Note: This is a work in progress. Yes, I'm working on something new. Finally decided to screw the writer's block excuse and come up with something. So here is what I have to offer - for now, anyway. Will write more tomorrow.
Under the warm glow of the yellow light of her lamp, she stared ahead into an old picture of her and Ray. It had been a good eight months since she made that dreadful call, asking to be released from him. Yet she wondered to herself now, was that ever a good move? Once, she thought she found the perfect life with him – marriage, children, career, the works – and it seemed like it was only yesterday that she spent a better part of the day in tears, rueing her own stupidity for sleeping with him and then losing him; where she spent a good half of the day begging him to take her back despite the way he treated her. Fool, she called herself then…and even now. Was it the distance? Was it that he fell out of love with her? Or did he ever love her at all? Clutching the wineglass tightly in her hand, she reminisced back to the days where their lives were filled with laughter and a certain kind of emotion that could always be equated as love, where she never doubted him, where life was…perfection. “I will always love you, Mia. You will always be in my heart forever. And I promise that I will find you when I do come back.” Liar, her mind screamed. All lies. His promises, his words, they were all meaningless, words uttered only to pacify an aching soul but carry no meaning, no life. He betrayed her the second she left for home, the second she was out of his sight, the second things become easier to bear. Out of sight, out of mind was the cliché and it was epitomized in many long distance relationships just like the one she had with Ray. Once not so long ago, she wondered if things would have been different had she been a different person. She wondered if it was ever her fault for being herself, for questioning him. She wondered if what she felt was ever love or was it some image conjured up by a lonely mind. She sipped the wine slowly, a sweet rich warmth engulfing her throat and setting her heart on fire. “The bastard doesn’t even have the guts to see me. Just another sign of how much I ever meant to him,” she sarcastically whispered to herself. “And to think, I once wanted to marry him. I once proposed to him! And what did he say? No, I’m not keen on it. Fucking prick even told his bitch of a sister!!!! And did I tell anyone? NO!!!! BASTARD!” She screamed in frustration. The wine glass flew across the room and smashed against the wall; the red liquid staining the pearl coloured walls, shards of glass sprinkled on the fuzzy brown pillows. For a brief moment there was nothing but the gentle sounds of Jonathan Cainer’s Love and Respect playing in the background. Then just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. The anger replaced with something else – perhaps loneliness, perhaps depression, perhaps sadness. The tears began to flow; eight month old wounds reopened just through listening to the soft play of violins and an old piano. Her sobs grew louder and she crumples to her side, bringing up her knees to her chest in a foetal position as if to protect herself from whatever it was that was making her cry in this manner – imaginary or otherwise. Why her, she questioned as the heart constricted with pain, as tears fell onto the hard parquet floor. Was it through some stupid mistake made by the Fates that lead her to where she was today? Or was this some form of punishment for the lies she used to tell her parents as a child? “Why do you punish me, God? Whatever did I not do to deserve such pain? I loved You, I followed You and I walked with You. What did I not do right?” she sobbed, hoping that somehow she would hear an answer, a sign…anything. Instead there was nothing…nothing but the sounds of music that only tore her heart into pieces not soothe it. Turning to her side, she reached out for a pillow and buried her tears in the superficial comfort it offered her.|W|P|109128943825840449|W|P|Untitled|W|Pemail@example.com
...And then there's Mom who's never made conversation with me, whose idea of conversation is either putting me down or making fun of me, and I don't like the idea that this stupid woman who's ignorant by choice, who talks to her family by lecturing them very loudly implying they're stupid all the time, is my mother... But I'm not proud of my mother. I'm not proud of her money-grubbing ways. I'm not proud of how she treats her own family, expecting homage when she's done nothing to earn it, except bring home money. I can deal with material poverty, but we don't have material poverty, we have emotional poverty. I'm in no mood to justify myself, since I can't, and can only explain why I feel the way I do, and then hope someone understands because I'm being extremely selfish, self-centered and avoidant - I don't stay around things which hurt me because I don't like being hurt. My parents hurt me when I'm around them, when they can say things carelessly out of their mouths without thinking about the effect that those painful words will have on me. Therefore, I remove myself from their presence, and then I feel better. They may not be bad people. But I don't like being around them. There will be a long time before there's a resolution to this. Infact, on my mother's deathbed I might still not be able to say "I love you" without feeling it's a lie, and since I hate being a liar, I simply will not say it, even if she entreats me to. There is no point entertaining a pain. There is no point keeping a bruise blue. There is no point in re-opening wounds.
