the sweet sound of silence

Sometimes I wonder if I try too hard to be something that I'm not. All my life I've thought that I had the potential to do something special, to achieve something that I can look back one day and feel proud.

I have high expectations of myself. It's why I find it impossible to take criticism. It's not that I think I'm always right, but the exact opposite. The fear and sadness that it's all true. That I'm destined to be inconsequential because I was never meant to be more. That no matter hard I try, it'll never be good enough.

I have a bit of an inferiority complex. I guess it probably goes back to my childhood. I studied hard and did everything that I thought an obedient chinese girl should do. I stayed home and babysat my brother, got good grades, helped out with the family business when I was old enough. I didn't complain and didn't expect any more than that.

I remember one night, I was working at my parents restaurant. I was helping with the washing up in the kitchen. My mum wanted me to wash up in the bar as we were busy but I was reluctant because I was embarrassed to be in view of the customers. My mum was strssed out because it was busy and her staff were being exceptionally inefficient. I was the unlucky scapegoat who got told off. She shouted at me for not helping out in the bar and told me that I shouldn't worry about the customers looking at me as I was too unattractive for them to bother about. She'll probably never remember this but I've never forgotten. Whatever anyone else might think, I don't hold it against her. That's not the reason why I've never forgotten. I just have a habit of taking things to heart and not saying anything. I guess I'm just a true follower of suffering in silence. The tragic thing is that I believed her, and I probably still do, deep down inside. My insecurity gnaws at me and I find myself giving up on myself even when no one else has.

When I was little and in junior school, I was known as the mute girl because I didn't speak. It wasn't as if I couldn't or didn't understand the language. Quite the contrary. I probably had a better grasp of the language than most of the other kids. I just didn't want to talk. My mind remained active yet my lips remained shut. At home I was fine. This didn't change until I hit 11. I realised that I was about to start secondary school and that if I didn't do something drastic, I would remain the mute girl for the whole of my life. So I did. I started talking.

Some 15 years on, I still face the same determination that I did then. That I have to change the way that I am, the way that I feel comfortable to be able to integrate with the world around me. I'm a little tired from the effort. I wish I could be me.