Deal With Memories

I got home a little early after school, and my father was waiting for me in the living room, as he always was. He made such a big deal about Nilliam, despite the fact that we don't have anything going on. He's already assumed that I'm going on a date with him. And, besides, how old am I to be treated as if I were a child? But how come I still think about these things when they were always like this to me, even when I was in high school?

I recall him refusing to let me go to school for a week in my third year of high school because he suspected I was seeing someone older than me. In reality, it was only my senior who was instructing me on basic camera angles and how to use my camera properly, which is total nonsense. Then he became enraged with me because I was unable to pass my subject due to my absence from school. Everything became my fault all of a sudden. It's just proving to them that I'm not doing anything wrong is extremely difficult. It exhausts me to try to defend myself when people believe I am capable of terrible things and that this will lead to my rebellious behavior. It's difficult for me to rebel against them when I can't even be angry with them. I wanted to scream at them every time they got on my nerves, even if it wasn't their fault, but I couldn't because I'd be a prisoner in my own home for eternity if I did.

When my father noticed that I had arrived on time, he said nothing. So, I went into my room and lock the door. I sit on my bed after arranging my belongings on my table.

'Why am I doing this to myself?' In hushed tones, I said.

What's wrong with me that I can't fight back against my parents and instead just let them abuse me physically, emotionally, and mentally despite the fact that I'm living in hell with them? I'm completely sick of this type of setup.

I was then drawn back to Nilliam's present for me, which I had almost forgotten about. I took the small box inside the paper bag. I carefully opened the yellow wrapper to reveal the hidden music box inside.

'Woah!' When I look at the music box, my eyes are twinkling with delight.

When I gently open the music box, it begins to light up in a beautiful way, emitting different colors, and immediately begins to play Harry Styles' music. Isn't this something so cool? My emotions are difficult to articulate at the moment, but I am aware that I am feeling something. It's there; I can sense it.

'Thank you so much, Nilliam,' I replied. 'I never thought I'd own this rare music box,' I went on.

I photographed the music box with my camera.

'Yet another thing that made me feel something. Another thing that serves as a reminder to me is that I still have emotions; I can feel the pressure on my face as I smile broadly.

I take a look at my photo wall and notice that it is gradually filling up. Every time I feel a strong or new emotion, I take a picture and hang it on the wall to express myself. I recently added two photos, one of which was of the water reflecting myself. I won't deny that I was overjoyed when I felt the water there. The second new image is of Nilliam, who I previously photographed, smoking a cigarette in the garden. I saw his innocent self there, and just looking at him made me feel warm inside.

'And this music box will be added there,' I say, smiling again as the music box plays in the background.

I realized I'd been through a lot in my life while scanning the photos on my photo wall. These photographs on my wall serve as visual reminders of my emotions and feelings. Until they gradually fade away in my mind, as I become emotionless and numb. I'm sorry for their stories. I pity them because they are the ones who have to deal with my memories.

Then I suddenly remembered the journal I had seen in the library.

'Can I read what's written on the inside?'

I took the journal from my bag and scanned the outside for any hints of anything.

'Should I take a peek?'

This journal has piqued my interest greatly. I also used to keep a journal as a child because I enjoyed making up stories based on my own experiences and observations. I had a lot of fun writing them because they gave me a break from the stresses of everyday life. I started keeping a journal when I was 14 years old, and I was only in the hospital because of my medical condition at the time. Before I go to bed every night, I usually start by writing in my journal about a story that has developed in my head as a result of my interactions with the patients and doctors at the hospital during the day. My imagination was simply vast, and I was able to generate stories on the fly. I suppose you could say that all of my previous stories were fictional or fantasy because I want to live in a fantasy world where I don't have to deal with my perfectionist parents or, of course, my illness. It's just that my father found out and destroyed all of my journals. He said it would drive me insane because I was making up stories that weren't true. I had no choice but to stop it, and I didn't try to justify it to my father. He's the evilest person I've ever met.

