18 Oct

I am writing this with hurt and fresh feelings.

Still, I’ll continue writing it for it matters to me and these thoughts need to materialize.

I have an unbreakable connection with my mother.

I think its love but its toxic.

I believe that each is her own important person.

But words exchanged are engraved, deeply, although not all necessarily.

She brought me to this world, passed me to her own mother, my father’s mother and then my father, and then an aunt and then, well even during those times, to myself.

I have lived at different places without the constant company and nurture of a mother.

Then years later…

I feel breakable when we disagree.

I can’t seem to move on from her toxic handling of “concern” for me.

Her words becomes a curse. It weakens me.

I feel like I have to lessen our interactions for my sanity.

Still, I dream of having her by my side and being “motherly”.

I dream of her warm hugs that seldom happen.

I know she cares. And I know of her “sacrifices” that’s why sometimes I give her tips how to handle me.

The “me” she wasn’t able to witness grow. The “me” who had to learn on her own. The “me” she was constantly blaming for things not to be fault at or maybe she just can’t accept or comprehend.

I try to help her take care of me but sometimes when she follows, it wouldn’t feel satisfactory.

And often times, she wouldn’t listen and insist on her own “maternal” instinct.

She stayed at another country more than she did her own. I can only count on at least less a thousand days on my 28 years of existence the time we were together.

I guess, she knows more about me as she likes to remind me because I came from her.

But mother, we grew apart. I am fully grown and still we’re apart. M

ost of the times you forget I’m not a toddler. But I must admit, there is still a child in me who longs for the “mother” she never had.

Don’t get me wrong, I love you. It’s just that I’m mostly hurt by you.

Sorry if it hurts, or irritates you.

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll be okay. For sure.


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