Ideal Concept Of A…
Can’t say it so unless you’ve been there before.
It’s me, after accidentally seen those ideal familiy portrait at some web page, don’t ask why i even got there at the first place. What comes up from my mind is, are those expression real? Okay, it might be real, real for photoshoot, what i mean is, the concept of ideal family. Behind those smile, is there any cheating, money spends for hire a prostitutes, how much slap the wife get from her husband? Phew.
Like i said. Never been a husband nor a father before, so i couldn’t tell the concept of ideal family is exist. Closest example, i thought i born in a happiest family ever. Cheerful mother, funny father, cute little brother and sister that always had a fight everytime they talking about “who’s gonna sleep at the upper bed tonight?” haha. But when my father bailed, i lost my faith in the concept of ideal family—wait a minute, don’t you dare to thought this writing is about whining and cry for a sympathy thingy, my friend. Just remembering the old days, sharpening my brain.
Just saying.
Where am i? Yeah, the lost faith. He bailed out in a snap, and just gone for many month, and back to the house just for sleeping and change his cloths. Of course, like every woman on earth, my mother can’t stand it and send my father a divorce paper.
And voila, he just dissapear like a ghost, no trace or footprint. Angry? *nod*, but it only takes a few months, not saying that a little problem, but i get over it. In the end i just think that is not my problem, it’s theirs. And i’m not holding any piece of authority to force them back like the old days. Now, i can meet both of them, not at the same place, but they’re seems happy with their live. My mother got a new husband—second wife though, and my father live happily, chasing his job just for another meal on his mouth. He—my father said, never cheated on my mothers, he can’t. Yeah, like i believe—or i’m just trying to believe.
Maybe it was real for a moment, eighteen years of marriage, those expression, those smiling faces, those hugs everytime my father came from work—when i can smell the sweaty armpit which’ll trade for money for my family to eat, the beautiful view when my father playing and teasing my little sister, his favourite, or gloomy view when my father smoking at the attic and told me never smoke later.
I think it was real. It’s how long you can keep it that real way, without a scars to be healed, shame to be covered.
Not being judemental, if other people believe in it, i’ll not bother,
It’s just me.
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nine-centimeter-god posted this
