[lowercase intended]
i have amma saved as eomma on my phone,
just cause,
she fits eomma more i think.
i grew up :
choosing her as my favourite parent,
when kids asked silly questions like that at the age of seven;
snapping at her, because her oldest daughter inherited her husband's temper;
hating her, because she saw my dreams turn to dust,
before i ever could.
the truth is that,
she was my favourite parent because,
i wasn't afraid of her, even though
she was leagues taller and older.
(i'm still not afraid, even though i'm taller now)
i snapped at her,
because i couldn't snap at my father.
i hated her,
because i hated myself.
when i touched twenty,
anger turned to sadness,
which turned into understanding,
because mothers and daughters,
we're so intimately tied and woven,
because we're women.
we are women.
and i suddenly began to wonder…
if my mother had to overcompensate,
because even though she lost her dad at thirteen,
she knew dads weren't supposed to be this angry.
if she let me use her as a punching bag,
because she knew i would watch my father,
do the same,
and realise,
what kind of monster,
i could turn into.
(that monsters didn't just exist under the bed)
or was it because i was her punching bag too?
(in the way she would tell me twisted,
conversations and thoughts.
the reason i haven't div —
your grandmother —
because it felt like i was taking the hits anyway,
a little girl's world twisting to show the real one,
she'd been hiding me away from.)
and maybe she's never hated me,
or my dreams,
but she too, hated herself,
because she never got to chase hers
and her mother's choices,
built into resentment,
that bled into anger,
but then, she saw me bundled in her arms,
and the inherent need to protect took over.
until,
i started making choices,
that would grant me freedom,
but it was also where,
she couldn't reach me.
so her big heart with all that love,
smothered me instead.
but we're both older now,
and we're both women,
so i understand,
i have to.
(i think daughters inherit all that twistedness,
from their mothers because,
that's all the world lets you carry of them.)
it's easy to love men,
we make a hundred thousand excuses for them.
but women, we find it harder, to love, to forgive,
right when the strongest of them all,
is standing resiliently, right before you.
loving you amma, is so hard.
loving myself, is even harder.
i wish someone could have taught you,
someone could have shown you,
that loving you is easy, that love itself is easy
so you could have loved me easier too.
because you love me, but i don't think you like me.