I've taken a long time to write this because... I had to find the courage to do it. When you find people who understand you, you can hardly believe it. And then you realize you've revealed too much—exposed your fragility, your sensitivity. These days it's dangerous to be vulnerable. People can trample you so easily.
Maybe it's my fault. I expect others to make the first move when I'm too afraid to make it myself. But I find it hard. The fear of not being accepted terrifies me.
Maybe it's because of my sister that I'm "like this." What I mean is, I'm afraid people won't accept her, and won't accept me along with her. I don't really struggle with her myself—quite the opposite, she's essential to me. But I notice I'm hypercritical toward others, always on guard. Maybe it's arrogant to think I've moved past certain things, that I'm strong now. But I've realized I haven't. I've let so many veils fall away.
My mother, my sister, and I. Sometimes the tension between us is stronger than we are, and it creates a quiet despair.
There are just three of us at home: my mother, my sister, and me. Sometimes the tension that builds is too much for us, and it creates feelings of quiet despair that we hide from each other. When those moments pass, we laugh together at every silly thing with all our hearts. It's an emotional seesaw that I'm afraid might become destructive. Maybe all of this comes from the false belief that other people don't have these problems, that they're all happy.
How hard it is to find happiness—or even just a little peace. That thirst for calm, for peace of mind that burns in me and only eases when I paint, or read, or think about London. Languages are my passion, especially English. I imagine my future, hoping it will be better than the past and the present.
Is the answer simply not to think about it? My worst flaw is overthinking. Maybe it's because I've carried responsibility since I was small—almost like an only child. That's because my parents are counting on me and my success: it would somehow repay them for the suffering they've endured because of my sister. I think it's also selfish on their part, especially because my mother is overprotective and always worries about what I do. Getting her to let me go to England is simply exhausting.
I've thought a lot lately, especially in recent years, about the life I'm living. Every action I take is weighed carefully for pros and cons. I don't think I've ever really let loose—never done anything reckless, even something harmless. I think I've always been somewhat adult without virtue and full of faults. My mother's total devotion to me forces me to give up things that, though without real consequences, aren't what she'd want. It's robbing me of important experiences and leaving me uncertain. She wants me to have everything, but on her terms. For my studies and my future, I need to go abroad, but she won't hear of it. When I tell her she wants to keep me tied to her, she says that's not true, that it's me who wants to abandon her. These arguments go on forever. She doesn't realize that family means everything to me because of the distrust I have in others—and I've earned it. I could never deny her teachings or her love. But it's hard to make her understand.
- T.M. 69, 1990
===FINE===