People's childhoods are supposed to be happy, a time of discovering and exploring, learning through imitation and mistakes, but mine was not, as it still isn't. I did discover several things, such as the Survival 101 in the Hu household; and I did learn several things, like what not to do in front of my mother and when not to talk to her. I also know now, after so many years, that it really is possible to hate one's mother, not just in the "oh-she-won't-let-me-dress-like-a-hooker" kind of pissed-off, but really deep-in-the-gut kind of hatred. Thinking of it, I actually may have that a little bit of love left, but oh, I don't know anymore. This is a woman who has taught me to lie and be vicious, to cry under my bedclothes at night and not pursue my life's dreams, to cover my wounds with a smile and a bit of concealer and tell the next door woman that, no, the bad cat in the park scratched my arm and that noise last night was really our TV on static. I'm speaking of someone who has stripped me of a child's right to her childhood and hugs (I've never gotten one), and a girl's right to free will and forgiveness. And her mother.

I really sound like a pessimistic, ungrateful brat, but I'm serious, you don't know my life, and I'm writing this here to let some steam out. Things happen everyday, and I try to be positive, but sometimes it's too hard and I find it necessary to bitch, or I just might kill someone.

A million things pull at me but they escape me a while later. I haven't yet quite gotten into the habit of writing them all down, nor have I taken to carrying a notepad and pen around with me. That's kind of sad, actually, seeing as to how I strain my mind but can never remember them again. Once again, this was really painful for me to write, and no doubt I sound like an asshole in need of a kick to the arse but like I said, what would YOU have done?

Well, I gotta go now, since I can't remember what else I have to say. Must be an early onset of Parkinson's.