So this morning I saw the child abuse video. Ever since I have my own daughter, I take child abuses even more seriously than I was before. Honestly, it gets to me more after I’ve went through all the hardships delivering and currently, growing a child. I’ve been through sleepless nights and especially when the daughter wants all the attention to her. I’ve been there, so I know how sometimes I feel so angry, plus all the exhaustion after work.

I know the anger. But I don’t allow it to drive me to hit the child.

I am notorious for my bad temper but I’ve never thought hitting people would solve anything. Hitting leads to abuse. Hitting promotes anger. You’re already angry and when you’ve start hitting, you will want to keep hitting. YOU think by keep on hitting it will reduce your anger to ash but no. I’ve tried slamming things. I just want to keep slamming more. Luckily they are just things. At that point I realized that I will do just the same if I hit a person. So I don’t.

Hitting devaluates. In parents-child case, hitting devaluates both. Hitting demotivates. Hitting will just bring back bad memories. Sure, you might have a hug-hit ratio of 100:1 in your house. You hit once, the child will remember it. Especially if it’s done unjustly.

I understood that for some people, they will try to think positive about the mother in the news. They will try to ‘fit in her shoes’, as well as going so far to think of some excuses for her. However if you ask me, there is NO excuse. Here, I am, the bad tempered person my family labeled me, my friends labeled me; never thought of hitting a baby on her freaking head. Or with a pillow. Forfuck’ssake really, people should watch E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G in the video. Watch how the baby is trying to go to his mother. Poor baby didn’t know who’s hitting him. It’s the woman he’s trying to tell that he’s hurt.

Okay people, use some imagination, alright? Let’s stop trying to fit in the mother’s shoes. Now try to fit in that baby’s shoes. How about that? Okay? So we have the situation. You, as the baby. You, don’t know how to talk. All you know is cry. That’s the only method you know. You probably hurt somewhere inside – or had a bad dream – or just don’t feel good at all. You want to tell your mother, a person whom you think loves you a lot. You cry. Maybe you’re saying “Mama, my tummy is hurt,”. But your mother don’t understand and you keep on telling her. So to her, you’re just non-stop crying. And being annoying. Then, as a grown up, she hits you. Hard on the head. Now not only you’re hurt in the tummy, but you’re getting hit too! Painful! But you oh you the innocent baby you, you think it’s something else hitting you! You proceed on trying to tell your mother, “Mama it’s getting even more painful but now in some other places!”.

Little did you know that it’s the mother who inflicts such pain on you. Little did you know. Why can’t you reach mother? Why mother is not picking you up yet? It’s getting even more painful; a mother’s hug and soothing words can help but you’re not getting any. You see your mother near, so near. Yet so far.

How is that for a little thoughts? Disturbing? Feeling something stirring you up in the guts? Here’s why I didn’t spare littlest thought of defending the mother.

Stressed out, mentally disturbed; as long as she’s not completely crazy yet – these are all just some pathetic excuses.

People, if you’re not ready for a child; the good and the bad side – don’t breed.

It’s here. I’m experiencing it again. Ohfuckingnoes.

I always have ideas and things I really really reaaaaaally want to write when I’m doing something else away from computer. But, right at the moment when I’m already in front of it, logged on and ready to type – everything just went kapoof. “Eh… what I was trying to say again?”. And that’s it. No entries. Nothing. So today I’m trying to linger around and see if the ideas decided to return from their lovely picnic and help me out here.

On the last weekend, we’ve spent by staying at home here in Ipoh. Not really a home, just a house we live in but meh… no place is really our home anyways. I’ve wasted hours of my weekend with sleep. It’s only then I realized, I am more tired and exhausted than my body could feel. With all these recent events happening, it’s mentally tiring as well. I’ve never like deciding for people, for I always picked the bad, bad option(s). And the people will go wtf with me. And no apologies could really soften the look on their face for the mistakes I’ve made. I can’t help to ask myself, why didn’t they make their own decision?

Because yes, exactly like how I feel about making decision – it’s actually hard. Harder when people refuse to make one.

Something that made my day lately.

Ever since I’ve learned the term introvert and extrovert, I’ve always considered myself as an introvert. I was ten at that time and that was when I learned that I’m leaning towards artistic as well. I think it is too much to say that I am proud being an introvert, and safe to say that I am very comfortable with it because no, being an introvert is never a bad thing.

Though I have to say that I was under impression that introvert is an antisocial, and for a long time I thought I was an antisocial. Took me a few years to realize that introvert does not equal to antisocial and I am NOT an antisocial. I am fine with socializing but I am not enjoying it as much as I enjoy being all by myself doing things I love.

I am also very much aware that people think that and introverts love being in the dark corner doing creepy stuffs or just isolating themselves in the dull corner being stupid . That only happens in cartoon and even cartoons now do not describe introvert that way. I do love being by myself but I don’t sit in the corner. Well, maybe my PC system is at the corner of our room but I don’t sit there being creepy and doing psychotic stuffs. Unless you consider playing World of Warcraft as a creepy hobby then I don’t know?

When I admit I’m an introvert, as expected a lot of people would say that I am extrovert, online.

I’d say. Huh. What the fooosh is online extrovert?

There’s no ‘online extrovert’. Offline introvert is an online introvert. Blogging essays *cough* and tweeting like there’s no tomorrow, being chatty in guild chat (WoW) doesn’t make me an extrovert. I don’t even have more than 200 people in my friends list. 40% of them are my ex-guildmates in WoW. I don’t accept strangers’ request for friend. I don’t make friends (even online) easily. I hide news feed, I’ll set myself invisible sometimes and I don’t respond everything on my news feed. I am fine with small company though I prefer to be left alone. Most of the times my status is just what I want to let out and a lot of times I wish people didn’t respond, let alone trolling it. I often feel stupid for announcing what I’m doing in Twitter, so I’m just tweeting my thoughts and anger. Heheh

It’s a good thing (for me) to voice out things bottled up inside me. Whether it’s all true, or half true, or I’m just being delusional (which I don’t think so considering I’m very sane at the moment); it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve let it most of it out. I’m not trying to be arrogant or ungrateful, but I am not sorry.

