Everything Happens For A Reason.

Before you read this entry, bear in mind that if you do choose to read this, it was from your own choice. I did not make you read this. I don’t mean to offend anyone; this was written from my point of view.

Due to something that happened recently, it really got me thinking. And I decided to blog about the whole thing; from the start, years ago, up till today. So you’ll be forgiven if you wanna skip this entry; it’s definitely gonna be a long one. ;D

I have long believed in that saying (‘everything happens for a reason’); everytime something happens, I would always remind myself that they happen for a purpose to serve in my life. But I have only ever believed in it; there were no solid proof of that theory in my life. So what kept me believing?

Me, who has questioned judgements and theories as long as they haven’t been proven?

Me, who scorned when mum told me she loved me years ago, because there didn’t seem to be proof whatsoever?

What was it then, that kept me believing, even though proof was more than scarce in my life?

I don’t know. And I still don’t.

But as of 2007, the meaning of it slowly made itself present to me. Either that, or I have only just recently opened up my eyes. =p

Let’s start from the very beginning; why I began relying so much on this simple saying, and why now, I so strongly believe in it. (Wtf I make it sound like someone about to convert you into a religion or something. >_>)

I’ll spill it all now; and risking every person who might come across this to know about it. But I feel that it’s about time my skeletons came out of their closet. ;p For once, this is gonna be a melancholy entry.

It was no secret to a very close friend of mine how I felt towards how my mum was treating me years ago. I felt unrightfully judged; as if it didn’t matter if I had told her the truth about something or not, she would judge me how she saw fit, and that was that. In her eyes, she saw no one but Ashley; who was the apple of her eye; almost a perfect child. And I was no more than a stubborn, not-very smart (the more polite way of saying ‘stupid’,) child.

It may sound harsh, but it represented how I felt at that time. And the fact that mum had made no effort to prove otherwise didn’t help. If anything, she had added salt to the wound.

Not surprisingly, I fell into a mild depression as I entered high school. I appeared happy, talkative and dorky in school or when I’m with my friends, but when I came home, I would hole myself up in my room. I listened to hard-rock bands like My Chemical Romance (I had taken a liking to their 3 Cheers For Sweet Revenge album), A7x, Nine Inch Nails and The Used, to name a few. I began having suicidal thoughts, fueled by the thought that no one would miss me if anything happened anyway. At that time, my sister took glee in rubbing it in that I was retarded; abnormal, even. And amidst all those depressing thoughts already, it was not hard to believe it.

I began thinking of countless painless ways to die (yes, even in planning my death, I was a coward. >_<); if it all became too much to handle. But as much as my sister did hurt me physically, I just could not bring myself to hate her. On the contrary, I felt remorseful.

Was I really that bad a sister for her to hate me that much?

Was I really that annoying and useless?

Funny how I didn’t seem to pay much mind to how my mother or anyone else portrayed me, but cared so much what my sister might be thinking of me.

In other words, I was pretty much by myself when I had all these feeling cooped up inside. No one really did bother to understand my situation; they’d think I was just being a ‘diva’ or something.

Slowly, though, I learnt to live in a way that made it at least a little more bearable. And that was when I discovered online blogs. I began venting my anger and feelings into online journals that I had previously abandoned (Livejournal); marking all my entries as private. Profanities galored the pages of my journal; I either cussed like a sailor or ripped my heart out on the pages. I hated my life. I wanted out.

Then came college. I saw it as an opportunity to get as far away from the life I was living as possible. Erase all previous memories and start afresh. There was hope.

But I was denied the opportunity. I was deemed not independent enough and ‘too ‘soft’ for the real world’. I was forced to enroll in a college close to home and take up a course I wasn’t really interested in. I was; very literally, shattered.

But it was also that year that it began to show. I met an amazing person who made my life so much better. As cliché as it may sound, for once in my life, I didn’t feel like some useless nobody planted into a random family. I knew I had someone to lean on now, someone who genuinely cared about my well being and would lend a hand or advice when I needed it. A friendly face who would not throw accusations at my face without first finding out the truth.

I felt thankful I went to this nearby college. It was the one thing I had not regretted. Me not being granted to go to the big city to further my studies had it’s reason: so I could meet someone who would show me that even someone like me could be loved honestly and genuinely; and most importantly – that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. About a year later, I had literally forgotten what it was like to feel depressed. I never walked down that lane of memories; I didn’t have to. It would have been impossible for me to forget this. (You know who you are. <3)

Then, there was the news that mum was pregnant again. It was a big blow for both Ashley & I; we never expected that to happen in a million years, especially when in the end, mum decided to go along with the pregnancy full term. I was 20 and she was 15; we were going to be 20 and 15 years apart. The gap couldn’t have been more obvious.

The pregnancy itself brought along a few changes; a few changes that were too much for Ashley’s heart to bear. If I thought I had had it rough all these years, she probably had the hardest time, having to adapt to the abrupt change of character that we had originally thought was inevitably temporary.

Seeing the walls that I had thought were almost impossible to break, crumble right in front of my eyes, it broke my heart that it took all I had not to crumble with her right then and there.

Though, having said that, I would not have anything done differently if I had a choice. The pregnancy brought my sister and I, who were once literally each other’s nemesis, close together. It has been almost 2 years since the incident, and Ashley and I have never had an argument close like how we did before. The worst we have gotten is not speaking to each other for a day or two, before one of us would end up feeling guilty and apologizing.

It still amazes me how one turn of event could close that big of a gap between us; something I would have thought quite impossible. If one were to ask me my opinion on our relationship now, I’d say I feel almost as if she were my twin. (With her as the elder one most of the time! xD) Her mentality is probably more matured than mine (no surprises here.. lol), so I don’t see her as a younger sister at all most of the time; rather, it feels as if we were of the same age.

If I were to be my overemotional, clichéd self, I’d say that Ashley is probably the other half of me. *^^* She’s definitely become someone I can’t be away from for too long; I’d miss her crackiness too damn much. xD

So all in all, I’m pretty much thankful that I went through what I did. It made me always look at both sides of the coin, and learn to explain things in a manner that would not belittle or insult the other party. It is these events that had probably taught me the most valuable lessons in life, and most importantly, not to judge a book by it’s cover. What didn’t kill me, will only make me stronger, because everything that happens, happens for a reason.

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