My initial first post was a step-by-step exorcism guide, but it is my mother’s 40-something-th birthday today and I cannot help but think that trumps the whole exorcism thing. In fact, it trumps everything.
It’s my mother’s birthday today and all I can think of is Bonnie Burstow’s infamous quote that goes as follows, “often father and daughter look down on mother (woman) together. They exchange meaningful glances when she misses a point. They agree that she is not bright as they are, and cannot reason as they do. This collusion does not save the daughter from the mother’s fate.”
All I can think of is that the second I turned 25 I understood, too many years too late, the way the world shrunk her the same way it tries to shrink me. I wish that I could scream loud enough to break the sound barrier thirty tears back and tell her she belonged to herself first. Her embers have never stopped burning, her ghosts live alongside my own, and oftentimes they merge into one figure. She is so strong, in spite of everything, in spite of motherhood and life swallowing her whole, she was destined for things greater than having me.
My mother was the first person who taught me to say no to things that do not serve me. She would make me say it with my head held high, in a clear voice. You don’t want them to give you a hug? Say ‘no’, pull away, you’re allowed. My mother, a master craftsperson, taught me how to hem, stitch, patch, crochet, knit, and everything else there is - unfortunately I’ve never been the brightest student in the class and so I can sew on a button but don’t expect anything more, but she teaches me over and over again whenever I ask, she doesn’t mind. My mother was the first person to teach me all the great secrets of romance, such as the great move of pretending you cannot open that jar so that my dad comes in to pop it open with ease, and we share a knowing smile.
We still share that smile, but also sometimes a knowing frown, sometimes a knowing cry. We don’t need to be facing each other to know it, hell, we don’t even need to be in the same room, it’s just a feeling that I feel some days and I understand, and she understands, and that’s all that matters.
Who will understand when my other half is gone? I’ve been thinking about this a lot as well, who will I share secrets with over the chopping board in the kitchen, hushed and hurried so nobody will hear? Who will I dance with in my bedroom when I get good news? Who will I cry to when I suffer but another broken heart? She’s still young and I know it’s not good to start dwelling so early on, but you never know, and that fear of never really knowing keeps me awake at night.
I love how every single day there is more empathy and compassion bleeding into our relationship, I am my mother’s child and I never forget.
Audio
Mary Jane (All Night Long) - Mary J. Blige
So Good At Being In Trouble - Unknown Mortal Orchestra
I’m In Love With You - The 1975
Visual
Red Eye - A Wes Craven thriller where the scariest scene was Cillian Murphy clapping at the airplane landing :/ horrific, and amazing
Reading
All About Love - Bell Hooks - I read this in December but it’s still swirling around my head, really important book about the sheer power of love and how much of a threat it is in both a capitalist and patriarchal society, and how important it is to centralize the right kind of love to dismantle all of the above :) (it’s my year of centralizing love, and also sheer belligerence)
The Silent Patient - Alex Michaelides - This book has been on my TBR list for a bit now and so I decided would be great to read as my first book of the year but I am so disappointed and honestly struggling to power through it. Not great at all.
What’s Consumed Me
Ghosts of Januaries Past, Present, and Future
Cross Stitching
The dreaded job hunt
Thoughts of looking back at myself X months ago and being a whole different person now, which leads to the question “when will I look back at myself X months ago and not feel like a different person?” And I know changing as a person isn’t a bad thing but then again I feel unsettled almost because if it’s so hard to recognize yourself from a few months ago then it’s pretty difficult to recognize who you are at the very core of it despite the changes. Gotta go grab my diary and write “At the core, I have always been…” and see how that sentence ends!