...270702, 2324hr, central time...

i called home this morning, expecting my weekly dose of happiness. and comfort. and corniness. i didn't get what i expected at all, i was instead nearly reduced to tears talking to my mom. i say nearly because at the brink of falling apart on the phone, i cracked a joke to save myself.

i found out that my mom's found out about this journal of mine. i kinda know that my little brother knew about it, but i didn't know he still reads it. i also didn't expect him to tell my mom. it's not a big secret, so when she asked i readily admitted it. but i know that she doesn't approve of it, and i also know now that she knows, she'll want to read it. and i honestly feel don't feel too comfy about it. espescially in light of in recent entries. perfect timing, isn't it, i was just saying yesterday how i'm always cheery on the phone with my mom but indulges in my darker emotions here. now perhaps i cannot do it anymore, haunted by the thought of my mother worrying for me, reading my journal from the other side of the globe.

she worries for me, i can tell. she knows what it means to be heartbroken and crippled at the same time, especially for her precious sensitive crybaby daughter. she knows what it means to be alone and homesick. and she worries why i keep telling her i'm okay, when she knows that i'm not.

what she doesn't know, is that even if we both know that, i still wish she would pretend with me, that i'm okay. even just for that half an hour every weekend. just let me be the corny bitchy silly daughter i've always been. certain things are just meant to be left in quiet understanding. and by exposing my journal to her, my brother has unwittingly taken away the innocence of my weekly calls. of my conversations with the home that stands for stability, normalcy and happiness.

now, when i laugh on the phone, i know that they're not buying it. when i tell my mom how everything is going so well for me, i know she knows i'm lying.

there's no more turning back, i don't want to stop her from reading this, thousands of strangers have read this, i have nothing to hide. so i told her that i don't mind her reading my journal, but i told her not to read the recent entries, because i've been quite upset the past week and that i didn't want to have her worry for me. and i told her the gist of what i've been thinking and feeling so she will have no curiosity about what i had actually written.

and then she got shocked into silence. my mom, the perpetually opinionated one, she didn't know what to say.

that's when i wanted to cry. so perhaps she didn't understand after all. it would have been better if we continued pretending.