perceptive projection

Mother kept sms-ing me about brother. Saying that he is not allowed to go home until he has fully transferred to another college. That I should talk to him to stay. That he has got to have his bachelor title from America [have to finish his schooling here in other words]. That I have to try hard to make him understand this.

I could only sigh when I read all these.  

First of all, he was not my son.

Secondly, even if he were which means I would have the most right to tell him what to do [and apparently which my parents exercise fully from he was a baby until now], he should still allowed to make his own mistakes only then he could learn to develop his own personality.

Throughout the years, ever since he was born, I kept telling my parents the way they raised him wasn't right. They protected him too much. He couldn't even fall because there would be someone there already to catch him, this of course was a metaphore, but also quite literate. And it had done him harm more than useful. 

I had always been of the school that you better learn how painful it is to fall very early on, because when you are little enough the pain heals faster and you forget about it quicker, as you grow older, all the pain you feel last long, physical ones and emotional ones.

And the more my parents protected him from pain, the more he'd be hit hard when it did come. Being human and mortal, they could not protect him forever after all. The best thing they could give him was to give him the chance to develop skills he could use to protect himself and survive well in society until the day he die. 

Then there was also the matter of Mother's way. I really really dislike this side of her. The manipulative side. Knowing that she was unable to control him that whatever she was saying couldn't get through to him, she then tried to use me to manipulate him. Like she used my aunt and everybody else, even Father, when she tried to manipulate me to do what she wanted me to do. Mother never played fair [unfortunately I inherited this trait of her to a degree although luckily I inherited Father's sense of honor to temper it].

And being used to manipulate my brother made me not sympathetic at all to her cause, instead it made me resent her to no end and angry.

My parents should really stop be such controlling freaks and read Khalil Gibran's poem titled "Children"