A Confession to Make

I don't know if this is the right time to write, I don't know if I should even write about this... But sometimes you need to do what you feel like doing, reasons can take their back seats and so can the rights and wrongs.

Childhood is probably the most fragile part of any human alive, and for that matter, dead. It's the time where you learn living, where you learn the meaning of life. And somewhere in this phase of time we all make mistakes. Some small, some big, some foolish and some, well, which change your life forever. I am not propagating that mistakes are good or bad, they just are. And the sad part is that you can practically do nothing about it. Here starts my confession.

I have never been the "ideal" child that any parent would have wanted to have, the one child you crave for. I am sure I am not alone, but it's our stories and lives that make me, me, and you, you! I was always that part of the family which made mistakes with what so ever she was given. Doing things right was never my cup of coffee. And I guess that is enough to make every one around you miserable.

I have a perfect family. An idealistic father who would do anything to see you escalate in life and when I say anything I mean it, an ever devoted yet self-aware mother, a rare combination, a lady who made herself who she is and possibly the strongest of all women I have ever known. It's always worth knowing her, as a mother, as an idol or as a lady - all perfect. I also have an elder brother, too elder maybe (12 years elder to me) but an excellent friend. The types you can fight, hurt, yell, say sorry and hug all at the same time. He did everything a big brother is suppose to do, making him a perfect "love at first fight".

Sometimes a perfect everything does not make you a perfect someone. Being a disappointment is no one's favorite place to be. We all want to be loved, cared, looked after and thought for. But what if something deep inside you tells you that you are not worth this? Does it still makes sense? I am not being a pessimist. Never. That's why I said if I should ever write about this. It hurts to see how people who probably love you the most are the unhappiest lot in your life. I don't mean to blame myself for everything but yes, I have played a major part, I don't know how, but I have. If I could I would try my best to tell them how much they matter to me. I could scream all this in front of them or write it down in a letter and pin it below their pillows while they sleep, but it wouldn't make a difference. I will still remain who I am - the imperfection of the perfect lot. I have tried hard and I still continue trying to improve, to find a reason as to why I could not be what they wanted me to be.

I still dwell on distrust, disappointment, confusion, haste, lies and misunderstandings and no where in future I see myself rising above all this. It's worse than failure, it's about knowing you might never be worth it. Worth the basic necessity of life - affection. It's not sad, it's tragic. It's enough to make you miserable, enough to make you hate the very fact that you exist.