Why do my parents always get angry at me? There’s always something wrong about what I do. An negative outcome is sure to follow whatever path it is that I take.

They don’t understand you.

Bah. Nobody understands anybody else in the first place. It’s hard enough for a person to understand himself, let alone trying to figure out another person. The issue of understanding is out of the question.

They just can’t tolerate you being a little different

Really? I never thought of it that way. They tolerated the fact that I fucked up countless times. Not that they were too happy about it. Well, to put it bluntly, they tolerated me fucking up by making feel even more fucked up by fucking me up more about the fact that I fucked up in the first place. So yeah, I have to say they have a pretty high tolerance level.

They don’t respect you enough.

Oh sure they do. They come into my room without knocking, yelling for me when I’m on the phone or wearig headphones [I wish they could just tap me on the shoulder or something] and blaming whatever it is that went wrong in the house on me. Not to mention the fact that some even invaded my original closet, and hijacked it, and threw my stuff out the whole room, and then give me a new cupboard, and to go ahead by filling it up with thier clothes and undies. Did I mention my shelves? I’ve got about 65% of them selves fill with stuff that aren’t mine. Yeah, they respect me, a lot, if I may say so myself.

Well, they’re not to used to you

Is anyone? If anybody is used to me, it’s only ME. You’re playing a bit too dumb for someone as smart-ass as you.

They like to yell at you and make you feel like shit.

No, they don’t explicitly LIKE to yell at me. It’s their ‘obligation’. They feel responsible for telling me the things I already know. They have a strong urge to say ‘I thought so’, ‘I told you so’, or ‘You have to blabla to blabla because blabla’. It gives them not only a sense of power for being in the right, but it helps them to release whatever it is that’s cooped up in their heads and receive a great amount of satisfaction.

Then, you’re the only one left to blame. Geez, you suck.

Shut up, self.

I’ve went over this internal argument over and over and over again with myself on many sleepless nights. And it ends almost always the same way. Me.

Am I rebellious? I don’t know the answer to that question. I think I am. But not verbally rebellious. I just like to go against people’s expectations. I’m not too fond being in the norm. It feels really satisfying to make people go wow when they talk about me.

It’s just that all this while, I’ve always wanted to go against the ordinary.

You DO know you’re a sanguine, right?

Didn’t I just tell you to STFU?

Oh, and who are you telling that to again?

As you can see, I’m having my hands full just dealing with myself at times. Back to the story.

Beng out the norm. I just can’t resist the urge to do so. It’s just, too…glorifying. The expression on people’s faces whenever I talk about the weird shit that I do, and still achieve this much and got myself this far, is just priceless. I mean, come on, who would’ve been insane enough to climb onto the roof only to get into your neighbour’s house!? Who would’ve flew on a bike while carrying a fat passenger?

I just love making people go speechless.

My parents, however, are never speechless. They always have something to say, even if its’ already the obvious. They might say ‘I don’t know what to say anymore’ but do they stop talking? No. The more they think they’ve had enough to say, the more ideas come pouring and the more things they tend talk about. Sometimes it reaches a point where it hurts real deep.

I’m just too good at making them mad. I’ve never been able to put a finger on it. I just love going against their expectations. Sure, I liek to show off and be proud of my achievements, but I’m just not the type who would go around telling people ‘Hey, look, I’m studying. I’m a good and studious boy’ or ‘Hey, look at me, I’m praying at the mosque, I’m a good pious person’. I just don’t do that sort of shit. I don’t intend to remain a mystery either.

‘I’ve never seen you open up your books whenever you’re home. Whenever I look into your room, I see you playing games, surfing and chatting’

Oh isn’t that nice? Am I supposed to call you to look into my room when I’m studying? Whenever I do study I can’t sense you near my doorstep. If I may steal your words, it’s very ‘mind-boggling’ as well.

‘I don’t know lah Fazri. I just want to see your results’

One minute you’ve given up on me. The next you’re yelling at me like there’s no tommorrow? If you’re saying I can’t understand the desire you have for your children, hey, don’t blame me for receiving confused signals all over the place.

I’m not asking for anything. I know you can’t trust me with my current track record [believe me, it's a very bad one], but if it’s about me showing you that I DO study, then that’s quite impossible. I exhibit results, not effort. You’re right about me not putting in 100% of my effort, because I really don’t. I understand why you’re worried, why you cried, and why you blew up on me. I understand that it really is my fault. But you must also understand that no matter what you do, you can’t change me. If I am ever to change, I will make it. You can try as much as you want to influence and convince me, but with my stubbornness that puts donkeys to shame, I doubt you will go far.

I’m just not driven. I haven’t found the key to revv up the engines. I don’t know when I’ll find it. Right now, I don’t know if I’m even looking for that key. I don’t know if I even WANT to find that key. Heh.

I know reading that one will scare the shit out of you, but well, things aren’t gonna change anytime soon. At least until I knock my head into someting solid, then I might wake up from this blissful dream.