i hate what my mother does

she talks. and talks. accuses. makes odd presumptions. complains, dreams, hopes.

human. as i am.

so why do i find all of this so very grating? is it because of the way she sees a little too far ahead? because "her time is running out"?

she speaks to me. i feel rotten sometimes because she talks to me and i am repulsed. i know. i'm ashamed as i say this. she's living under someone else's roof, yes. she's making her own living when i should be supporting her already, true. she's single and all she has supposedly have left now is me, fair enough. surely she's got some "rights" to her daughter?

she does. she should. but do i go visit only to hear her talk about eating more vegetables? sleep earlier? listen to her talk about avoiding the colder seasons when she can to come visit when i'm in australia...

"try, try," she said.

it's a season, ma. not a few hours in a cold room from which you can escape. you can't even bear the breeze in your room, which is sealed like tupperware throughout the night; you can't even have the fan on and you put blankets on yourself when you sleep. please don't die on a visit. i wouldn't know what to do and it'd kill me if you were to die because of me. you've already done enough, ma.

come in the spring or the summer instead and stop talking about the stupid colder seasons.


it's not like i'm the one leaving-leaving you know. i'm leaving here, the comfort, the security, the wretched humidity alongside the tropical temperatures, friends, family. as much as i'm leaving you, you're leaving me, too. see? and i mean, really. my mother. she's worried about all these.

tell you a secret: so'm i. i'm worried about the weather, because i'll have to be in it. i'm worried about not having the right clothes. i'm worried about the job climate. i'm worried about the shootouts that happen every so often there, after dark. i'm worried i may have to return here after a few months, because i can't find a job because i'm not bloody aussie, because i'm not ang moh, because i refuse to sleep with the mother-fuckin boss.

i'm worried, okay?

i don't tell her the above but i tell her it's not easy for me to leave neither. i also did not tell her what i'm typing below.

the whole purpose of going overseas? buy her a fuckin' house, that's my purpose. so she'll finally have a dream come fuckin' true. nothing's secure, ma. talking about the future now wanting an assurance when i don't have enough assurances even for myself is just not helpful. and i know you're trying to be strong, too.

yeah i'll forever be the ingrate of a child. taking, never giving. perhaps i'll remain that way forever to the rest of the world and possibly to you as well. i hate it when you think that of me, because no matter how much i rail at your imperfections i know i love you. i just wish you wouldn't make it so hard. i do my best, really i do.

a lot of the time i seriously don't know what you want from me. maybe possibly perhaps that's also why i'm leaving. i'm angry because i don't have all the answers. you're looking to me for answers, and i don't even understand your questions, if there are questions to begin with. i know you would have settled for a lie, even if my attempt in australia were to flop you'd love me still, take me back and encourage me, tell me, "start anew, people fail sometimes. nobody'll blame you."

i know. that's why i feel angry. at myself. i'm sorry i cannot provide the answers right now. i can only plan for the worst and hope for the best. and do my best.

it's not easy, no. not for either of us. so stop talking about it already, yeah?


so what does telling her that i'm worried do? she cries. after i cry. we both cry. separately, not really wanting the other to be bothered but we know the other's bothered. feeling more the monster after, on both ends. does it have to be this hard? i know it's hard, but does it have to be so expressedly hard?

come on. suck it up, cry into the pillow later. tears don't help nobody but yourself. unless you're at a funeral, which we're not. someone's got to be strong about this, it might's well be the two of us.

let's both pretend we're strong, k? you'll have your privacy to cry later, i.. probably won't, when i need to. but let's pretend it's okay for now, because i will have to leave, and you will have to watch me leave when the day comes.

so let's just try, k? let's try to be strong, pretend we're not worried. just try, k?