As much as I love my families, I do love people whom I considered as families.
I have abundance of heartaches kept inside me. The heartaches I had to see you happy, even I have to deal with the greatest pain. For the people I love, I'm willing to do anything in my power.
What sadden me is that this people didn't get why I was being so sarcastic all these while, and I can see hatred in their eyes, reflected to mine. People hate me for my harsh words in my comments and critics. I do know that people hate me, yes I do.
And yet the say they love me too and I am their family.
And they said that when they have hatred in their hearts and they can't accept me for who I am, yet they call themselves my families.
I'm the black sheep of my blood family. I'm the rebellious and the weird one, yet my blood family has never questioned me on that, accepting me just the way I am. If I treated my blood family that way, why should I be any differ to you? If I'm sarcastic in the eyes of my blood family, why shouldn't I be the same to you? After all, you are my families.
If you really want me to treat you differently, things will never be the same again. Never.