rant

this is a wild rant so most of it might be incoherent. i shall dispense with grammar and all things formal.

ok. fucking hell. dad is shouting in the background, driving me nuts. why?! all because of f*****. ONCE AGAIN, he has to get himself worked up about F and S. his ego still hasn’t gotten over the fact that most of the time S liased with me instead of him during the duration of bailey and sassi’s vacation with us.

- the sub-plot behind this is… S is the girlfriend of F and F is MY friend from back in Church Choir days. They are both obviously nearer to my age group than my father’s and since F is my friend, naturally S would contact me rather than my dad. i think we can safely agree there is NOTHING unreasonable in that. but noooooooooooooooo, my SOB father thinks otherwise. he thinks he’s the MAN OF THE HOUSE and as THE FATHER he should have a stinking say in every damn thing that happens, even when it’s suppose to be helping someone out of kindness. after countless fights and sore throats from screaming matches, i literally LAUGHED when I finally realised what I should’ve realised right from the beginning – since I know my dad the way I do -
of the whole debacle, that this was all a case of an ego rubbed the wrong way. In short, he was unhappy that S always called me instead of reverently reverting to him about the dogs. He felt like he had been relegated into “sidekick” and I was the “hero”. Ya Savvy, people? –

when i tell him to fucking get a life he says i always side with outsiders and never with him. i told him that’s because half the time outsiders don’t give me any reason not to agree with them. the bastard keeps pinning his ego-wound on me, saying it’s my fault that i agreed to take them in. i agreed the FIRST time. the second time HE was the fucker who welcomed them with open arms. he comes up with a million speculations on how F and S concocted stories to get us to help them, he tried to pin them for every damn thing they tell us, and generally makes it seem like F and S have nothing better else to do than to lie. you know what, Pa? you’re older, but i’m smarter so let me do the detective work here. in ANY CASE, the WHOLE POINT of taking the dogs isn’t to help the owners, it’s to help the DOGS. frankly, i don’t care of F and S had been feeding us a pack of lies. i took the dogs in because i wanted to take care of the dogs, not because F and S have been really nice to me or whatever. i don’t give a shit about what excuse they’re giving. it’s not like they were looking for an opportunity to abandon their pets. the first time round, S wanted to visit F who was studying in Australia. is it an unreasonable reason to leave your dogs in the care of someone else because you wish to visit your boyfriend you only get to meet during the holidays?

NO, IT IS NOT.

The second time round, S claimed to have problems with her landlord and having to move back with her parents while she looked for another place. her parents didn’t want dogs living with them, which was the reason why she moved out in the first place. so obviously she couldn’t bring the dogs back with her. fucking DAD was the one who agreed to help out. But the bastard is also the one who “pieced the mystery” together. Dad said S was bragging about staying in what she called a studio apartment when it’s really a one-bedroom apartment. My answer to that was “SO WHAT? you don’t have a right to criticise her because 99% of whatever YOU say is always exaggerated in one way or another. the only time you don’t brag is when you’re sleeping.” People, seriously, even if all his conjectures were true… SO WHAT? the dog’s wellbeing is the issue here, not whether the owners are saints or not!

THen he went on about how “this is my house” and “you youngsters don’t respect your elders, you’ll get it ok”. Well Pa, this is OUR house, in case you’ve forgotten what is stated in the administration of estates. And maybe it’s because YOU didn’t respect YOUR elders last time, that’s why you’re getting it back now. Bastard.

And now, with the Japanese Chin here, he’s behaving exactly like when Sassi and Bailey were around, PRETENDING to get busy cleaning after the dog or feeding it when visitors are around, just to show them that he’s the one in-charge when seriously, no one gives a shit. and the truth is, i’m the one who clears up the horrid mess each morning. he gets up way later than me so he’s not the one who has to suffer the indignity of breathing in the smell of dog poo and urine upon waking. then he came up with the BRIGHT idea of putting plastic under the newspaper so we could just wrap it all up instead of having to mop. well, it was a bright idea, except, he bought lousy plastic through which the urine simply seeped through so it caused us more work instead which of course, he refused to admit.

you know. whatever. i will never have a dog as long as he’s around.

It starts all over again

My mother put up with my father for 26 years. I cannot, and will not do that.

Son of a bitch has always blamed me for things he cannot find. Things which do not belong to me, things which I would not have reason to use. And now he has extra ammunition against me, after I threw out 483957208nth old clothes, furniture and things that were rightly deemed as “rubbish”. So he each time he says “I cannot find x”, he’ll add the phrase “the one that you threw out and I picked up”.

His most recent missing possession is a Panasonic radio – you know, the old-school size which some rappers would carry around on their shoulders and walk around last time. Yeah, pretty big right? Son of a bitch said the remote controller was missing and he couldn’t operate the radio without it. First of all, you can still operate the radio with or without the remote control. For God’s sake, even our televisions don’t require the remote controls to be operated! So he goes on saying I threw the radio and control out.