I pull the journal from my bag to see what's inside. To be honest, I'm a little nervous because I know what I'm about to witness is very personal. It is strictly private. If other people found out about my private journaling, I would be furious too.

'F*ck it!' I exclaim. 'I'm curious to see what's inside.'

I turn to the middle page of the journal, and yes, it is a real person's journal. It is a diary kept by a person. I went back and looked at the most recent thing he wrote, which was a week ago.

'He's probably looking for this journal right now.'

The journal hasn't been completely used; I believe there are about 40 pages left in it. So I return to the first page and start reading.

The date was "January 1, 1999" as I read the first text written on the first page.

This journal started last year. I'm sure this "Nilliam" enjoys his writing very much.

The handwritten text is very readable. Every letter is legible and meticulously written. He used a black ink pen to write, and I can tell you that this person is extremely organized.

"My father has joined us for New Year's Eve celebration, and my mother is preparing our dessert as we prepare to ring in the New Year. I just wanted to write this down because I'm feeling extra special today because my father is here to celebrate with us. I'm not sure I can say to myself right now that I forgive him, but all I can think about is that he's here with us and that he made my mother happy."

I pause after reading the first paragraph to reflect.

'I'm not sure I'm going to be able to finish this. This is far too personal.'

I took a deep breath and looked down at my journal for a few moments.

I recall Nilliam, the Nilliam I'm familiar with, stating that he didn't get along with his mother. When we talk about it, he appears depressed. When I bring up his parents, his emotions begin to subside.

'Is it possible that this was his journal?'

I pick up the journal again and continue reading. I've already read half of it, so stopping now is pointless.

"Something within me is urging me to become enraged at my father because he is causing my mother pain, and to make matters worse, my mother has never mentioned this to me. How can she continue to defend my father despite being physically and mentally abused by him? When I got home from school one day, I heard my father screaming from outside our house and beating the sh*t out of my mother. Fortunately, I arrived home from school early and caught him doing this. I was so angry at him at the time, and I felt so much rage within me, that I considered killing him right then and there."

I put down the book once more.

'What makes it possible that there are people who actively seek to harm others by using their strengths??' I make a statement.

In the midst of what I was reading, I had a flashback to my father. 'I truly feel for his mother.'

Is he, on the other hand, truly capable of doing so? I'm baffled. I believe I could pull it off if it was me.

"And as I see them now, talking to each other, smiling and laughing while preparing our food, it's as if nothing has happened between them, as if they are a happy couple living in a simple house. When I look into my mother's eyes, I see nothing but happiness and no trace of pain or even rage. That's why I couldn't let my father leave the house, even though I knew he'd do it again to her. I don't want to get that smile on my mother's face whenever he's with him, and I don't want my mother to be sad."

'This Nilliam is a very thoughtful person. He really loves his mother.'

I had the same thought about myself after that. Is it possible that I have similar feelings about my parents? Is it possible that I love my parents as much as Nilliam does in his journal? I know deep down that I love my parents, but I don't think I feel the same way he does about his. They convinced me that I am a bad person, a loser and that I am worthless in the eyes of the world. I'm curious about what kind of feelings I have for them. But trust me when I say I still have it in me.

I'm going to read the last paragraph again.

"My hope is that as the year progresses, my father will change his bad behavior and just be nice to my mother. I just hope that the new year will also mark a new beginning for us to rebuild our old relationship. I just hope I can tell him to his face that what I was so angry about has now changed because I have forgiven him."

That brings us to the end of the journal's first page.

'I suppose I'll read more about his emotions in his journal,' I reasoned, 'He's very brave to have written this down.'

As I lay in my bed, thinking about the first journal I had just finished reading, it reminded me of a time when everything was still normal and good. We were never like this before; we had a lot of good times, warm days, and mutual respect; I'm not sure when we started becoming like this, but it happened eventually. What I don't remember is when my parents started to dislike me.