To Mama, With Love


*This entry has been stuck in my head since 6 am this morning but I’ve been so busy that I only had the time to do this now, a few minutes before my Curriculum Dev class*

My mom and I have our issues, it’s not a secret. I think this is because we’re so close and so alike that sometimes, things get messy, boudaries get crossed and well, we end up hurting each other probably because, we’re so stubborn, we don’t realize that a lot can be fulfilled if only we learn to shut it and talk to each other.

But you know, I love her.

And for the past three days, I was just given more reason to do so.

For one thing, unlike me, my mom is not the mushy type. She doesn’t shower people with handwritten notes or text them just because she feels like it (ha ha, guilty of both) and often her love can be found underneath her teasing and her sarcasm.

I’ve said it a million times but my mom is my best friend and she knows everything about me, at least the things that I tell her.

But she’s a mom so she has this uncanny ability to know when things aren’t going well for her slightly rebellious middle child.

Another thing about my mom is that she never asks about it point blank *actually she does, but in this particular situation, she didn’t*, instead, she’s been dropping hints, asking what was the current state of my heart without making it feel like a confession.

Maybe it’s because my mom was there the first time my heart was broken and although she was silently watching from the outside, I know that she felt every hurt and she knew how deep the wound has scarred me.

I think, since she saw me go through the worst the first time around, she suddenly became more protective and became more unnerved when she saw that there’s a possibility that I could break apart again.

My mom didn’t have a lot of words (or as I lovingly call them, sermonial anecdotes) with her, instead she had a tap to offer to me last Monday when even at 9:30 pm, I was still struggling to do work so I can get over it, and she had the proverbial, “You don’t need a man because you can make it on your own” passed down to me for the nth time and I appreciated it.

It was only this morning that she asked me (which I know she’s been dying to do since Sunday night) what was really going on and I shrugged it off, I didn’t get into detail anymore because I no longer believed that it was important And my mom once again said that if i got over that intense heart break the first time around, then this was nothing.

Which in true motherly fashion was true.

What this is is nothing compared to the immountable heart ache that I overcame without the help of a rebound last year.

But that doesn’t make the sting and missing go away, but that’s beside the point.

My parents, my mom in particular, is way too idealistic when it comes to the guys that I talk to her about and this maybe because, just like me, she fell in love with the first boy I took home to meet them.

He was intelligent, bright and well-educated. Someone who could do no harm to thier precious compassionate, ill-tempered, driven and highly-emotional middle child.

And yet he broke me. He broke me in a way that made Tortillos my best friend and for months all I could do was slumber in the world of Twilight because the real world was too painful.

And in my mom’s mind, If the wonder boy could break her daughter this much, what hope was left with the rest of men in the world?

Also, that specific situation proved to my mom that I was the fighter.

That among her children, I was the one who could stand on her own and who didn’t need a man or to be in a relationship to know her worth. My mom knew that I had enough fire and spirit in me to succeed without the help of a man. I was the daughter who only used men as accessories and nothing else.

Even before I had that realization, my mom already knew that I had it in me.

In her world, without verbalizing it, my mom believed that I had the strength that she never had and that I possesed this spirit of independence that she could only wish for my siblings (okay, i’m not the prettiest of the bunch, so give me this, okay?).

I told her the other day that I didn’t want to be ugly, fat and single and she told me that it was only a choice. You can be successful, beautiful and single.

And let me tell you, this is some hardcore pressure. My mom keeps reminding me that if he’s not going to do good in my life, what was the point of letting him in? And you know what, i’m starting to believe her.

Most people would tell me that if I don’t let people in, I’ll end up being bitter and alone but I detest.

As an example, I recieved an e-mail from one of my students from Korea and let me tell you, if that’s not love, then I don’t know what is. To be able to share love with more than just one person is incredible, it’s the best feeling in the world.

I would admit, I love the drama, but never when it comes to relationships, I have so much on my plate and so many dreams I want fulfilled that the drama that relationshits cause merely add an added form of stress that I could use somewhere else.

My mom believed this even before I realized all of it, which may be the reason why she was so careful the second time around.

She knew that her wise and independent daughter would fall for his own wise cracks and the games (oh why oh why does independence relate well with challenges) of the sweet boy. My mom knew my weaknesses as well and she knew that the boy would turn away because her daughter was too strong and too independent to be tied down.

My mom knew it all even before I went through all of it but she didn’t say anything (yes, believe it or not, my mom had nothing to say about him or what was happening).

I know my mom’s afraid. She’s afraid that her independent daughter will cave again and end up breaking her heart again because sometimes the broken daughter can be extremely emotional and stupid.

I wish I could tell her to not worry about me that much, yes I fall hard but I’m more cautious (I think that’s the reason why they never work) and I pick myself up and learn to dust myself off, a little wiser every single time.

I wish I could tell my mom that every battlescar results to an improved me, to the daughter that she claims to be proud of.

I get hurt, but I know how to use it for my advantage.

And as I close this entry, I hope she knows that she raised me well and the feist came from her.

And it’s because of her that I learned that nothing is sexier on a woman than independence and only the truly deserving guy knows this and won’t punish me for it.

So if you read all the way through, congrats and give yo’ mama a hug for me because I know she feels the exact same way for you.