I wonder if every child would have the same nightmare, that one day, the world all round him would crumble to bits. It doesn't take very much for a world to crumble, the world I had held so close to. Maybe it mattered too much to me that I should choose to let it take over me. Perhaps I should've cared less.
Hearing those things when I was nine and then hearing them again now, it's not any different. Everyone thought it wouldn't affect me, because they thought I was one brat who couldn't care less about what goes on. Maybe they just don't want to know and choose not to believe the mental damage it did me. Just when I want to say how much it hurts, each one would say how much good they've done and how much they've suffered. If that was so, why didn't anyone cared that I almost had to see a psychiatrist?
Grandpa's been gone for some months, but it seems like they've all forgotten it, forgotten the promise they made to have a meal together and to appreciate family ties. I guess it's just wishful thinking, there was no family to start with.
Every time something happens, I just want to go somewhere far away. Somehow, its better to be alone than to be surrounded with self righteous bitter people. I'd live with it but I certainly didn't ask for it.
