From jumping up and down on the bed, to playing in the water tank (pretending I was a mermaid) and throwing bricks into the drain, those were some of the things I did when I was under 10 years old. However, my mother would not tolerate that. My mother is someone who gets violent and abusive when she is angry. So for all the mischievous acts I did, they did not go unpunished. My mother would do (horrifying) things to me like pricking my legs with needles for playing in the water tank, poking my arm with the back of a pencil until it got bruised because I couldn’t do my Maths homework, hanging me upside down (she held me by my heels) for my other naughty acts, smearing chilli on my mouth for lying (I lied to escape punishment, which didn’t work out).
Nowadays my mom is not as physically abusive as she before, but her bark is still powerful enough to make you feel you’re life is worthless. And because I still live with my parents, there is no getting away from that, which is why I prefer spending most of the day in university even on the days when I have no classes, just to get away from being near home. Trust me, living in an environment where you might die the next time you do something wrong is really scary.
I’m sure my mother meant well for her children and she was just showing her care and love in her own way, but all the same, that is not the way to treat anyone, let alone doing so to children, because even though the wounds on the skin may heal, the scars left in the hearts would stay forever.
It gets me thinking, what if someday I will do the same to my own children? We know that we often take after our parents so it scares me to think that I will be an abusive mother. I sure hope I won’t because one day I don’t want to be reading a blog written by my children of how abusive their mother is. I have been emotionally-scarred before and let’s hope it won’t happen to my kids.