Firstly, my mother and I had to drive to the airport to fetch my dad home. My mother, since she's not the kind to use her brain and assumes she's going to share with her family, buys three McValue meals, two burgers and one nuggets for me, and while we drive off, she exclaims "I forgot that Alvie in not in the car!" She'd bought three meal sets because she's so used to having three people in the car. She decided to leave one aside for my dad, and started trying to eat a burger in the car, an easy feat if one knows how to hold the burger, but after a while, she complains about how troublesome it is, and says, "give me a nugger, that's easier to eat." There is no fucking way I easily give up a nugget for her to eat, I've argued with this many times with her, and I protested, "if you wanted something easier to eat, you should have bought yourself a set of nuggets instead of taking mine." I know it sounds really ungracious, but I've got no patience for patent stupidity. She snapped back at me. "Why do you have to be so selfish towards your own mother?" And I said, "because I only have six nuggets, and I don't like burgers, and you're basically cutting into my dinner."
So my mother's conclusion absolutely baffled me. The more I think about it, the more I feel that she's expressing what she feels about me - that she's the one uninterested in what's going on in my life, and she wants me to stop talking about my life as much as possible (and focus on 'what's important'). That, or she's just suffering from envy that I'm having the time of my life. Then she said, "I sent you to university to study, not to have a love life, you know!" This really pissed me off, because I got nearly all As for my studies, and only one B, because I'VE BEEN STUDYING the best I can, on top of that, I didn't go overseas to live under he dictatorship of how I should live my life. I do my best away from home. AND - she told me to go get a boyfriend when I'm in university, or else I'll be "stuck on the shelf". It made me realize how very little she knows of me, and how little she understands. And how little she cares about me as a person. I'm quite sure she tries to keep up her end of the bargain as a parent, working to provide for me and worrying about my studies and stuff like that. But I used to believe that I'd be willing to give that all up for a kinder, more understand, more loving and happier family. I'm wrong now, of course. Any overture of affection my mother gives me now is just a cold token of the expected, and anything more will be greeted with suspicion.There is more but this entry is not about her. Reading her journal and then reading Chessler made me realize that she is living proof of the kind of relationships that women worldwide have developed with their mothers. Chessler herself went through the same thing - the criticisms, the antagonism - and yet, Chessler realized after the death of her own mother, that she was exactly like the old lady. Note that before she came to this conclusion, she had written how daughters fear to end up being exactly like their mothers without realizing that they ARE already like their mothers. So she had this to say:
A daughter also becomes what she fears most: her mother. No matter how hard we try to escape this, nature provides incontrovertible evidence: a smiliar skull-shape, a smile, a hair texture, eyes, the way we laugh, our turn of phrase. Like my mother, I am quick to tell others what to do, why my way is 'better'. Unlike my mother, I do not restrict myself to my own children; the world is my oyster. (Raymond's sister did not restrict herself to her friends but to strangers like me - her brother's girlfriend - then anyway.) My mother's family responsibilities banished all spontaneity from her life. She had no exit, no solitude, no wordly channel for her enormous energies and intelligence. She took pride in being able to dominate others, especially her children, but her husband too; she had no capacity to show affection. My mother was very ambitious. I used to say that she could run a small country, but that's exactly what she thought she was doing as she presided over our family of five. And althought she berated me, bitterly, for my 'wild' ways, she never forced me to help her with the housework; she disparaged, but she allowed me to do my non-stop reading and writing and drawing and thinking. Did I love her? Oh, I did - I still do, her death continues to bring us closer. Only now do I really begin to know her. She is gone, and yet I think about her more now than when she was alive...I have come to understand that my mother is the one person I have most tried to please, the one person whom I could never please - and she might say the exact same thing about me. My mother did not inherit any money. She lived entirely on a small pension; she pinched every penny. She stopped buying new clothing back in the early 1950s...when she died, she was still