All Daughters Love their Mothers - 1

I grew up in a family of five people, including me there’s my eldest sister, my little brother, my father, my mother. They're all rather close, and I try my best to include myself in the picture too. 

My relation with my dad is like that of teacher and disciple, me and my sister are closely knitted friends, me and my brother are like companions, and then there's mother. It’s rather quite odd, I don’t know how she feels of me but I have much to say about her. 

She’s a loud mouth, her voice raises easily by the slightest of problems, she scolds often in a method I dislike, and she feels unapproachable, I think, if that’s how to describe it. No actually she is an approachable person. If I were just a person from outside this family I would approach her just as any other people did. And here I am pondering and writing, 

If I wasn’t me at all I would’ve loved her like other people did, but I am me, I am her daughter and it’s difficult loving her.

Maybe blame it on emotion all over again but I can’t love her like other daughters do, she’s a bully, a madwoman, a sensitive volcano. That fact torments me, I cant love her as tenderly as her other children do. 

The fact she would nurture me yet hurt me at the same time kills me, and I don’t know what to feel, is it my fault for feeling this way? Maybe she didn't mean to hurt me, or even thought of hurting and I’m just be a little child who cries at the simplest of things. It’s hard to put the blame on people especially when they're the reason I am living, I wanted to blame her for what I went through a few years back and I know it’s not her whole fault, but she caused me fear and she caused me damage. 

To some extent I do wanna blame her. Mothers’ are still humans, humans filled with imperfection, they have their faults, and I wanna let her know how she caused me great pain each time she spoke hurtful words, those simple silly words which caused me to lock myself up in the dark to cry. She makes me cry and I don’t understand how people still expect me to love her.

I wrote multiple entries, and one short book about my mother, and how much she hated me. Some were about her short tempered nature, how difficult it was dealing with her tone, and a few more about how I wanted to die after each scolding. Although theres this one entry back in 5th grade, how much I hoped she’d forgive me after hurting me. I really was just a child pleading “Mama please forgive me!” I couldn’t blame her, cause it felt wrong, so I always blame myself. My parents will have no faults and I will always be in error. Erase my own judgement because of my youth, I have no rights, no rights for feeling hurt, no rights for not loving my parents.

Actually most of those entries were more about me hating my own self rather than me hating my mother nor my mother hating me. “I did such a horrible thing for not finding her favorite snack in between the cabinets, I am a stupid little blind girl for not searching any better.”

I recall her scolds, she would tell me about my shortcomings as her voice raises in anger, I’d say she hates me and she makes me hate myself simply because I couldn’t please her like other daughters. She’d tell me how inferior I am and I’d feel inferior. Although behind her back I’d raise my ego to suffice the feeling she gave me, it’s my little rebellion and she would never know. I really can’t tell who’s at fault, is it a fault to feel this way, or is it a fault for making me feel this way.

 I lost track of whatever I said, and I can no longer give my judgement.

All daughter’s loves their mothers, 

but she is difficult to love

Mother! Look at me Mother! - 2

They have returned from their travels by night, and greeted us by the stairs yelling out our names calling to us. Firstly my sister, then me, then my brother. Me and the eldest didn’t really bother to greet them downstairs for we’ve been bored for quite awhile which led us to be exhausted of the day.

The youngest rushed down by the call of his name, yelling out “Mommy, mommy, you’re home!” With much merriment to his tone. I could only stare by the stairs as I saw them take each step with a package in hand. The youngest sibling held a box of donuts which he awaited for so long, I also had donuts requested of them but I decided it would be more appropriate to pick them up later and greet Father and Mother first. First came mother, she looked exhausted as anyone would be after a long journey. She sat next to me and ranted to my sister how tedious their work is, this burdened me, I didn't expect for her to rant about her problems so soon. It might sound like I’m such a horrible person for not wanting to hear out her problems, but if you would’ve known her you would also feel the same way I did. Right after the rant she ordered us immediately to take care of hanging the clothes. Her tone was as if she was scolding us, I could never get used to the sound of her voice.

I cant quite pinpoint why I didn’t like the whole turn of events.

After awhile I showed her a powerpoint presentation I worked hard at, she tried her best to look at it, but to my dismay she couldn’t even dare open her eyes. Too exhausted I decided to just put it aside and pay no mind to it.

I didn’t know how much times I wanted to say: “Mother, mother please look at me.” I should be able to understand her situation, it must’ve been tough for her but I couldn’t quite understand why I craved so much for her praise. 

She just nodded and looked away. Maybe I’m just selfish, a little brat that lacked the attention it wanted, but I wanted for her to look at me and look at my works. But her doing that made me feel like she couldn’t even dare spare me a spick of her approval, she was feeling nauseous from the car ride but it made me feel like she was nauseous from looking at my works, my existence.

I truly am selfish. I’m sorry I became this way. Emotions, get away from me, for you make me think of things differently. I hate myself and I hate her.

Guilty Kisses - 3

Isn’t it terrifying, my mother, she kissed me goodbye, and I aimed to peck her lips, and quickly pulled away. Anyone who kisses their mother goodbye should feel warmth and safety correct? But I felt none, in fact I felt cold, a chill up my spine, I felt as if I kissed nothing. Sometimes I think she’s simply a ghost of my imagination, it didn’t felt like mother.

I felt rather abashed that I have touched upon her, and I felt guilty that I couldn't feel anything of familial love in me. Why is that I feel nothing for them, I should love and adore my family. In fact what even is family, how is our blood suppose to tie ourselves close to those who brought us upon this horrible horrible earth. I wish at least one time, I’d get to say I love you to them. But I never found the courage or reason to do so. Maybe its because I was raised not so affectionately as my other siblings have been and that I have just so happen to like the idea of stoicism, al though I am far from what is considered stoic.

I cry a lot when I go through something. When I’m angry I cry, when I’m too happy I cry. I looked up to my father for being stoic and cool, and I wanted to learn what makes men the way they are in this age. But I realized masculinity is not about being stoic or cool or logical.

I remember that day I sinned so deathly my parents cried for me. In a prayer my father led, he held my hand and muttered a prayer, begging of forgiveness. And while he holds my hand down towards the cushion of their bed I felt wet tears falling down upon my hand, he cried.

A man can cry and break for he is not a marble of a simple statue. And women aren’t those of clay and mud sputtering and going about in their day, being so openly affectionate, while I’m not (giving nor receiving affection). These are the things I have learned from my parents. 

So maybe it’s okay to be a woman who’s not openly affectionate to those around her. Maybe it’s okay as a child to not feel the love of those around. Deep down there’s a simple acknowledgment of that love, it’s there just not all visible as the others.