Lambasting my family members – MAMA

Title: Why I love and hate my mother

This story is true okay. I suggest you don’t read it because this is very personal. The story starts now…

Why do I love my mother? That’s the question. I guess it is because she feeds me everyday, buy me clothes and a hell lot more. It feels like I can never repay her. I know that it sounds stupid, but that’s the answer. A short answer. I mean, I can’t possibly write everything she did to me! Okay, here’s one I forgot to add, she gives me my school money.

Why I hate my mother? That’s another question. The answer for this question is very long than the previous one. Why? Because I can never forget them. The first thing I hate about her is that she’s always babbling to them (and them, I meant people) about my bad behaviour. It is very annoying. And my good behaviour? She didn’t mention any. Some mother. And another thing is, she always tells me and scolds me for not using deodorant. So what? I was saving money. And she always scolds me for not taking a bath. Hey, I was saving precious water. And she always tells me to pray. Here’s one story:

Saturday, 13.12.97

She called me. I came. She told me to sit. I sat. Then she said, “Blah….. blah…..” Then asked me have I prayed yet, I said no. Then she scolded me and blabbed about when I was a kid, I never prayed late. And blah…. blah. Then she said that’s probably why I got number two. D-uh. That was fate. I could burst into tears but I didn’t. I’m Zack. Got it?

Then she went on, and on. D-uh. Sometimes she even prayed late. I felt like shouting, “Why don’t you remember you too prayed late huh? As if you never prayed late?!!”

It’s real pain sometimes, living with my mother and sometimes it’s pleasant.

—————————————

Ed: So what has changed? I think I’ve appreciated my mother more, especially when my grandmother died. My grandmother’s death left me with much grief and many many regrets. Even until now, when I think about my grandmother, I start crying. I don’t play the “Well, even you do it, so shaddup” game anymore with my mind.

I think my mom stopped comparing me to my ‘younger self’ when I reached 18 years old. I don’t think it’s because I’ve become a better person, or that I prayed earlier or whatever. Maybe it’s because she misses me more when I’m in London, or that she could talk about more stuffs with me now that I’m older.

Saying that, we’ve got new problems between us. Currently, what’s pissing me off is her way of being suspicious of everything I do which involves religion. I couldn’t even go to any religious classes in the mosques or Islamic centres without having so much paranoia crap forced down my throat. The paranoia extends to EVERY Muslim friends I have. Even my ex-classmates in Madrasah were not spared. Anyway, I guess what annoyed me the most was that she prevented me from going to a workshop about “Fitrah” recently. I couldn’t go against her will anyway because I have no money to pay for the workshop.

I guess I just want more liberty to attend religious classes. I wish my mom would stop being so suspicious of everything I do. There is something seriously wrong with my mom if it’s okay to hang out at entertainment areas with non-Muslim friends like Michelle, but it’s SO HARD to get permission to attend Islamic lectures and classes. Bleh, I’m sure things will get worse if I try to attend lectures about other faiths, or even know that I have no problems with Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, etc etc.

Lambasting my family members – PRINCESS YANAGI

Foreword: This is the first of the four-part series of “Lambasting my family members.” All entries are taken from my old diary (1997/1998). I just want to tell Princess Yanagi that I really love her and that I hope this diary just serves to crack her up. Even though I still get pissed at Princess Yanagi every now and then these days, I know that I still love her OH SO MUCH. I guess this is the biggest difference between how I am now and how I was in 1997/1998. The murderous imaginations and whinings are quite similar, shockingly. Shouldn’t I have changed more in the 9 years before 2006?! >_<

2nd December 1997. Some minutes to 9:00 AM.

Hasanah threatens me. She said if she gives me back my Barbie clothe, I have to give her my rubberband. And she has no proof that it was her rubberband. I know that the fight just because of a rubberband is silly but the fight means more than that.

She has to learn not to steal, she has to learn not to lie, she has to face that she can’t win anything, anytime, with no proof, with no nothing. Only with words. I have to give her the rubberband. I have to give in. I am her sister. She has no right to give me orders and to yell at me.

