This is insane.
The last time I heard my parents talked to me about the “M” word is when I was in relationship with Mr. Break-It. Even until now, it is still making me shudder. And just last weekend, they started to mention this “M” word again. Of course…
My cousin, who is three years younger than I am has just got married. Of course the whole extended family was invited, everybody was happy. And I felt so relieved I didn’t have to be there because of one thing I always dread… The AUNTIES.
They are a bunch of women in their mid 50s whose life goals are to make my life a living hell. I’m not joking. I am serious.
In every wedding, I mean it… EVERY wedding. They will ambush me, or my sister (but this blog is all about me, so screw my sisters… I know it’s harsh but it’s life – and I’m a bit bitter and angry) and start asking the “usual question”. I know that my dear beloved readers are quite familiar with this shit. Yes… The “M” word.
Let’s not talk about the “M” word. It’s a you know what.
It’s the one that makes me alcoholic (lol), and the one of so many reasons I failed to quit smoking (lol). Not lol. It’s not funny. Don’t you dare laugh, sick bastard! Serious.
My whole life is hanging by a thread right now. I’m officially (technically) single, unemployed, miserable, and confused about future, and my parents want me to be a baby making machine. And, knowing what my mother is like, I know what she is capable of doing to make this happen. Ha! Not so funny anymore eh?
Yes. She will stop the bloody monthly allowance. She won’t fund my doctoral degree. And unless I found a job here, then it means I have to go back to that motherfucking house. Do you know what it means? Oh yeah, a series of matchmaking bollocks and bunch bloody dates to go. Which I don’t want.
I should have sold my life fucking story to a bloody reality show producer to make a shitload of kachings to make me able to pay that [insert curse word here] border agency so that I can stay here and hide from monstrosity which is lurking and waiting to eat me alive in Indo-fuckinesia. Yes. I am THAT angry. No I’m not drunk, but I wish I was.
This is not the first time my parents wanted to decide my future. Not a surprise. Maybe this is just a traditional, stereotypical, old fuckin fashioned asian family, isn’t it? — this is rhetorical question, you don’t need me to explain about it, do you. Oh yeah that’s another rhetorical question, by the way.
The first time they tried to do it, it completely destroyed my life as you know it. They wanted me to go to the bloody Architecture School, and told me, “hey child, if you don’t like it, you can always change your major!” Woo hoo.
But… It’s a completely different thing now, isn’t it?! You cannot ask me to just marry a complete arsehole stranger and then “hey child, if you don’t like it, you can always change your husband!” Right?! Right?! Or.. Or.. Ask me to get preggy and give them a creepy little red crying pooping Winston Churchill lookalike creature and say, “hey child, if you don’t like it, you can always put that thing back in your womb and ungrow it, and we will pay for your Marie France Bodyline slimming programme for the inconvenience.”
Fuck that shit.
I love my parents.
Seriously I mean it.
But they acted like a complete fucktard! And if I didn’t say this I would end up using NHS mental health service, or even in the looney bin, and… Hey that’s not a bad idea, that would keep me away from the “M” word (note to self: must practice drooling and mumbling to myself. Practice makes perfect).
Right. Yeah. I was ranting like a PMSing bitch (yeah I’m PMSing, but that’s not the point). The point is: what the hell is going here? Why the fuck I have to do shit that I don’t like? I need help. I don’t usually ask for it, as I can do much stuff myself. But this time, I feel like I want to make a petition for “save bybyq from the “M” word”.
I wonder if that would work.
Have a good day, because I know mine is not. That’s pretty cheerful isn’t it?