My parents, was special. Are special. Depending on which one I refer to.

Growing up with my parents weren’t easy but it wasn’t hard either. My mother is a strong woman, who knows how to get her needs across. In some ways that was both positive and negative growing up.

As a woman, having a strong woman raise you is bound to give you a sense of strength and pride in yourself but as a child trying to get along with other kids, having your mother dominate the community you live in can be extremely stressful. Especially if you live in a community abundant with men who aren’t accustomed to listen to a woman. My mother however earned their respect.

My dad on the other hand wasn’t as strong, at least not in their relationship. Don’t get me wrong, my dad wasn’t weak, he just couldn’t hold a candle to my mother. My mother the superwoman. Or so she seemed.

They were married for 20 years, of which I remember hearing my mother wanting a divorce for at least ten. Ten years of understanding that my mother was unhappy and that my father tried to please her but just not didn’t try hard enough (or was unable to please her). He loved her I am sure.

My father died five years ago. He and mom had been divorced for five years. I remember him crying when he laid in a hospital bed and received a call from my mother that she didn’t have the time to see him just then. She did however sit with him when he passed away.

My father was 24 when he married my mother (she was then 30). My mom always says, if we had been business partners we’d be millionaires because we are a well oiled machine. And I have to agree. We never lacked anything. We never noticed the period when both were out of jobs and we were brought up to be well adjusted individuals. Intelligent, well fed, funny, compassionate individuals. But we were bruised when it came to relationships. Especially me and my sister.

We watched our parents, they hardly hugged, they rarely kissed. They were usually civil. Sometimes they fought. My mother was miserable. She was dominant in everything she did, she didn’t want to rule our house.

I love my mother. She is still alive. When dad was alive I would call him, crying after another fight with mum and he would tell me You clash because you are so alike. I miss my dad everyday. I wish I had spent more time with him, told him I loved him more often. I wish I had forgiven him everything I felt he needed to be forgiven of. My mother is still the strong one. She is remarried and happy. She is like a best friend and a mother at the same time. I wouldn’t bare losing her too.

Read the entire list over here.

Work was killing me. I could literally feel it draining all the life out of me. Standing there smiling at all the costumers, who were acting like idiots, all the while the boss was fucking me up by not being any support, or at all reachable.

I could take it when I was only working weekends. Sure I was tired working every weekend and then going to school on weekdays but the exhaustion never kept me from being polite to customers while taking their shit, and it never really made me resent my boss. It all grew gradually from June until just the other day, when I quit.

I just can’t take it any more, feeling like I get screwed from all sides. So I quit to get some summer vacation instead, and it’s like the heaviest weight was lifted from my shoulders, the biggest sigh could escape my mouth and I could finally sleep at nights.

I’m free and I feel like I escaped a horrible punishment. It’s glorious not to be back there working my ass off for someone who never sees or acknowledges it. Working like a maniac for people who never appreciate it. Busting my ass off only to get bitched at. I don’t need it and I left it behind. Freedom!