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Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Rant about the Old Man.

Today was not a good day. I dread coming home, especially since my mom isn’t around to distract my dad. *Mak is in England (the b***h) trudging around in the cold with her brother and his wife. Yes, I would like to trudge in the cold too because it’s London. I know one cyber community I’m still in it that calls anime enthusiast as japfags (Japanese-faggots) so I guess I’m an engfag. Hell, half my blog’s name is from a flowering English weed.

But she’s just playing 3rd-world tourist since she’s got money and not metaphorically spitting in my eye so I won’t anonymous flame her in Blogspot. It’s more about my father, aka Ayah.

Let me give you a long winding story. Get a Coke, or suck on something while you read if you like because the best way I can get you to sympathize with me instead of with a mature adult is starting with my older brother.

*Arsenal played around a lot during his studies in USA. Coming home from overseas empty-handed is something *Ayah couldn’t stomach, more so because he had supported his younger brother overseas. *POot came home without a degree, something Ayah reminded his children over a hundred times a year for the last over 30 years.

I’ll be lying if I said I didn’t think my brother’s university education disaster had an effect on me. If anything, maybe it made me more a loner. Arsenal had tried to escape the family and live on his own because of this. I didn’t know if the plan formed while he still was in USA or when he got off the airport. This was to get you an idea about the wrath of Ayah.

Just to be strictly fair, Ayah is a good man. One of the best I’ve ever met. The only time he didn’t care what the general public thought about him was when he sang karaoke. Every other time, yes, reputation matters. Money and reputation.

Ayah grew up during Malaysia’s emergency rule at one of those ‘black areas’. ‘Black area’ is one of those places where there’s a high communist concentration. Expect bombs and food rations. Shop owners open your can of beans right at the store so they’ll go bad if you try to hoard food for the jungle-sneaking communists.

After the emergency, Ayah worked hard. Country boy got his tops in one of the best car dealers in the nation. He was flying business class to Germany every 2 weeks before he retired. He told us about how the Chinese have a saying that wealth survives 3 generations; first to earn, second to spend and third with only the name.

If that wasn’t a paternal threat, the Petronas Towers is made of beans.

You can’t fault a father for nagging high maintenance. Especially when he’s retired, unemployed and over 50 years young. I still remember how he used to beat me for having low grades. They hurt. Not a month goes by without at least for one day, thinking what I might have to do to just keep him neutral. Just because he doesn’t beat his kids anymore doesn’t mean he couldn’t and every possibility that he would still do it.

I do to Ayah to what I always do to things I worry about. Sleep it off. Well, my father didn’t have a deadline (he does actually, but as he’s a healthy guy, let’s not go there) and I don’t have to send in assignment reports. I don’t even show him my grades anymore, just told them to him and he thinks I’m telling the truth.

Two months ago, I did tell the truth, that I failed one subject. He didn’t blow like Mt. St Helen. I think it was due to me playing the guilty person. I can cry out tears and drain out snot like a faucet when I’m sad. More disgusting than embarrassing really (I stopped thinking what I look to people years ago) bit I did it in hope that Ayah to minimize his angry man output.

He was definitely angry all right but I think the teary-snot thing did the trick. We just had a very long chat which I phased out most of the time and he walk out of my room. For the next few days I played it neutral, just in case he might use my failure against me in something. He might not, but just knowing somebody got that kind of power over me still merits a hi-bye-only level of communication. He does brought it up from time to time, especially now that the semester’s drawing to a close.

In fact, I may have to brush this act up next month. I have every chance I might fail my thesis paper because I didn’t bother meeting my supervisor. I said before that I’m immensely private but mostly I just didn’t bother too. I had bad experience with teachers during primary school so I usually avoid them whenever I can avoid them. Or any other person who has authority over my future, for that matter.

It’s not my supervisor’s fault. Nothing about my failing grade is her fault. I just don’t want to see her and I don’t know what to ask her (slept it off, in fact). To cap it, the head of faculty had been informed about my misdemeanor. Head hadn’t answered yet. Great. If I’m not approved for presentation, auto-F. It doesn’t matter that I’ve already did the project and submitted the final draft in time. My supervisor is not going to defend me. Who would, I mean come one, after all the non-trouble I’ve caused her.

Maybe when I get the F, my father will blow his top. I know he’s been saving it. More so since money for the school is running out. My brother, Arsenal, had already been through it. And I’ve tried the running away method before (came back on my own will after over 12 hours). But pretty now is the sit-and-wait time.

Maybe if I sleep it off, maybe a new, bigger problem would arise, so I can have an excuse to cavil. Like meningitis or something.

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