Fruits basket does not belong to me…-;-
I never had a liking for perfection. I hate how the snow piles up and covers imperfections. I dislike boxes full of perfect rows of chalk. I am scared whenever I see tidied classrooms. Perfection scares me.
I have always been silent. I felt like a broken doll, forever hollow. For me, I've always had a hard time expressing myself. My mother described me as "boring," Have I been boring? I asked myself that. I am now living on my own. I looked at the rooms, they were cluttered. They looked ransacked, to be honest. I broke down on that day, the day I had to live on my own. I looked at the place; my head was spinning around with thoughts. My eyes were horrified; I didn't know what I had done wrong.
Do I have any value to my family? Since I had my younger brother, it seemed like I no longer had any value to my mother. They now have a suitable heir to my father's company. They thought I was jealous of my baby brother, they thought I was thinking of killing him. That's why I now live on my own.
My childhood wasn't a merry one. My mother required me to be perfect, to have a perfect transcript. I tried my best, yet she wasn't content. She once said that if I weren't perfect, I wouldn't win against my brother. It suffocated me.
Have I done anything wrong?
That question remains in my head until now. I just followed my mother's orders.
Am I a mistake?
I am broken.