Thursday, July 31, 2014
I hate you.
I really hate you.
Once you told me that what you did to me, is because you care about my happiness.
Because you want me to be happy for the rest of my life.
But I don't believe it. Not anymore.
Because you never, even just for once in the last three years, did you ever ask
"Are you happy? Does he make you happy?"
"Is he a kind person? Does he kind to you?"
"Can he be a good imam?"
You never asked that and you don't seem to care, whether I'm happy or miserable.
Instead, for tenth of times you keep ask
"Why can't he buy car already??"
"Does he have a house of his own? How big?
It must be a small house in a crappy neighborhood, yeah?"
"What do his parents have?"
And the list goes on with lots of other materialistic questions.
So yeah, I hate you.
I hate you for contributing only in giving me misery,
and taking away the only thing that makes me happy.
But you don't know that, do you?
Because you never ask, and just making judgment based on your own narrow point of view.
I hate you.
Because you have a kind parents who never put up a fight about who you want to be with.
I hate you, because you can married easily and at such a young age.
I hate you, because despite all your talking about wanting me to have a fine gentleman,
You're the one who ended up with a crappy husband.
The one you can not stop complaining about, for all these years.
So why should I listen to you?
When the reasons behind all these nagging is not my happiness but instead, it's all about you.
It's all about me having perfect someone, so you can bragging about it to everyone.
Just like the way you bragged about my achievements and my work.
So, I hate you.
Because everything always has to be about you.
About what you want, what you need, and what you decide.
And I'm about to have enough.