living with the same inexpensive furniture she had brought in the 1940s and 1950s. My mother was determined not to burden her children as she herself had been burdened. Thus, she deprived herself of every luxury and of many necessities, in order to assist her children financially while she was alive and to leave each of us some money. I think she wanted to to give us what her parents could not give her and to spare us her fate as her parents' nurse and provider. How generous! I was utterly inattention, oblivious. I thought I had to borrow money for her funeral. I had no idea that she chose to continue living in the 1950s for the rest of her life because she planed to save and invest every last penny as a triumphant legacy for her children and grand-children.Is it very hard to see that sometimes we as daughters are a little like our mothers and our mothers a little like us? After reading the first few chapters of Chessler's book, I finally understood why she and me just couldn't get along. In her eyes, I was the embodiment of everything she had spent a lifetime trying to please and still could never please. Hence the accusations of me being patronizing and unfriendly towards her, despite my obvious efforts to be a friend and sister towards her. It would seem that she was directing her anger, frustration and disappointment - not to mention her misery - to me instead of her mother. She could not do so. How could she? When she could not understand my mother or herself the way I understand my own mother and myself. Sometimes reading her journal reminds of me of the many blessings I have in life, especially the one where I am constantly reminded of how lucky I am to have the ability and maturity to see things in a way that most people fail to take notice off. I wish I could tell her all this without creating anymore conflict but I understand her well enough now to know that she will never understand what is it I am trying to get through to her. Neither her or her brother will. And that is alright by me. |W|P|109107521958613719|W|P|Of daughters and mothers...|W|Pfirstname.lastname@example.org
...In a sense, I was the shrinking violet, she, the mighty magnificent forager and provider.
"The key to a woman's heart is an unexpected gift at an unexpected time."^_^ Anyway, it has been very busy and I ought to get back to work...will be back later to edit this. |W|P|109091412062959437|W|P|The key...|W|Pemail@example.com
Okay. I'm ending this here. It's late and I'm hungry. Just got back from shopping - yaaay for sales! But booooo for money going out. Bah.|W|P|10906401906740129|W|P|Parcel from Australia...|W|Pfirstname.lastname@example.org
"You know something, bi (short for baby)? I wanted to have you. I got pregnant with you on purpose because I wanted a daughter. I wanted to have the kind of relationship you would see on movies...the ones where mothers laugh with their daughters, go shopping, have chit-chats, play dress-up, cook together...I wanted more than a daughter. I wanted a friend. I would like my daughter to be more than just my daughter - I want her to be able to talk to me like a friend, to be able to see me as more than just a stuffy old nagging mum. I just want...a friend."When I look back and see myself as a thirteen year old, I must have been so stupid and naive then. My life changed the moment that fight happened. I grew up. I stopped being a child and I started becoming an adult. And I began to see Mum in a different light - the things she does these days and used to do. You see... It was and IS because she saw me as more than just a daughter. She feared for me yet she wanted what was best for me. She, like every other mother, wanted...no, actually needed to still feel important and an integral part in their children's lives be it me or my brother - but because of her astounding affection and emotional bond with me AND the fact that she often sees herself in me, she worries for me, for my future and for the choices I make. It is not that she doesn't trust me. She just doesn't trust what the world holds in store for me. It is not that she doesn't love me. She just loves me too much to NOT care and let things be. It is not that she is jealous of my friends or my life. She just wants to be part of it, she just wants to be friends with me. As I grew older and went into college, despite having gone through some rough spots, we got close and finally, managed to breach the 'unspoken' matter - her attempted abortion...yes, I was nearly murdered by my own mother. The story goes like this: Dad was quite happy with just one child - my brother was a handful at the age of five and frankly he didn't want anymore children. Mum on the other hand was lonely. She was going through hell with my grandma and Dad was often away on outstation trips. I suppose being a woman, she wanted someone she could bond with, a female companion since all the females she was living with - my grandma and aunts - were dead against her and was making life hell on earth itself. So yeah, she wanted a baby - specifically, she wanted a GIRL baby. I still remember how gleefully she would recall to me the story of how she 'cheated' Dad into thinking that it was her safe period, thus getting her pregnant. I think my parents are cute...sort of reminded me of how I am sometimes - cheeky and such a riot. Anyway, to cut the story short, she got pregnant AND somehow she knew it was going to be a girl. But Dad didn't want a baby and sent her packing to the gyne for a D&C. For those of you who have no idea what that means, to crudely put it, it's the equivalent of an abortion. -.