My confession.

Ever since I started blogging, I came up face to face with a harsh truth, my truth. Truth is nobody knows me. No need for crocodile tears and tissues my friends, I assure you, this is not a cry for help nor a plea for love. I mean, nobody really knows me, the REAL me. I bet you anything my family wouldn't know what my favorite color is or what is my favorite book but what I learned is that it's really not their fault. It's mine; I failed to show the people who care about me the most who I am deep down inside. Everyone sees the first layers of me; the funny, sometimes loud, sometimes stubborn, optimistic girl who grabs life by the horns and just goes with it. Nobody has seen, let alone experienced the darks caves of my inner core, mainly because I won't let them. What am I so afraid of, you may ask?

I am afraid of everything. I am afraid nobody will get who I really am because the happy-go-lucky side of me is just that, one of the many characteristics of my personnality. I am really dark sometimes; I dive into these bleek thoughts and I feel these shady, gloomy emotions. I am insecure. I get angry for no reason. I am weak. I am beyond sensitive. I am hurt, hurt beyond words; people in my past have hurt me and as much as I try to let it go and not show it, the emotions come back often and haunt me sometimes. That is why I have become chronically insomniac. I am afraid nobody will truly love me. I am afraid to end up sad and alone and bitter. I am afraid that if I show anyone this side of me, that they would run for the hills because let's face it, not many people can handle it. So I bury everything inside of me and I lie through my teeth and pretend that everything is allright; it's easier to lie than to see the deception in my loved one's faces because I am not who they thought I was. Growing up, I did have a good childhood. I had every little thing a girl could want. I had all the barbies and the dress up kits I've ever wanted; you could say that I was spoiled. But there was always one thing missing in my life and that is love and affection. Don't get me wrong, both my parents love me but they weren't the kind of parents to express it outwardly. To them, it was more "We are feeding you, caring for you, nurturing you, educating you, helping you with your homework, cleaning your clothes; to us that is LOVE." because that's the way they were raised. What they have failed to notice is that they brought a ball of emotions out into this world and I guess they just didn't know how to deal with me so they didn't. I've always felt like I was not like the rest of my family; my mother is a strong, determined woman who, despite life's troubles, held her head high and carried through life in the most elegant manner and if I can become half the woman she is, then I'm truly blessed. My father meant the world to me when I was growing up; I saw him as my Superman. I felt like no one could ever hurt me if he was always around to protect me. I felt safe having him in my life. But then, my world came to a scratching halt when my parents decided to change lives.

I moved to Ottawa, Ontario in 1998, when I was almost 11 years old with my mother. The plan was originally that my mother and I would move there and my father would join us a year later since he had a good job position and he had to sell our home and pack our furniture and everything else that needed to be done. But a year and so passed and my dad never showed up. And before I could figure out why, I found out that my mother was filing for divorce because he chose to stay with his parents rather than to care for his family. I felt so betrayed and hurt; to this day, it's one of my pains that will never fade away completely. I felt abandoned. I have felt like that for the longest time and still feel like that sometimes. My mother focused on making a living for the both of us and God knows how hard that must have been for her but I felt like she didn't care. It's like she wanted me to be this little perfect daughter who didn't mess up, who obeyed the rules and if I wasn't going to be the exact way she wanted me to be, then I was not worthy of her love and attention. Now I know that she did care, in her own way of course, and that I was only blindsided by my personal pain to realise it. That's when I felt like going crazy and doing crazy stuff like shoplifting a lipgloss in a mall when I was 14 or smoking cigarettes when I was 15. I felt like no one cared about me so why should I care about myself? I fooled everyone; I fooled them all into thinking that I was happy all the time, that I was honest all the time, that nothing phased me. No one, to this day, saw through my charade.

Through blogging, I realised that I have been lying, not only to them but also to myself and frankly I am tired of these lies. I need to be honest with me and allow myself to actually feel things instead of repressing them. I want to be able to speak freely and not feel guilty. I want to say exactly how I feel without feeling like I would be judged. And I am going to do that, starting today. You know what they say "Nothing like the present". Who's "they", by the way? Whenever we start to say a popular saying, we always say "They". I want to meet whoever "they" is; gosh, there's too much "say" and "they" in those last sentences. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. This is my truth, this is my confession.