Mother

I'm sorry Mother, but it's not gonna be one of those beautiful literary proses about how glorious and magnificent your role is in everyone's life. Sure, it's great to remember that every once in awhile, or perhaps even all the time. Sure, it's a notorious, grand gesture of showing love between you and us your kids. But another grand gesture is probably trying to express how I feel about the dysfunctional aspect of this role that hurts. Or maybe it's just in my case, Mother, and maybe it's just because I'm such a bad, ungrateful kid who maybe don't even deserve anything but keep protesting otherwise. I don't know. I have no idea. But the truth is, sometimes I feel like the world doesn't do us kids enough justice. I know it's a huge sacrifice, to carry us around for 9 straight months with all the trouble and problems and dilemmas, and then to raise us, to face the hard times that happened to us, to fight for us... But then we grow up, and suddenly you feel like you've earned the rights to control everything; like you own us. I do think that you don't possess us. Yes, we belong to you because you're my mother and blah blah. But you rights aren't above ours. Because remember, we're not your slaves. You didn't buy us; all that money and sweat and things you have to lose, it was raising us, not buying. No, you don't treat us like shit, though sometimes my teenage-angst tends to make me think that way, but it's kind of disappointing to find out that you, who's supposed to be our hero for the rest of our lives, have the tendency to always bring us down. I know, Mother, that we always tend to love all the wrong people. That's one of the tragedies that happen to us mankind. But she's been mistreating you, and yet when she came back, you didn't even let her begging for your forgiveness. Sometimes I wish it would be me, you know, to make huge mistakes and humiliate you and let you down, but then I would come to the point where I would come back home because I ran out of money and you would welcome me back with hands wide open. But it wasn't me. It was someone else. I said someone else, because you probably couldn't see it because you love her that much, but she changed. I can't decided if it was for good, but she's someone else now. I don't know her. Maybe you're the only one in the world who can see that she's still the old her, and you think she deserves a second chance. But second chances happen because someone blew the first one, Mother, and if the first was the one that matters, well, here it is. It's my first one, and I'm trying my best not to blow it. Do I have to blow it the way she did to get the warmth she can get now? I do think you forget how hurt she left us. Well, I'm not going to remind you, because I don't even wanna remember it. And why is that? Because it hurts, Mother! It hurts! So freaking bad! I didn't know how it can heal! Just because this kind of thing happened to you in your youth, and you survived it, doesn't mean history has to repeat itself. I thought you hated the way your Mother treated you. I thought you strive to be better than her. And God knows you tried, but try harder, Mother. Because I'm probably not as tough as you were. Because the world is not the place it used to be when you were young. Because you're not your Mother. You're better than that. I love you, Mother. Always have, always will. I will keep my love for you in noun and verbs, in present, past, perfect, future... every kind of tenses possible. But I want you to remember that even though the love between us should exist unconditionally, but just because it should doesn't mean it will. You have to try, and so do I. Because if you keep this up, there's no guarantee that it won't be banished to nothing. And because if you keep this up, I'm sorry, Mother, but I think it's not working.