I feel more connected to my friends and I feel so guilty. I know your family was supposed to come first but I've always felt disconnected from them. I have an amazing older sister and two cute but annoying younger sisters. I have a mom and dad and I'm pretty sure they love me, but i just don't feel like I'm part of the family.

There are things that I tell my friends that none of my family members know. I always have an invisible barrier between my family members as if they're strangers. I know its wrong and I don't know why I feel this way.

parathesian

As a child, I always wondered how much cooler it would be to grow up and do “adult things”. Now as a teen, I realise how much of a f**k-up my life is. I don’t have goal or ambition I’m passionate about but I’m trying to find out what I would like to truly do. Not knowing what my future could possibly hold for me really scares me and I’m just so afraid of having to go through that.

My daughter has a rare blood disorder called idiopathic thrombocytopedia pupura (immune) which causes her immune system to destroy her platelets so she just bleeds, randomly. Her eye just haemorrhaged a few weeks ago and an entire half was filled with blood, today, five hour nose bleed.

She can feel when they're coming and she sits down with her bloody nose kit, tissues, a trash bag, a puke bucket for when she swallows too much blood and vomits, gauze, cold packs. My daughter is four. I have been able to convince myself for almost three years that yes, she is sick, but not THAT sick.

Last week we spent four days at the hospital for severe anemia and no detectable platelets. She is THAT sick. I get it now. She is getting a wish, and she is getting worse because she is that sick. We have tried every medication available for treatment of this disease. Nothing helps. Nothing fixes it. My heart is broken.

As a kid, my parents always used to go to antique shops. To find things for the house, a unique housewarming gift or just to browse. I was always fascinated by the boxes and boxes of unsent postcards.

I always wondered why there were so many. My parents bought just enough cards for the folks they wanted to send them to. They never had extras. I don't know if this was frugality or what.

As an adult, I travel a ton for work now and I have probably over a hundred postcards. Some filled out. Most blank. I don't think anyone wants to hear from me so I just go my thing. Slowly collecting postcards that will probably get tossed when I die.

My 20th birthday was this Monday.

Growing up, I loved and hated my birthday. I was excited for the presents and cake, but every year I dreaded the day after.

You see, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. I have a twin sister. She’s younger than me and lived for a day. She died the day after we were born and every year we visited her grave.

Until the age of twelve I held so much hate and anger and grief in my heart for the sister I never had. I thought about death, her being all alone in the supposed afterlife, and every year I saw my parents cry.

Why her?

There may be a hole in my heart, but the wound is healed. This hole will never be filled and I am at peace with that. I visit her every year to clean and be reunited in a sense.

I love her for who she would have been, and I know she would have loved me too.

I'm not proud of my citizenship. And I don't know why. I blame the mass media, the TV, the good looking celebrities from the other side of the world.

(I can't blame my parents who gave me a childhood where I was always compared by others. I don't want to hurt them.)

I'm not happy with the color of my skin. Judging the way I look I think I don't have anything pleasing.

I fascinate other people with a different ethnicity than I am. People who live on rich countries. People who can travel wherever they want on any part of the world. I think of those people to be better than I am, luckier than I am, wiser than I am. I like how the lady, that I saw last time with a skin brighter than I am, well-dressed walking on the garden, taking pictures, was enjoying herself. I also love the color of her hair. I think it was gold or blonde.

I cannot blame myself. I have to confess it, and I wish there will be a time where I can finally love my origin, my family, where I came from, and myself as a whole.