The pleaser type?
I remember my father will beat me with rotan or his belt. For anything that irks him.
I was defenseless. I grew up fearing him. My step mom, only when I was on the verge of almost dying, would say cukup lah tue.
Ha ha ..that’s enough. It means that she thinks I somehow deserved it. Although at times even I don’t know why my dad beat me up. He was not a drunkard what, for most of the time, he is this serious prof. Madya, gentle, polite and respected.
I grew up soo scared sensing his moods. He will harp on every negatives that I have, even implied ones.
When I was beaten up when I was innocent, that was when I felt to whom should I ask for help. What can I do? I hanya menumpang saja. That was how I felt. That was how they made me felt.
As long as I don’t create fuss, just be meaningless. Somehow, as I grew up, I became stronger. So, I fought. The injustices. Because I loved him. I began to deeend myself.
He destroyed me. He tries and tries in every way. I could never define my father as a monster, because he shouldn’t right? He’s that guy, that I heard saved two Indonesian orang gaji yg kena abused. Then, why did he find it okay to abuse and hurt me?
To make me tougher? To build character into me? I used to laugh off at this.
I have no idea. We grow up and that’s it.
But reading the book about How We Love, gave me the permission to relook at it, because I want to heal. Not to blame him, mu parents and all. To learn. Heal.
So, I can learn to build my own happiness.
The author, a counsellor would ask her patient, so to me,what will be the best memory of my dad?
The time, when he sort of said he was sorry. We were getting out of the van. The dillapidated van. 15 or already 17 years. Unsafe. He deemed it building character.
Instead toystep siblings, new cars.
I could have died. I prayed for safety. The engine spoofed smokes. One time, it went on , the engine even when I pulled out the key. It broke down so many times. No air cond. it was a junk.
Me, I was thankful. But how I can rely on that crap ..I remembered the van ditching me in the rain. And other times bila air naik, I almost got stranded. Always a hit or miss.
Just as his love, unreliable. He was not there.
Senangnya, like one of the author’s client, my father is not someone yg I boleh ajak utk main kereta with me.
He gave me love. The roof. Expenses he described it – he kept a detailed copy of every cent spent on me ( dunnow to what extent, at times when I heard it, although it is only prudent budget wise, the way he said it, I remembered feeling hurt ..a burden..)
I never felt love from him. And that was asking, already, too much from him. I was waiting ..but now I accepted it.
And I loved and loved him. Marah. Waiting.
Dia marah tak apa. Dia drama tak apa. I tak boleh.
Yg peliknya, dari kechik sampai besa, I aje yg kena. Bila adik2 tiri besar, I became the butt for jokes. Sebab bodoh sangat. Sebab …diorang feel gleeful tengok I kena pukul, kena marah selalu. None of them kata I tak salah and I desereved my rights and respect.
Because no one was there, I founded the will to do it on my own. I belajar debate. Baca buku psikologi. I unwrung my dad’s hold on me. I freed myself, tp now there’s one more step ..
I grew up always on guard, to save myself, utk survive. That’s why I became a high flying pople pleaser aka PR consultant at ine point…I have build in skills by then, to attune to people ..sebab I grew up cautious, always on my toes re what’s my dad’s moods are …
Pic credit to Dani Ives, ThisisColassal.com