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A magical trip awaits you in Lucia's mind...
Confession Session #7: The Party Pooper
Today, I cried.


... but sh! Don't let anyone know, okay? It'll be our little secret.





We celebrated my grandfather's birthday today. His real birthday is on December 17, but on legal documents, due to issues with translations, his birthday is on December 20. He turned 77 this year and he's still quite healthy.

Thank the Lord he's alive and well, really. When I was a child, he was my best friend. I don't remember what the detailed circumstances were when I was really, really, really young, but I'll fill you in on what I can right now.

I lived across the street from my grandparents for a good chunk of my life. I don't recall when I moved houses, but it hardly matters. Anyway, yeah, I legitimately lived across the street from them. You could look out my window and bam! My grandparents' house.

I went to kindergarten in a school nearby there. In fact, even at such a young at, I could walk to school. Thinking back, it was three, maybe four blocks away. It could have been more. My memories aren't very reliable, you see. I just know I lived with my grandparents during my kindergarten year.

It wasn't necessary, I suppose, to drive me to and from school. My grandfather did so anyway. I suppose it helped ease my parents a substantial amount considering yes, I was a small child and yes, we kind of lived in the ghetto.

I remember arriving at my grandparents' home. My grandfather would make me tiny little sandwiches made of crackers and orange jam. Is that odd? Crackers and orange jam? It was delicious, though. I loved it. I haven't eaten it in years, but I probably still love it.

At night, I slept in a makeshift bed placed between the beds of my grandmother and grandfather. They gave me a massive blanket with three tigers on them. I loved that blanket. It was huge, really. I would've played with it, but it didn't belong to me and I never had the time to, regardless.

Point is, I had my grandfather gave me countless pleasant memories. He's an important figure in my past. I mean, he still means a great deal to me, but ever since my family moved, I only see him every few weeks.

Today was one of those seldom days, but my goodness, I was a big blob of pure gloom.

Ông nội, con không biết sao viết trong tiếng Việt, mà con xin lời tại vì con buồn qua hôm này.

I woke up quite early today. All week, I've been staying up late and waking up early. In fact, the other day, I woke up at 4:00AM to do homework! Like, how crazy is that? emotion_smilies/icon_jawdrop.gif

I thought perhaps I'd collapse in bed from immense exhaustion, but my sleep was more like an elongated nap. I don't remember what happened moments prior to sleeping, but surprise, surprise! Apparently I'm a morning person now. Haha, I kid, I kid. Mornings are definitely not my thing. emotion_smilies/icon_drool.png

It was 8:23AM when I woke up today. I don't normally wake up so early on a Saturday where I don't have anything to do. Well, surprise, Lucia! There were plans today!

*irritated sigh* emotion_smilies/icon_vein.gif

I hate it, like actually hate it, when my family makes family plans and doesn't inform me on it. Like, you know, hey! I'm part of this family, too!

I stayed in bed for quite some time, just thinking about anything that came to mind. The house was quiet, I had thought, considering my whole family was at home. Around noon, I received a call from my mother who I didn't notice was away in the first place. She told me to wake up my siblings and prepare for the day as, apparently, we were celebrating my grandfather's birthday. We were to leave the moment my parents arrived home.

Shoot, I thought initially. Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot.

I got out of bed and called up my oldest brother and my older sister. Thank heavens my youngest-but-older-than-me brother was already awake. He saved me the trouble of waking up a third person.

Some time passed and I had clothes ready to change into after the shower I was planning on taking. As I approached the washroom, I saw that my sister, too, was getting her clothes.

"Are you going to take a shower, too?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Is it going to be a quick shower?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, then I'll go after you go."

And that was that.

Or at least, it should have been. She then continues and tells me my showers are too long. Ha. HA! REALLY? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? smilies/icon_scream.gif

She's known for taking extremely long showers. SHE is the one in this house who takes long showers. SHE, not me.

I'll admit right here and now that I take my time when I believe I have time to take. It's logical to me, alright?

When it comes to showers, my actual shower will take 20 minutes, tops. Lately, I've been combining ten minute showers following a long bath. Why? Because I can. Because I'm under the impression that no one in my family takes showers after 1:00AM. I'm wholly convinced that I'm the only one in this house who utilizes the washroom after midnight. I do take my time when I take a bath because I believe I have that time to take.

Unlike her, my sister, I don't take long showers when it cuts into the convenience of others. I hate inconveniencing people aside from myself. I hate it, hate it, hate it.

It was 12:43PM when I took my shower today. As I turned on the faucet, I hear my parents arrive home. The familiar beeps of my button-lock was barely audible over the roar of running water, but I heard it. I hear a lot of things, you see. That's one of the perks of being visually impaired; another sense is enhanced. For me, my hearing was the lucky sense.

As I strip bare and step into the cold water--

Oh, right, cold water. You see, my oldest brother and older sister took a shower before me, so let's backup a bit. My sister took a shower in the washroom we shared, and my brother took a shower in my parents' washroom.

