My rockiest relationship till date? Its with mom.
When I say rocky- I mean R-O-C-K-Y. There were times when I hated her so intensely, I had blood on mind. Then, at times we fought so hard it was all we could do to not physically mangle each other. We didn’t understand each other nor did we ever willingly try to. We never put ourselves in each other’s shoes, but that didn’t mean we liked the vista from where we stood either.
My memory is sprinkled with so many “family feuds”- all featuring mom and me. We almost tore the family apart at times. Days of fuming silence, hours of furious battling, minutes of agonized tears and seconds of sadness before the mad rage took over- its all whirling in my head as I write this.
What is it about her that makes me so mad? What is it in her that makes it impossible for me to brush aside her words? What is it she says that makes me start leaking like a broken faucet? What is it she does that makes me lose control in a way I never do? And why is she the first person I think of when I want to say: “I’m sad”?
I’m in college now- far away from everything that I’ve known for the first 17 yrs of my life. I’m embarking upon a new life with new people. I have new friends and new priorities. But, why is it that every time I feel lost, the one hand I search for is that one hand I fought to let go?
If I had a boyfriend, the one person I’ll not tell is mom. If I fail in a subject, she wouldn’t know. If I had a fight with my best friend, she wouldn’t be the person that I would go to advice for. I don’t believe in most of her beliefs, I don’t trust her with my secrets, she’s the person I lie the most to and yet, she’s the one person that I’m frankest with. She’s the first to know when I win a competition or top the class. Hers is the first number I dial when I’m extremely happy. And today I realized its also the first number I dial when I’m sad…
Its not like there’s no one else. I think of my best friends, I think of my dad- but then, they are all so busy with their lives. I’m afraid, if I tell them I’m sad- they won’t have time to ask me why. And if they do ask, I know I’ll reply: don’t bother; it will pass. I don’t want to intrude or disturb. I don’t want to be the one break their smooth momentum in life.
Somehow, all these platitudes don’t seem to apply to mom. It is a given that she’ll ask me why. It is a given that she’ll have patience with me when I hum and haw and finally say I don’t know. And it is a given that at the end of it all, she’ll make me feel better.
If I look at my life in snapshots of every moment- the one person always present is her. If mom was a color, she would be the shade of 99% of my life and if mom was a place- that place I would call home.