…

I wouldn’t throw a perfectly working radio out. Even if I didn’t want it, it’ll go to Cash Converters first.

And even if he had the remote control, he wouldn’t know how to operate it without my help, because HE TOOK ALL THE MANUALS FOR EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE and lost them. Am I going to help him? Of course not! Because he’ll be constantly challenging what I tell him instead of just shutting up and listening for once!

By the way, I hope he’s enjoying himself with all my electrical and USB cables. I hope he gets entangled in them and dies.

It’s fucking annoying having to put up with shit like this day in, day out. These published entries are but highlights.

The posts before were from 4 September 2004 to 7 October 2005.

More to come.

messages

Right. Let’s see. Dad sent me a message a while ago:

You trust your friends more than your parents but they have misled you and will continue to lead you astray if you are not careful. Now, pl don’t expect to use the phone any longer, because the bulk of the bill is due to your unnecessary usage. You can sight the bill and be convinced. I won’t be working for a couple of days; so you have to arrange for the pocket money. I will be approaching 69/70 come 15 Oct 2005 and in journeying through I am slowly but surely losing my will to live. After all, no one would know if one day I perish or disappear.

Curiousity is egging me to reply, “The window is open. Just jump.”

Honestly, if he were to really take the plunge, then I could believe that he told at least ONE truth in his lifetime.

But that isn’t the point. Would you like to know what childish row caused him to spout such theatrics nonsense?

Earlier, he has asked about the worsening condition of my eczema which is now manifesting itself behind the knees and behind the elbows, in addition to my already long-suffering fingers. He asked a question, I answered. According to him it stress and tension were the culprits. Well, thanks for the assessment but it’ll be much better if you put your wits to help LESSEN those then. Anyway, for some reason, he came out of the bathroom – where he had been on the throne – in his naked glory waist down with a tube of dubious medication in hand. He claimed it helped to relieve his rash and supposedly worked wonders for him. I stuck my arm out to pacify him as rubbed the cream into my skin. I picked up the box to read the instuctions and to my horror discovered it had expired for 5 YEARS! I understand it’s not oral medication but I’m SURE there’s a reason why it had an expiry date yes? Hastily, I drew my arm back and refused a second application but dad insisted,

Dad: It can still be used! You don’t know what’s shelf life!”.
Me: You don’t eat expired food do you?
Dad: Food that’s unopened can be eaten what!
Me: You mean food that’s been expired for 5 years but is unopened may be consumed?
Dad: This isn’t food anyway.
Me: Yes. It’s topical medication. I don’t want to apply unnecessary creams unless they’re to moisturise. Just leave the cream on arms. If nothing happens then we’ll see about the knees.

With that, Dad returns to his palace mumbling about how imbecillic young people are nowadays.

As for the message… my friends have practically been the PROVIDERS, a role where he has failed. Utterly. The only reason why the phone bill’s always rocketing is because the PREVIOUS month’s unpaid bill has been rolled over. So what if you’re approaching 69? Does it excuse you from your responsibilites as a parent? What if I were still in Secondary school? And oh my fucking god. I should’ve told him I was out partying all day instead of the truth, which is tutoring brats from hell. Now, he’s taking advantage and refusing to even give me a meagre 5 dollars a day!

Sure, there are families worse off, with kids who have to quit school cause they’re parents don’t earn much &c. But you know, they COULDN’T help it. They probably didn’t intend to have kids but not provide for them. They’re doing the best they can. They’re trying.

YOU, on the other hand, if you had never planned to take care of me till a decent age then you should never have had me. You who leeched off my mother, you who are the most pathetic among your siblings, you who even now have to freeload off a woman whom you say you are tired of listening to, you who are not intending to do something to improve our situation, you who have caused me to get into debt, you who are too proud to admit reality. You, should be afraid. Because one day you’ll be all alone with only your pride for company.

nothing changes

I fear there shall have less and less to wax lyrical about dad and I. He wakes up in the mid-afternoon while I’m out for lunch (or to waste $$$ at the internet cafe) so by the time I return it’s his turn to scoot off for a meal. Occasionally he comes home for a nap before heading out to dinner and work but mostly he disappears for the rest of the day and gets back past midnight. So in short, rarely a phrase is exchanged between us.

Is this good news? Is no news ever good news? This is no longer a truce or even a stalemate, but a complete disintergration of communication. Even punches and kicks would be a non-verbal form of expression. Whenever he falls into his former routine I simply tune out to a paradise within my cognizance and before I know it, a few of his veins have popped and he’s retreated into the thick, sulky shell of his.

Imagining the father you once loved dying and feeling apathetic is not a fact I’ld like to admit. Unfortunately, it seems to be what might be in store for the future.

ooohm

Relations between Dad and I seem quite surreal these days.

card trick!

Dad was adorable yesterday afternoon.

He came into my room in the early evening with a deck of cards, a gleeful smile plastered on his face. Too bad my quick eye had already picked out the cards to be “magicians’ tools”, those cheapo magic cards that come pre-tampered or have certain cards marked. Those in his hands were alternating “short” 9 and “tall” cards. In my opinion, it’s better to use a normal pack of cards and get away with routine tricks than risk being exposed a fraud.

