What nightmares are made of- Me.

At this very moment, I’m curled up like a slice of swiss roll cake, suffering from the monthly punishment duties of being a woman.

Other than getting someone to stomp on my toes repeatedly to distract me from the original source of pain, the only way I know to divert my attention is by talking about myself because I’m such a narcissist. Woe to be you, you who’s reading this.

In my last post, I wrote about how nasty I can be and thinking back on my childhood, I really was quite a terror. Poor dad and mum.

The five-year old terror
This story was told to me by mum because I only remember this incident in bits and pieces. Mum brought my elder sister to the doctor for a vaccination and being the natural child she was who was naturally afraid of needles, she naturally screamed and wailed the clinic down.

Naturally, as my wee brain was still not mature enough to understand the importance of that visit, I was terrified and wondered why that strange old man was trying to hurt my sister.

One moment I was sitting on mum’s lap, the next minute I leapt up, banged the good man’s desk with my tiny but (seemingly) powerful fist and shouted “Don’t hurt my sister!”. All these were done with tears streaming down my face. Dramatic or what.

The kind old man not only did not throw me out for almost attacking him but instead rewarded me with vitamins (citrus flavoured ones, this bit I remember). Luckily I was too young to feel embarrassed.

The seven-year old monster
Then I started attending primary school. I was made to sit beside this girl whose name (Pei Yee- PY for short) and face (sallow and pasty pale) will be permanently etched in my mind. Being the first few days of school, it was normal for me to act shy and for others to be friendly.

One day PY asked me “Hui Ling (my Chinese as can Chinese name can be), what’s your name?”. I answered “Sabrina”, as I assumed that’s what she wanted to know. Hell was I wrong. PY then proceeded to repeat that question again, and I politely answered suspecting that she had hearing issues.

Imagine that scenario multiplied by at least another 30 times. Who could blame me for being mad right?! Plus I was so afraid that I would be mistakenly punished by my teacher for talking, so I hissed at her “Are you stupid or what?! How many times do you want to ask me for my name?!?!”

But oho, apparently she’s not that stupid because she promptly complained to her father about my name-calling. And trust that man to pick on someone at least a quarter of his age and size. He confronted me asking me how I could be so rude and how all his daughter wanted was to be my friend and know my name and blah de blah de blah.

Obviously because I was intimidated by that tall, shouting man I started crying and shouted back at him that his daughter was really stupid and that he’s stupid too for siding with her when she kept asking me stupid questions. Then I also probably said the first mean thing in my life. “Your daughter is stupid because she has a stupid father like you.” Oops.

I still don’t think I was wrong. In fact he should thank me for highlighting the bigger issue at hand. Shortly after, PY was really identified then transferred to a school for children with learning disabilities. And you’re welcome too.

The eight-year old nightmare
I must have offended the god of nice classmates or something, for the next year I got into trouble again. Female classmate (Xue Shan- XS) had crush on class trouble-maker (Yao Hui- YH). And amazing how I still remember all their names. All I did was to go around collecting worksheets and after I passed XS’ desk (like two desks later), YH went to swipe her water bottle off her table just for the heck of it. Her bottle cracked.

Because she was a bitch in the making, she started sobbing and accused me of doing it. My teacher didn’t believe her either so after school ended, she retold her fake story to the only person who would believe her even if all the living and non-living things on all the planets didn’t- her mother.

So happens her elder sister and mine were in the same class so the gangster mother rounded her bitch daughters and confronted me (my sister was busy socialising to realise that I needed back up too). Unreasonable woman then demanded that I pay for a new bottle because the one that I broke was new and expensive.

Of course I fought back. Do I look like a coward to you? I told the mother to get her facts right before accusing an innocent person and not to believe everything her precious daughter said. So, not being able to tolerate being told off by a kid, she screamed bloody murder that I was ill-bred.

I snapped. You can call me names but if you’re trying to imply that my parents didn’t teach me manners I will not stand there and let you insult them. I screamed (equally loudly I’m sure, with my useless tear ducts failing me once again) that she was the rude one and that her daughters were the ill-mannered ones. By this time, she was just about to burst and my sister had to choose that time to pass by.
The story was repeated for fair trial and what did my sister do? She looked at me, turned back to bitch-trio and nonchalantly said “No, I don’t know her. She’s not my sister.” Thanks a lot sister. Compared to me, my sister was (I emphasise was) a goody-two-shoes nerd who was the perfect student with perfect grades who did not want to be associated with anyone (I.e. Me) who was anything unlike her.

Did you just feel like you were reading Tolstoy? Yup. I feel like how his hands felt too. And I’m still not done. But I shall leave those other stories for another day or possibly days while you go look out into the distance preferably at something green to ease the strain in your eyes.

Good night from Singapore, yay it will be Friday when I wake up. I’m no longer a nightmare (I think….). And wey-hey this works! I don’t feel crampy anymore!

xoxoxoxo.

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