Tag Archives: family

Why Do We Need To Have Children?

The more I think about it,
the more I believe that what my friend’s said is true and a serious matter to think about.

Why, oh, why in the first place people need to have children?

It’s so selfish, most people say the reason they want to have children is because they want to be taken care of when they are old and senile. So, that means you want children just because you want them to be your ‘servant’ when you’re not capable of taking care of yourself? The second most given reason is, well, “because everyone else does so”, it’s a cycle, to get married – to have children, and so on and so on. But the question is,

“Do you really want to bear a new life into this misreable-constantly corrupting-world just because people told you to do it?”

Some even say they want to have children that can make them proud, to make them happy, to be this or that. Honestly, that’s a problem, because if one day, if your children don’t turn out to be what you’ve always expected them to be,

what will you do?

You are going to change them, do things that’ll make their life even harder? You will, with the rest of the world say cruel things and hope your children to think and feel that it’s for their own good? You will want your children to be obliged to learn things they don’t like, work the job they don’t enjoy, or else? Well, there’re always possibilites right?

And bad things have better chances to happen than the good ones?

So, that’s a real question, why, do you need to have children? You know, life isn’t easy and filled with full happiness all the time. Is it worth it, for the children to suffer all of those compared to your ‘reason of wanting to have children’? It’s important, before you have one, make sure you’ve found the right reason.

And for God’s sake, never, never, in your entire life, to dare to say you want to have children because you want them to payback to you, so they can become what you want them to be, so they can be your friends when you are lonely, because those reasons are super selfish. I am not saying that children aren’t supposed to do so, but in my opinion, it’s not your place to decide, it’s not. If from the beginning you’ve been thinking about those stuffs, for me, it’s the same with,

“I need to have children because they are good investment for my life.”

*Inspired by my (married and not wanting a child) friend: Catherine Kurnia

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My Mother’s 30 Years Old Sewing Machine

My mother was a seamstress since she’s a girl. She works hard to gain money by herself. After she’s married to my dad, she sewed more because my dad had a confection and she loves to help. She just loves to work hard.

Now, both of them has retired, but my mom still sometimes operates the sewing machine to fix our clothes, make pillows, and stuffs. I think it’s just her hobby.

Yes. This 30 years old sewing machine has been a part of our family.

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Survival’s Guilt

All of them died. Died not because of me. I was out to hang out with friends. When i got home, i found my house had burnt down. My whole family couldn’t escape. They were inside and had never got out from the fire. I wasn’t there. The fire did it all until it ended by the rain. It was the thing that killed them, explosion from leaking gas pipe.

It wasn’t because of me. But why i feel so guilty? I survived. They died. It was of fire. I wasn’t there.

My mind had always been engulfed since the tragic occurence. The storm of memories which was mixed of the fire and my family were the very reason of my incapicated logic.

“Why i wasn’t there?” I asked myself in front of the dirty mirror, again and again. The mirror always answers me with the same word of ‘silence’. It was always grey, covered with ashes created by the most remorseful-triggering inferno—–left overs from what it is meant to be regreted.

“Maybe it was actually because of me? What if i were there? Maybe i could sense the fire before it went berserk? If i were there, maybe there would be no fire and no one would die.”

Screw! It was my fault. If i were there, i wouldn’t let it happen. I have a powerful sense of smell. I could have known the gas before it erupted.

It was of fire. And the fire was of me. It was my fault. I got home. My family couldn’t ever welcomed me anymore. I should have got home earlier. Before the fire started. Before my family couldn’t get out from the flames.

It was of me. The leaking gas. The fire. The no escapee. It was of me. It was all my fault.

How could i barely accept the fact that i was the only survivor? Especially after i killed my whole family? How could i live like that?

I am a murderer who murdered people by letting fire burn down my house into painful ashes. Grey. Sad. Feeling-less.

It seems not real. It seems like a fiction. But after awhile i realized it was all truly my fault. If i were at house.

The ashes wouldn’t look so grey…

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