Fire

Anger management issues: it runs in the family.

My father uses exclamation marks in his texts to show his anger now, but I guess it's better than the way he used to hit me all the time. Even when I was 17, the only way he knew how to punish me was by giving me a beating. The day he kicked me out nearly five years ago, he rammed his foot into my stomach so many times, he should have done it when I was pregnant and saved me all the abortion fees. But he will excuse himself every Hari Raya when he says he beats me up because he loves me.

I've seen my elder brother snap at my mother just for the way she fidgeted with her toes. The way he took all my books and threw them across the living room because he didn't like how I dumped my bag on the floor when I got home from school. I've seen him break down because of an extension cord, actually throwing it at my father. I've gotten my fair share of beatings from him, oh how my mind and body have been so bruised from the hits of these two. The two older men whom I thought were supposed to protect me.

I know the way my mother likes to use her role to get what she wants; how she thinks I should be giving her $500 because that's her entitlement as a mother, even though she knows I earn less than a thousand each month. I remember the way she shrieked at me in the dining room: "I am your mother E'indah I AM YOUR MOTHER!" I never once forgot that she is my mother, but why does she always forget that I'm not her only child and I don't deserve every one of the burdens?

Save me the pain from seeing my younger brother turn out like them too. I've seen him cry when our elder brother and father fought because of an extension cord, and it breaks me. I'd rather be killed than watch him grow up angry, only knowing how to throw things and hit people.

Last night I watched my elder brother break down again, because he didn't like the way my father scolded my niece. He accused him of venting it on her while he was angry at me, for reaching home late. I tried to drown out my elder brother's voice, my father's daring him to sini pukul ah bapak kau, pukul. I knew my elder brother would have punched my father's face right in, I knew, and all I made myself do was get up of bed and stand between them.

But I wasn't strong enough, you know, I had nothing. My mother was the one who held my elder brother back; my grandmother the one who told him to mengucap. My niece didn't know what was happening, but her father's angry voice was scaring her and she started crying, together with me. She allowed me to wrap my arms around her and she hugged me back, her wailing almost as loud as my elder brother's possessed voice.

Why do we throw things when we're angry? Why did you pick up your son's crib and your daughter's little chair and throw them at your father? I heard your increasing voice, bringing up all those years from your youth, how our father beat you up and it's led you to be this way.

Anger. It runs in the family.
Fire. It might run in this house someday, burning it down. Maybe our family could reflect the one in my most favourite book, we can be our own Sinclairs. We could look perfect and happy on the outside, only to burn to ashes someday.