I have a fear of becoming the person that I love the most.
We share the same blood, and unfortunately, we share the same temper. But thank God, our minds and personalities are different, so are our aspirations. I am worse in many ways. After all, only in her presence, I show her the monstrous side of my nature because, for some sick reason, I think I can. It’s almost as if I feel superior. I don’t ever see myself like this in front of others. It’s just her. As if we’re playing reversed roles, except that I am the kind of mother who wants the child to make its own fucking decisions and leave me the fuck alone.
No, I’m not scared of motherhood or its definition. I know what I don’t want and can’t do.
In all seriousness, I wish they’d left me to decide for myself because I would’ve decided not to play the piano, not to play tennis and not to go to grammar school. Didn’t I fuck them all up? – I did…because I never wanted these things.
And yet, you have to understand that your family only wants the best for you, so they make decisions that they believe are good. At a young age, you don’t always know what you want to do. The hardest part was turning seventeen, being certain of what you want, and knowing that your parents won’t approve of it. You tell them about your dreams, and it’s as if you’ve just introduced a new language to them. All they want is you to earn enough money to buy a house and settle down like everyone else in their family circle.
Rarely did mother and I ever talk about our dreams. Or let’s say rarely do we ever have decent conversations that don’t escalate to arguments. The Asian mentality is tough; it’s a shell you cannot crack. It could be stubbornness or narrow-mindedness that only goes one way. You can tell them anything, and it might fall on deaf ears – they don’t believe a road can ever split. They are conservative. They use this mentality as an excuse, so they don’t have to think outside the box. Why? – Because it’s not safe.
What can I say? There’s nothing you can do. Ever. Old school Asians will forever resent you for how you make them feel.
However, I like to remember the good conversations. She once told me that she dreamed of becoming a pianist, a model or a stewardess. Those were dreams and ideas with no execution, and today, they are merely the remains of her wishful thinking—if she still thinks about them. I wonder if she ever says to herself, “I wish I had done something about it.”
I honestly wouldn’t have resented her if she had decided to follow her dreams. She could’ve rejected my dad by all means, and it would’ve been ok. But that didn’t happen. (The details are exposed in an older blog post.)
My parents gave me a life to live–why? How can I ever make it better than theirs?
The older generations often accepted the way things were and hardly ever revolted against anything. It was work, saving money, getting married, and squeezing some puppies that will eventually take care of the older generation. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s the same as everywhere, really. They know the concept of working hard. You’ve seen it yourself. But they don’t entirely know what it’s like to work on what you love. Art and creativity aren’t profitable in their books. So it was hard to show them what I loved.
But you can’t really resent your parents for not being able to help to visualize your dreams. It’s something for yourself to work out. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I admit that I’ve always wanted to hear some kind words about my desire to write. But it’s OK.
I need to be clear and to collect the shreds of my fear; I don’t want to become as sorrowful as my mother with all the wishful thinking being swept under the carpet. I don’t want to make any decisions that will stop me from reaching any important goals. I’m a self-centred idealist that doesn’t give up on what keeps her sane.
Soon enough, I want to sterilize myself. I don’t trust guys who hate condoms.
On another note, I know the kind of mother I won’t be:
I won’t be as caring as my mother.
I won’t be as selfless as my mother when it comes to her children.
I am not a mother.