When I was small I was never their favorite. In fact my intuition tells me that my arrival was never planned, I was more like an accident nobody wanted. I never asked for anything for I know I would not get it, thus I continued not to ask. I was twice or maybe more chased with a knife and a 'parang' for saying things I shouldn't say and for doing things I was too young to handle. I was twice or maybe more called a bastard and one day I replied 'that would make him a bastard too'. The shock was apparent on the face for it was not known then that I have already learned what bastard means. Now this bastard child is the one to be dependent upon. Do I care I was not their favorite? No I don't. I'm glad I'm not their favorite because they are not mine either.
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