Sicheng hated his mother. He hated her especially on days where the sun didn't shine as bright. He hated that motherly instinct that she had, that cuffed him down and chained him up. But every time those feelings racked up to shore they leave behind guilt, shame. So he'd crawl back to his mother's lap and silently apologize to the soul. They could do this for all eternity. They could play pretend love with each other. The rope that binds him with his mother was no longer the rope of love. It was a mix of responsibility, not wanting to loose face and family. Family had the tightest hold on the both of them. Love had already snapped and slithered away, long before the two of them realised it.
Family loves each other
Do they not?
Because they are family, they love each other. Because they are mother and son. Because she gave birth to him so she loves him. Because she is his mother he loves her.
Sicheng hated family dinners, the ones where all the kids would gather up. The ones where aunts and uncles would show up all dressy, with their newest silk gowns and matching tuxedos. The kids would run around cackling and screaming. And at the dinner table, there was so many topics and jokes being thrashed around he felt like crying, he was there, yes he was; but he never belonged. He stuck out like a sore thumb. All his senses were loaded to the brim and everything was happening at once. The maid's surprised shriek as one of the little kids dashed past, one of his aunts storming off the main table; fuming with rage. His drunk uncle smashing a vase as more chaos erupts. He usually escaped from the big table, choosing to eat his dinner near the kids when in reality he takes his dinner into the bathroom and flush them down the toilet, quietly slipping off to the balcony or to his room; lights never turned on.He hated normal dinners with no exception, he hated the way his mother would never pay attention to him, ask him how his day was or what he has been doing. There was no escaping that so he'd sit quietly and inhale his food as fast as he possibly can and leave. In a way, he was grateful that his aunts with all their clattering jewellery asked him how he had been doing for the sake of politeness. He liked the attention that they gave him. He would gratefully reply to them, smiling and asking them the same; atleast someone pretended to care enough.
When you don't receive affection on a sliver spoon, you start licking them off knives.
