Then today I just got hit by another shit-storm. Well, to be fair it was something I propagated--- not that I'm any less angry after realising that. You see my hair has grown to record-breaking lengths (well it's the longest I've ever had in my life), and I can't find time for a proper haircut. Since it was quite hot today, I tied my hair back. Then while I was sitting down eating noodles Dad walked in, and he commented how he thought I was someone else. That someone? You know that friend's mother who I think is a complete bitch? Yeah, he thought I was her. My first reaction was "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?"
That's probably the most insulting thing I've ever heard. Saying I look like one of the people who I dislike most in the world. FOR FUCK'S SAKE, she's old, unattractive, bitchy, obnoxious, loud, menopausal and practically despised in every way by me. Dad insists that it was the hair, and I have the sudden urge to shave myself bald--- after punching him in the face.
Of course I did neither, and my mother tells me I'm overreacting and that I'm too sensitive. Yeah, I am. Next time I see a donkey, I might comment to Dad how I mistook it for him, since they practically look the same anyway. Man, I'd even say they acted the same way.
I don't let grudges go.
So I spend my time being moody, until my sister runs into my room and screams at me to have dinner, because she thinks it's oh-so-funny to scream. Well, I WONDER WHO SHE LEARNT THAT FROM. And of course the 10min every night at the dinner table is the worst time of the day. Dad continues to bombard me with questions about my med interviews, giving me advice that I don't even want to hear, because I hate the sound of his voice. I could learn to respect him a little, but that would require one of us to become a different person.
The dinner table is really just an endless cycle of shit. Shit, shit, shit. It used to be about learning English, when I couldn't speak properly. Then even when I had learnt English (and was really better at the subject than most native speakers) Dad insisted I was inherently bad because it wasn't my first language. It took him 6 years to stop suggesting that I was linguistically challenged. Of course by then he'd moved onto other stuff, like why I was gaming so much, how fat I was and how I was doing in class. Look, my straight-A record means jack.
I think it only got worse over these two years. At the dinner table he first complained about my grades (I crashed to 80s in maths in my first term), then when they improved he complained about how I wasn't sleeping enough. After I dropped IB (and got enough sleep for the first time in a whole year) he challenged me on giving up too easily, lacking persistence and thus lacking in solid character, whatever the fuck that meant. Then it was about the ATAR, "Can you get it to a 99?", "What are your chances of getting a 99?", "Is your ATAR 99?" etc., etc. Then it changed to the topic of UMAT, telling me to study for it, getting angry, complaining about me failing, demanding to know my friends' scores.
Now we start on med interviews. "What are you going to wear? You don't even have anything formal! You can't leave your hair tied like this, get a haircut! Interviews are important things, if you don't look the part-"
And he goes on. Sometimes I truly despise the superficiality in our world, though I know full well that I am a part of it.
I should just move to a different planet.
If I thought it'd all end at med interviews, I would be stupid. He has so many more topics to annoy me with. My uni studies, my part-time job, my profession, my income, my relationships, marriage--- And I can already imagine my future self screaming at him to get the fuck out of my life. Though he'll insist that he has the right, as my father, to interfere. Me, being me, will never give in to bullshit like that.
Thus the war is never won.
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