All of my life, I’ve spent with her. I felt myself as her slave. Everything she wants, she gets. What about my parents? They don’t even care. And if they do? They’re on Hasanah’s side of course! I hate my stinkin’ rottin’ pain in the neck life. I’ll tell you why! Who’s on my side? No one. Who got teased by her sisters? Me. Who kena hantam suka Nick Carter? Me. Who got teased because of marrying Nick Carter? Me. It could get worser, believe me. There are more to what I just wrote.

Two more days till school. Shit! Dammit! Time passes out so quickly! My best friends are on the other class and I’m on the other. It is so unfair. I hate my teachers. They are so cruel. How could they seperate me from my friends?! It’s easy, they are the teachers, we are just the students. They got the power, we don’t! Get it? Sheesh. Yuck. Yeck. Boo. D-uh. (picture of crossed bones). SPICE GIRLS. (picture of dead turtle). ! @ (picture of poo, pencil, etc to represent profanities) !

I want to kill Hasanah. And then I will feel so great that I won’t care at anything bad that happens to me. Actually, I don’t really want to kill her. I wanna torture, punish her. Let the pain flow into her brain. That’ll make me feel a lot lot more better. Woo Hoo! How shiok! But too bad…. Things like this never happen. But I wish it could. Hah.

I will first cut her arm with a blunt knife till it is half cut. Then I will bite her fingers (Ed: OMG!). Kick her lousy face. Make her drink HOT CHILI. I will step on her face. Walk on her body. Cane her so many times. Make her thirsty for two days. Make her scream and yell for mercy. Make her cry. Then I will tickle her and stop when she really really can’t breath (Ed: This is what I do to Daniel). And after she takes one breath, I’ll tickle her again. That’s the way I like it!!!!!! Haha on you, Hasanah.

——————–

Ed: Accompanying the written diary entry are pictures of Hasanah drawn to look like a bitch with a mole on her right cheek. Maybe I’ll scan the pictures letter. But I’ll type what the arrows pointing at the pictures say:

1) Stinky Stinko
2) You’d rather fart than be one of her siblings
3) Believe me. You don’t wanna mess with her
4) $10 000 dollars will be yours if you kill her. I’ll be waiting
5) Just thinkin’ of her makes you vomit
6) An AIDS virus
7) She’ll bring you drugs. Don’t eat it, Amalina did!
Hasanah, the (pic of cross bones) lousy

———————————————–

Scanned pics coming soon, insyaAllah. =D

A Molestress in Kuala Lumpur

Foreword: I was looking for Primary Five Mathematics textbooks under Princess Yanagi’s bed. Instead, I found one of my old diaries full of hilarious entries! This is one of them. It’s an English composition I wrote. My dad was my English tutor at that time and he marked the composition.

A MOLESTRESS IN KUALA LUMPUR

 

I met a molestress in Kuala Lumpur yesterday. But since she was a woman, I guess she was called a ‘molestress’. To tell you the truth, it was my mother. Yes, my mother was the ‘molestress’. And do you know who she molested? She molested my father.

It all happened in a mosque after we prayed the combined prayer of Zohor and Asar. But it will be better if I start the story from the beginning.

We arrived at the mosque on 3:15 PM in the afternoon. We hurried into the mosque. Then we took our ablution and we prayed.

After some time later, we (except my father) went downstairs and we spotted our father whose name is ‘The hunky handsome Hussien’ asleep. I knew that he was only pretending to sleep. I ran to him and began snorting and grunting at his ears. My sister Adilah poked his stomach. But my father still continued with his act. Suddenly and unexpectedly, my mother tickled my father’s bust. My father jumped with a jolt and began muttering something under his breath.

My sisters and I burst into laughters after we saw our very own mother molesting her very own husband. The sight of the incident was worst than the sight of diarrhoea! That was how my mother became a ‘molestress’. I had this urge of telling my aunts what happened in the mosque becaue my mother is always babbling to everybody about all the bad things my sisters and I did. But I decided not to. After all, she is my mother.

I am very disgusted with my mother’s act in the mosque yesterday. Fancy, a wife molested her very own husband. But I am proud to say that my mother wouldn’t continue her very disgusting behavior again! I hope!

————————————————————————————

Dad’s score: 8/10 – Very good!

 

Funny how this post relates very well with my previous. There are many entries in this diary that dealt with issues of similar nature. I guess my childhood trained me and nurtured me into this molester I am today! BANZAI CHILDHOOD! More diary entries later.