Her recent request serves as an example of how she has been an obstacle to my goals since 2015. I do what she asks, but she rarely appreciates what I’ve done. She hears me, but she doesn’t listen. I’m a little disappointed; after I married her, I thought I’d have a friend to talk to, but it turns out I don’t have one. Sometimes, I’m afraid to speak or suggest anything to my wife because she’ll scold me, just like my mother used to when she was alive.
By the way, when I was a kid, did I ever see my mom slap one of my sisters? Was I the only one she slapped when she was upset? It took me 40 years to realize this—it’s really unfair. This will be a reason why I no longer want to pray for my parents. Dear God, I apologize if I truly resent my family. I wish I could forgive them, but I can’t. They went too far.
There’s an old song that reflects my current state: it’s just a dream to have a place I could call home, even a small, comfortable rental in an individualistic environment. That’s just a dream for an introverted daydreamer.
So, what’s left to do?
Drink coffee with brown sugar while I wait to die. Sometimes I don’t care what my neighbors think of me, but other times, I do. I realize I’m living in poverty, battling complex diseases like type 2 diabetes. I’m jobless, without an income.
Back to the coffee with brown sugar—I’ll drink it while it’s warm.