I wish...

I wish things were different, I really do. But they are not. There is nothing I can do about that. Every day I wake up at 6 and I hear the loud hum of the vacuum cleaner, my mom talking on the phone,my dad turning the morning paper, and the hose outside. Everything runs at full speed and the amount of things done in one day at my house is unbelievable. I wish we could be a united family. The three of us together, having fun. Not my mom talking to her friends about a party, my dad reading the newspaper and me pretending to be okay with it all. Somehow, they don’t notice that I’m not. It is just like if they didn’t know me, but how can I expect them to if we are never together. We used to be of course, until I was 10 and left for the boarding school in Switzerland. But now, six years after that, two after I came back home, they are like strangers. Not only to me. To themselves too. Constantly, I ask myself what I can do to improve the current family situation. Nothing comes to mind however. I have tried to talk to them about it. They don’t get it. Mom says I’m just paranoid, and that it is all because of adolescence. Dad says that my mind is running loose because of TV. They probably know it, but they ignore nonetheless because they don’t want to face it. They think that it will all be okay, that one day when we need to we will reunite. The time that we have been apart will not matter, they think. Today I wake up sadder than ever. It is my birthday. I just hope they will remember, maybe even do something special. The worst part is I don’t even know how it got like this. It was all perfect, maybe that was the problem. Nothing can be right for too long. I went off to school; my parents and I talked every night before that. Now, once a week is the maximum, and not once more. My birthday wish, for us to become friends again. For them to be together all the time, to tell each other everything. For me to know what they are thinking just by looking at their faces, and for them to do the same. Will it ever happen? I ask myself silently as I get dressed. I don’t know, but I hope so. I think I will talk to them again, tell them that every minute that we drift farther apart it makes it harder for us to come back together. I will try my best to make them understand. It is important. It is all I can think about right now, as I hear the gardener fix the lawn, the maid clean the house, my mom on the phone, the newspaper swooshing as my dad turns the page, and my own quiet sobs. I wish it gets better, I really do.

A little mental monolouge I wrote on a wave of feeling. Not really my style, but I liked it. Enjoy.