I laid on my bed last night, but sleep evaded me so my mind started reflecting on the day's events and happenings and I used my phone to compose this post. I mean, with my phone's maximum limit of 1000 characters per draft, it's simply a breeze.
So, there I was, thinking about my annual review with Cynthia for JPSAE students, and though most of the time we digressed topics, she managed to steer it back to me again and I started pondering about my lack of lack of tolerance. God forgive me for those who have seen me angry before, though I can safely say my moments of anger are few and distant.
In my whole life, I can only recall two distinct and life-changing incidents, one that happened in upper primary, and the other in lower secondary, that influenced me to resolve never to be snared by anger again.
Of course, it could also be that I'm open to new ideas and thus don't really have much of a goal, so any 'setbacks' are more of speed bumps than traffic lights. But. That's a post for another time, another day. Or night.
I can still remember that day, as if it happened just a mere moment ago. I was already living in my current house when I was in primary 6. In my living room, there's a cupboard that stretches from e floor to e ceiling and it holds among other things, photo albums. My mum was rummaging through the bottom half and for some unknown reason, instead of waiting for her to be done, I reached over and partially opened the upper half to obtain the object I wanted.
I'm not certain why I didn't verbally alert my mum to my presence. Perhaps I felt I was walking rather loudly, or maybe I just didn't feel like talking that day. We all have our moods. I took out a photo album and stood a foot away, scanning through to find the image I wanted.
However I didn't close the cupboard door after taking out the album. Just then, my mum was done with her rummaging. She straightened up, and instantly collided with the partially opened door head-on. She bent away, wincing in pain, while I merely looked on, dumbfounded. My mind racing in a whirl, thoughts just jumping about. Should I say sorry or ask how is she? Do I retreat or advance forward? Or should I get the cane ready?
While all these thoughts were going on, she got mad that I just stood there, no apology out of my mouth, and subjected me to a series of hard slaps and pushes that kept me moving back. My tears flowed freely, yet I was struck dumb. She kept shouting and demanding an apology and hollering how much it hurt and why did I do that for and Don't do that again and what was my problem.
That was e day I learnt parents aren't angels but mere mortals. That was the day I felt firsthand the vicious ferocity of rage.
Sadly, that was also the day I lost a lot of respect for my mum. And it sparked off a mental questioning of the double standard.
I pondered why I was severely reprimanded for accidentally breaking a bowl yet my parents simply laughed about it when my dad broke his.
From that day, part of me knew I could never lose my cool and never allow myself to be a victim of rage and erupt into a frenzy like she did. Its said you scar a child, you scar him for life. And perhaps this is true.
Do I hold a grudge against her for the volley of slaps? I can truthfully say I don't. But I'll be lying if I say it hasn't affected our relationship. True, i was responsible for the physical hurt and her getting mad about it. Yet what's done is done, and respect lost is hard to earn back. And this is one of two reasons why i desperately try not to repeat that situation again, that is the outburst of rage n its repercussions.
But.
I do acknowledge e role anger plays in lives.