"Did you use all the hot water?" My brother asked my sister.
"I stopped after the water wasn't warm."
"So you did use all the hot water?"
"No, you did."

And they had this innocent argument that couldn't matter less because both of them were done their showers.

"Can I take a shower?" I asked, mainly out of curiosity, but with a factor of concern.
"You might want to wait a bit," my brother told me.

So I waited before I took the shower, no more than five minutes. Little to my surprise, the water was still cold. I didn't mind too much. There was a period in my life where I did like cold showers and took them regularly.

There I was, shivering under the mist of cool when I heard the sharp voice of my mother meekly crawl through the washroom door.

"Are you almost done?" she was saying.
"Yes," I calmly yell back. I mean, I heard her well enough to understand what she was asking, but I don't know if the same applied both ways.

At this point, I was bothered. I quickly ended my shower and began putting my clothes on. They were talking about me downstairs.

"I told her to get ready a long time ago," my mother was telling my grandparents. You know what bugged me? Well, a lot of things, but you know what bugged me about being talked about? All my flaws were imagined and emphasized.

I stepped out of the washroom and the first thing I hear is, "hurry up!" Then I hear the conversation stray from my direction and back to my grandparents. I could have sworn they mentioned how long my showers are.

"Why aren't you telling them?" I kept whispering under my breathe. Over and over and over again, "why aren't you telling them?"

Hey oldest siblings, why didn't you tell them that you took a shower before me? Tell them it wasn't all my fault. Lighten my burden or do something! Don't let me drown in this false guilt. Don't let them belittle me like this! Share in the blame or something! Anything. Anything at all. Tell them.

But no, the complaints about me continued, as did my inner rage. Slowly, ever so slowly, my optimism was pounded to a powder and blown away with a breath of absolute disdain.

After roughly working a towel through my hair, I grabbed my jacket (which I keep in my room) and rushed downstairs were I was greeted with... nothing. It's like I didn't even exist.

Sometimes, even I question my own existence, but to be ignored by the very people who are supposed to know me best, well... it's a tad depressing.

My family and my grandparents boarded our car and we drove to a restaurant. The name escapes me now, but it was a nice place and I definitely recommend whatever it was.

But, as great as it may be, the restaurant did not better my mood. Standing right inside the restaurant doors, my mother nudged at me and gently tugged my hair. "Hey," she said, "you shouldn't be so sad. We're celebrating your grandfather's birthday today!"

Aha, no. First off, I hate being touched so familiarly. If it had been anyone else other than a blood relative, I would've whacked them right then and there for touching my hair. And don't you DARE comment on how sad I am when you are the CAUSE of my sorrow.

Thanks, though. I didn't know my depression was showing. I didn't know I stopped caring enough to hide my own darkness. Thanks for telling me I was sad.

We were seated at a nice booth-like thing near the middle of the restaurant. There, we ate delicious Japanese cuisine. It would've been nice, but...

*flash*





*flash*









*flash*

LIKE, GOODNESS GRACIOUS. STOP WITH THE PICTURES.

I hate pictures. Did you know that? If we ever meet, whoever you are, refrain from taking pictures. I honestly hate them.

Ah, that's a lie. I don't hate all pictures. I'm just extremely not fond of pictures with ME IN THEM.

Gah, really! I'm, what, 16 now?

... No, I'm totally 15. I can't remember my age very well.

But eh! Point is, I've lived many years. If you know me, you should know I don't like being in pictures.

It was so... cruel, too. I was pissed the moment I heard my mother ask if I was done my shower. I have this thing where, if I get too frustrated, I'll cry.

I WILL cry. It's hard for me to hide behind my walls when they aren't there.

Sitting at the table, burying my face in the restaurant menu, having camera flashes scatter around me, I couldn't help but want to cry.

I was just... so fed up. I was tired of having people push all the fault on me. I was tired of having to protect myself all the time because I don't have the strength or energy for that. I was tired of having pictures taken of me. I was tired from my futile efforts to disappear. I was so tired of each and every little thing.

As the tear drops formed and rested upon my lower eyelid, I slowed my breathing. My nose got stuffy and I sniffled a few times. I couldn't hide that. I couldn't hide anything.

"Don't be sad, Lucia," I heard. "We're celebrating grandfather's birthday today!"

Like that helps.

That never helps.

IT
NEVER
HELPS.

This whole ordeal, with me being a condensed collection of pure... bleh, it's happened before. Several times, even. It seems, whenever a celebration comes around, there's always an insignificant something that just kills my mood.

Today's confession session is this:

Lucia + Celebration = Non-celebratory Lucia.







Ah, sorry, dear readers. Today's entry was more of a ranting session than a confession session, eh? My sincerest apologies for being unable to control my feelers. emotion_smilies/icon_8C.png I'll try to be happier next entry.

Until then, have a go at guessing the title and artist of the song with these lyrics:
Hey, I don't know
Oh, tell me where to begin
'Cause I never ever
Felt so much

As applies with my all song excerpt thingymahdoohickey, a reward shall be granted to the commenter who guesses correctly. yummy_smilies/icon_puddi.gif





 
 
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