This conflict is embarrassing, but it’s not yet settled because it just can’t when there’s only one party trying to solve it while the other is in denial. Even IF, I say IF, I’m at the wrong part; people could’ve at least prove me wrong. Anyone can say the words, proving it is another matter. As for me, I will keep insisting that “this is the case” unless they’re proving it otherwise.

Kids often hid the truth and so afraid of admitting mistakes because they know 90% of the time, if they’re guilty they’ll be receiving punishment. But that’s the case with kids. What about us, the adults?

What are we afraid of?

It’s ego, right?

Lately I’ve been asked about my plans of getting a second child. I guess judging from my appearance, I don’t look like someone who had her cesarean section almost 10 months ago. So I told them, I have plans but not so soon considering I have to take a break for at least 2 years before getting pregnant again. Little did they know that I’m actually so afraid of having another one.

I’m not afraid of getting pregnant. I’m not afraid of getting through contractions and normal delivery if God’s willing. They probably have to cut my tummy again and still I’m not afraid of that. What I’m afraid of is the probability of me treating her the way I don’t like people treat myself  as a second child. The probability of being unfair.

I’ve heard that it’s the first child that we need to look out for when we’re having a second child. There will be issues like jealousy and the feeling of rivalry with the arrival of the new baby. While it seems that that’s the case, truth is when they grow bigger, different things will happen.

It’s not unusual for me to hear things like unexpected pregnancy. Second child is always “an accident”, something you didn’t plan for. The excitement of getting a second child is always far less than the first time. Mostly all the dreams, the wishes, the things you’re saving and dying to buy for your first child; will not be with you when it comes to the second child.

Therefore, my precious blog; please remind me when I have a second child:

• Please, never never ever compare him/her to Fatimah. This is going to be the basic. Remind me to never compare their abilities. They will have their own, and they’re entitled to have their own. What I’m supposed to do is to keep motivating them to do what’s right. Not force them.
• Even though Fatimah had it rough, when they’re born; they’re struggling with their own issues. If my second child has it easy (not premature, easy labor); this doesn’t mean she’s less special. Of course, Fatimah is special. She’s small, yet she’s so strong, happy & healthy. If I have a second child, despite the way I deliver him/her to this world; s/he’ll always be special too. S/he’ll be one of my children. And that’s special.
• My second child is NOT a second option. S/he will not complete what Fatimah can’t. S/he will not chasing my dreams which I failed to achieve, and that means s/he won’t be forced to chase the same dream with Fatimah. If it happens that they have the same dreams, let it be by their own will. I can’t be a graphic designer or storyboard artist I wanted so much, and I will never ever tell them to pursue it for me.
• Remind me not to judge how much they love us. If Fatimah is open about her love and not ashamed of showing it, remind me to understand that second child might feel embarrassed to be all lovey dovey with me, or to hug me. This doesn’t mean s/he’s any less loving than Fatimah.
• Remind me that I’m a second child, and that means of all people I’m supposed to understand my second child best. S/he will be struggling with her inner self and mind. S/he will feel that s/he’ll need to chase Fatimah. This mental struggle will never end until I put him/her at ease regarding that matter.
• Remind me to keep addressing them with their own names, especially when I’m talking about one to another. ‘Your sister’, ‘your brother’ will put them under the other’s shadow and please avoid this especially with second child. S/he will not grow within Fatimah’s shadows.  And Fatimah won’t grow within my second child’s shadow either. They deserve their own light. My second child will NOT walk in the school as “Fatimah’s sister”. Fatimah will NOT walk in the school as the “Elder sister”. She will walk as Fatimah, and my second child will walk as him/herself.
• Please if it ever cross in my mind the thought of comparing even in the slightest bit, hit myself somewhere to wake me up. Evil thoughts! Repeat the mantra; never compare. NEVER COMPARE. Recall every bit of memories I hate to avoid myself from doing it.
• Remind me not to tell him/her how hard Fatimah had when she was still a baby and small. Telling him/her about him/her sibling’s struggle isn’t going to help anything. Saying that s/he has it easy will make him/her feel worthless. S/he didn’t choose the way s/he comes into the world. And I’m sure if Fatimah could decide on her own, she will be wanting to have it easy and breezy too.
• If Fatimah is doing something for him/her sake, don’t keep repeating it to him/her. If s/he put Fatimah in trouble when they were small, remind me that they’re kids. Remind me that it’s supposed to be me who take the blame, not either of them. Teach them, train them. It’s what I’m supposed to do.
• People will treat them differently. And if one has it nicer than the other, please don’t say anything about it. Why one has it less nicer – it’s not the other’s fault. I am suppose to top that up for them. Be nice to both, remind them that I’m loving them genuinely.
• It’s inevitable for them to compare themselves even when we’re not. Remind me to tell them that comparison never build a person. It only destroys. Comparing doesn’t equal with seeing something as inspiration.

See, I’m not being arrogant. Getting pregnant, delivering them, working to support them; all of these are actually the ‘easy part’ (of all the hard jobs). Guiding them and watch them as they grow, for me, is the hardest. Something we do might affect them for the rest of their life. They might struggle mentally just because of things we say, which we might take it as just one of those simple things.

Most importantly, dear blog, remind me that my child(ren) are gifts from God. It’s not some accident. First, second, third, last; it’s just numbers. As long as they’re my child, they’re always, always equally special.