The resemblance is there and I can see it just by looking at my own photograph. My mind is telling me that if I look a lot like her then there’s this huge chance of me ending up like her. And that thought made me feel disgusted. Not that I’m insulting that woman, it’s just the thought of ending up miserably in life and being pitied nonstop by everybody else make my stomach churn. It’s probably seeing how she’s constantly being judged and subtly persecuted by our very own relatives make me want to choke up to death and not see how’ll my own future will fail me as a result of my careless way of living. I’d tell myself repeatedly that not in any chance will I allow myself to become that woman – someone who denies to herself that being pitied is painful, that every penny she gets out of pity is still acceptable, and that, in reality, she pities herself more than other people do. But regardless of how I try to reason out to myself that I’m far from being that woman, the similarity of the path we tread or treaded becomes more visible. I can see now the worries my mom had when she saw what I was becoming. Surely she had that déjà vu moment back then. I can’t blame her. The fact that I’m admitting to myself that I can be like her is just too horrible enough. I feel so helpless being impaled by my own flaw. Having to battle myself from succumbing to my slothful self every morning makes my chance in getting a better life more skew. Gawd, I pity myself more…
I’m not like her.
I can’t be like her.
