Monday, June 19, 2006
My Mother, the Fiend
One letter makes all the difference.
In another life, I would be rich and beautiful and tall and outgoing and confident and clever and fantastic.
In other words, in another life, I would have another life.
Ok, I promise, not another word about that, I'm quite over it, I promise.
In another life I would be able to go shopping with my mother, gossiping and trying on frightfully high shoes and embarassingly skimpy clothing (with my mother tsking on; but beaming, not frowning and angry and pissy and threatening to burn all the books/movies/tv shows/music/ I'm exposed to because she thinks they are causing me to become immoral)
But oh no, in this so-called life I'm cringing in embarassment as my mother forces me to talk to a Homeless Volunteer donations collector to make me appreciate the life I'm living. She humiliates me by airing my dirty laundry to a complete stranger. To someone we've only met for 5 seconds, she says, "Make her understand this and that and this and that, the homeless are so much worse off, aren't they!"
Oh, I agree, the homeless are so much worse off. I have my lucky stars to thank that I have a home, a family, friends... I guess feeling socially disconnected, inadequate, anxious, dissatisfied, and lonely is a lot more bearable when you have a warm bed, hot food, hot showers, fluffy clothing (and also $115 peep-toe pumps; I admit I gave in to temptation and spent my prize money). I understand that, I'm grateful for that. But maybe to ease my guilt, I should go live on the streets. After all, if your life becomes so shitty that you don't even have a place to go, it'll be ok to say, ok, that's it, my life's completely f*cked-up, I can just go jump off the bridge now.
Ok I realise I'm being illogical and reactive and self-pitying and self-absorbed and just plain selfish here.
I wrong my mother everyday. She's the only one I dare to take all my frustrations out because I think deep down I know she's the only one who will never abandon me. (I popped out of her cooch, you know. That counts for something.) I know what I'm doing is wrong, wrong, wrong. Only just now I gave her my best pissed-off-can't-you-see-I'm-busy face when she asked me to help her shift the chairs so she could vacuum under the table; she ended up slamming the vacuum cleaner on the ground, breaking the vacuum head off so that it splintered intoa million six pieces. I ended up running for the toilet. In response to her 'When are you going to stop hiding?" I replied "When you promise not to kill me!" Oh God, that's oddly comical. In another life, that is.
In another life, I would be rich and beautiful and tall and outgoing and confident and clever and fantastic.
In other words, in another life, I would have another life.
Ok, I promise, not another word about that, I'm quite over it, I promise.
In another life I would be able to go shopping with my mother, gossiping and trying on frightfully high shoes and embarassingly skimpy clothing (with my mother tsking on; but beaming, not frowning and angry and pissy and threatening to burn all the books/movies/tv shows/music/ I'm exposed to because she thinks they are causing me to become immoral)
But oh no, in this so-called life I'm cringing in embarassment as my mother forces me to talk to a Homeless Volunteer donations collector to make me appreciate the life I'm living. She humiliates me by airing my dirty laundry to a complete stranger. To someone we've only met for 5 seconds, she says, "Make her understand this and that and this and that, the homeless are so much worse off, aren't they!"
Oh, I agree, the homeless are so much worse off. I have my lucky stars to thank that I have a home, a family, friends... I guess feeling socially disconnected, inadequate, anxious, dissatisfied, and lonely is a lot more bearable when you have a warm bed, hot food, hot showers, fluffy clothing (and also $115 peep-toe pumps; I admit I gave in to temptation and spent my prize money). I understand that, I'm grateful for that. But maybe to ease my guilt, I should go live on the streets. After all, if your life becomes so shitty that you don't even have a place to go, it'll be ok to say, ok, that's it, my life's completely f*cked-up, I can just go jump off the bridge now.
Ok I realise I'm being illogical and reactive and self-pitying and self-absorbed and just plain selfish here.
I wrong my mother everyday. She's the only one I dare to take all my frustrations out because I think deep down I know she's the only one who will never abandon me. (I popped out of her cooch, you know. That counts for something.) I know what I'm doing is wrong, wrong, wrong. Only just now I gave her my best pissed-off-can't-you-see-I'm-busy face when she asked me to help her shift the chairs so she could vacuum under the table; she ended up slamming the vacuum cleaner on the ground, breaking the vacuum head off so that it splintered into
Labels: Family, Growing Pains
# posted by me lah @ 7:29 pm 
