Love pull your sore ribs in

I want to start the post with a bang, but I can’t think of anything really, so hello there. I’m not sure if I’m really happy or sad these 2 days cos there were things that made me really happy, and also things that made me rather zzz. I guess it’s good that they balance each other out?

Anyway, this is also a mandatory “Exams are over!!!” post. I’m glad OSCEs were manageable and that I had gone through the topics that were tested with my friends beforehand. I didn’t get a DA station too, which was a great relief. Today was time well spent outside doing random stuff. 🙂 Best part was catching the performance at the Esplanade, now I got more songs to listen to. Still can’t believe people can sing so well live.

1-2 months back, the same friend also brought up the idea of “emotional baggage” in a conversation, which was something I thought was quite interesting. I couldn’t help but wonder what was inside mine. Actually I think I do know, but I just don’t bring it up in conversations and prefer not to think about it. But sometimes when fights happen, they remind me of the other fights in the past, and I’m brought back in front of my own emotional baggage.

Most of the times I’m never involved in the fights. I’m just a bystander but it’s kinda like making someone who cannot stand gore, watch gore movies. Not that there really was bloodshed, but yeah just the idea. I hate accusatory tones, and I hate hearing people shout at each other. I hate hearing people wishing the worst for others.

I remember ever being pointed at, and being questioned, “Do you think you know what love is?”, when I stood up for what I thought was right. I remember those furious faces. I remember the violence. I remember the worst fight ever and being scolded for making a police report (but in my defense, I think it was necessary). I remember feeling scared, but I can’t remember how my brothers stopped feeling so. I remember how my brother told me never to cry. I remember waking up from/to the shouting at night.

They are not bad people, but they just happened to make bad memories. I stopped questioning if this was dysfunctional. Every once in a while, the baggage opens like Pandora’s box, and I wish it never existed. I hope my emotional baggage will never exceed its limits.

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