Validation
What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do with all these expectations queued up in my cerebral matter weighing down on my conscience. It was never about failing. It was about being better than the one you always considered your premiere priority, though you claimed otherwise. It wasn’t about improvement, but rather about being the first person you turn to when faced with a dilemma. Even when you did, you would call the wrong name referring to my presence.
No matter my efforts, my results would always underwhelm you. Was it because you didn’t measure my worth with my strives, but rather by their precedence? Since day one I’ve been trying to make you a little more content, because you always looked at me with disdain. But then I realised that your scornful looks were not necessarily for me, because to you I was transparent, opaque only when in the midst of conundrum. The looks were for the spectators in the background.
That was your focus, the way people perceive your treatment towards their beloved was worrisome. Your inability to provide with the affection I deserved, was poured out on me as anger and frustration. But I understood, like I always had to, because someone always has to. You had to keep her a priority, or at least portray like it, so that they won’t forget your usefulness.
Though you could’ve made better choices I can’t just push all of the blame on you. I shouldn’t have built the caricature of my self-esteem, from your frame of mind while being well aware of its weakness. But what was I supposed to do when you were the first person to love me, to construct the concept of Philautia. I had to teach my-self the lessons that were supposed to be tutored by you, no wonder my base is weak.
But now when I confront you, you say that you never meant harm, you loved me unconditionally, then why didn’t it feel like it? For a long time I thought I had to work for love, that there was a price to be paid in order to feel worthy of anyone’s time. Not realising that it was the result of the unconditional love that was rightfully mine, but donated to some who seemed ill-fated, but really wasn’t. Maybe that’s why I still strive to be my best self for everyone else, other than me. Makes me feel like a stranger in my own mind. Now when I recall events of the past, you dismiss your duties as my privileges.
“Everything comes at a price” you always said, then why am I the one paying your debts? Why did you put a price on something that wasn’t meant to have one? These questions are bleak because you never acknowledge your wrongs and my damage. Even today when you miss me, it’s not my absence that bothers, it’s the lack of my utility.
Closure is a concept built to make us believe everything has a causation, but really all I can do is be merciful to myself and move on. Sometimes circumstances are the only flaw in the equation, so now I accept your unconditional affection fueled by the repressed regret.