Anyway, as expected, he performed one of the oldest tricks* in the book.

“Pa, you don’t need to use special cards for that trick.”
“Okok, how about this one.”

And he proceeds with flipping the tips of the cards on one side. When he does it backwards the cards have all become 9 of hearts. Excited by this I demanded to be taught the technique and was (naively) disappointed to discover that it was merely the result of alternate cards.

“You can never be a professional magician Pa.’
“Why?”
“Because you can’t refrain from blabbering the trick methods.”

*Before approaching the gullible victims, sneek a peek at the card at the bottom of the pile. Coyly show your audience that the cards are as they are, then shuffle but make sure the bottom stays unrifled so when you finally stop shuffling you raise the remaining pile of cards and show it to The Moron, telling him to remember the card he’s looking at (which is obviously the card at the bottom of the pile). Then you just casually look through the pile and pick up the card he saw.

ban the cellphone

Had a brief but mood-diffusing phone conversation this afternoon on my way to get groceries for lunch (another story), after which random thoughts of loathing swarmed my mind. When Dad called I was most uncivil, giving him curt replies when he had probably called to ask after my well-being, since I was surviving on a few dollars today. He has taken to taking a quick gauge of my mood by the first few words and if it stinks even a little he quickly says “Okok, bye.” and hangs up before I ruin his mood too.

On hindsight, it’s taken forever and whole cart of shit to achieve such a marked improvement in relationship between the old man and myself, a little trifling by a nondescript person should not have ruffled me. Self-control. *deep breaths*

Often, after musing on the fragility of family bonds when the money question pops up, a pang seems to run through my chest. And yes, as individuals we’ll ultimately be all alone. But at times when we’re allowed the privilege of comfort we hope to grasp a hand that will hold ours’ firmly. To expect the whole gang to be a source of support is too much to ask for, but you’ld think after paying your dues people would’ve the decency to at least act like they care.

Even if Dad too decides to flee from my infectious insanity, I could still take comfort in the knowledge that he, at least, understood.

forlorn

On the way back after some shopping at Parkway with Yee Ling this afternoon, we saw my Dad walking in our direction. Yee said he walks with style while I laughed at the sight of a 68 year old man carrying a mini Outdoor bag (they no longer produce those anymore).

He looked most forlorn. Like a 6 year old boy who can’t afford to buy the nice candy they’ve put out for the New Year. Think he wanted to dodge since I was with a friend but got caught. Gave him a half hug to which he replied if I needed money. Declined the offer (who’s he kidding man? he hasn’t got any money to spare!) and continued my way.

Sigh.

what have you done?

Financial strains have in turn put a taxing strain on my relationship with Dad.

On my part, instead of focusing my energies on my upcoming diploma examinations – of which neither have I been attending lessons for, nor facilitating the written word through assignment practices – all sorts of distractions have been allowed to preoccupy my mind. Money, friends, relationships, course of life, what I want to do, what I hope to do, what I need to do and what I SHOULD be doing. In truth, these are all excuses designed by yours truly to escape from reality. Everyone would be questioning multiple areas of their lives constantly so it would be risible to stop functioning just to do reflection. Note how disgusted I am with myself.

One sterling example of this weakness is how I’ve been reading – english books, chinese books, websites with essays, old letters, old diaries, old journals, old cards – to keep my mind off lessons proper. Yet even as I admit this hideous flaw I am committing it. The effect of such aberration would surely be evident in my results come June? After the exam – after the $1812 exam – all suspicion that Dad has of me playing hooky would be confirmed.

Dad has taken on the dual roles of victim and afflicted father. Sometimes he seems truly afraid that I might get unhinged and use the chopper as a means of displaying my inner sociopath. At other times, he has a sudden anamnesis of his whole life, with the conclusion that at 68 and a few crumpled dollars in his breastpocket he has literally nothing to lose.

The improved status quo was due to a lapse in proximity and mutual presence, which doesn’t count as breathing space since that should be a result of compromise by both parties. It simply suggests an uneasy ceasefire “till further notice”. Random bursts of fusillades still go on .

Lots of old people in Asia, when praying for a relative or loved one at mortal risk, or asking a favour from the gods would add as a trade off that “I am willing to have n years taken off my life” in return for their family member’s well-being. I wouldn’t mind having a decade taken off mine if my father’s twilight years could be spent in peace and harmony with me. But I doubt God would give squat for this shifty barter since I don’t exactly mind not living till I’m as wrinkled as a plum. But being the self-centred individual that I am, I dare not offer anything more enticing.

How much does my old man mean to me? More than life, but – oh how I lament this – not more than living. Doubt there’s any need to expound on what that means, it is always one of the basic reasons for letting go of someone or something.

I blame him for not being able to provide, for being too proud to get a sustainable income, for everything that I deem weak in my black book of sins. Perhaps I see in him the weakness I detest in myself.