- Yeah, Dad didn't want me and she had no choice but to adhere to his decision. Luckily for me (and a blessing in disguise for Dad coz according to Mum, he absolutely fell in love with me the moment he saw me!), I wouldn't budge. The Doc (I still visit him sometimes) gave her an injection and I still wouldn't budge. No matter what, I just wouldn't curl up and die. So she went home and nine months later out I came. I suspect she must have fed Dad some cock-and-bull story about how I and her were destined to be together. Anyway, from that day onwards, my mind was set and it never changed. Whether I liked it or not, that cock-and-bull story WAS true. Thinking about it, I *was* destined to be her child and she my mother - nothing was ever going to change that. Instead of making four lives miserable - my entire family including myself - why not try to make things better? And it was then that I begun to remember the little things that she would do for me. That huge drumstick that was bigger than my 1 year old face. My favourite hawaiian pizza whenever I stayed at school waiting for my brother to finish his squash practices. The lunches she would bring when I was in primary school. The way she offered to braid my hair in the mornings. The new dresses and blanket that she would make for me. How she would read story books to me and buy me fairy tale books. The times when she would stuff me with bird saliva (yes, bird's nest). And...that time...that time when I was frightened of dying. I was seventeen, and alone. I looked up from the bed while being wheeled to the OT (Operating Theatre) and looked at her face, all stained with tears. Dad was standing by her side, trying his best to look brave and it was then that I heard these words...
"If I could, I would take your place and give you my life. If I could, I would die for you."
Whenever I think of all that the many things that she had done for me, one picture comes to mind. What a cute baby! These days, things are still the same with her and me. She still nags me, she still nitpicks, she still pokes fun at me BUT one thing has changed: the way I look at it. I stopped seeing it as nagging, nitpicking and poking fun. Instead I choose to see it as a way of her loving me and I made peace with the fact that being a mother doesn't make her perfect, but it makes her even more worth loving. For her to love someone like me despite all the wrongs, all the hurt and all the pain I have caused her through my 24 years of life with her...well, she deserves nothing but my respect and love. When I graduated with my BA and then with my MA, she told me this and I'll never forget it.
"Never forget that I am proud of you. I will always be proud of you and I will always love you. No matter what."I wrote this entry...because I read something (that I shouldn't read but never mind). Yes, I read it and I felt utterly sorry for her - to never be able to have what I have with my mother, to never be able to understand what it is really like to be a mother, to never be able to hold up her head high and say outloud that her mother is proud of her and vice versa. Sometimes being a mother doesn't mean just being a good parent, providing for your children and educating them the right way. There is no real guide to parenting and no one can claim to be a better parent than the other. I have heaps of respect for mothers because of one thing: their undying love and support to children who are disrespectful, hurtful, rude and even mean to their own mothers. Loving someone who doesn't really rightful deserve any love or respect. Only a mother would do that. I wish that someday she will be able to see how much love her mother has for her - to talk about her, to send her overseas for an education, to provide, to 'nitpick' and 'emotionally abuse' her (as the girl would say)...because you know what? Only someone who cares would bother expanding so much energy trying to make sure you turn out better than they are. Only a Mum would bother. Someone once asked me if I wanted to be my Mum, I said "No...but I would love my children to love the way she does." For my mother. |W|P|109042386124802893|W|P|For all the mums out there...|W|Pemail@example.com
It's a Canon Digital SLR EOS10D and the features are: