Sunday, February 22, 2015

Am I my mother’s daughter?

Existential much?!

“She comes across as such a genuine and nice person!” My mother tells me on the phone line, talking about a friend of mine that she just bumped into.

Now, I can’t claim to know how mothers think. But if community wisdom is anything to go by, I don’t see her being very displeased about how her daughters turned out, generally speaking.  And yet, that comment just seems to kill something within me, I keep wondering whether she feels slightly let down by her two daughters — that they would probably not fall in “good-natured” category, by any definition of the word. Of the zillion ways I must have disappointed my mother so far, this, somehow, bothers me the most.

I have always been fascinated by anecdotes about her — from my maternal/paternal grandparents, Mausis (mother's sisters), her friends and so on. They consistently remark about her as someone very simple, shy, intelligent, kind, responsible, mature, hard-working — right since they have known her, to this very day. With my atrocious memory, I only recall few glimpses of her from my early childhood - whether it was me and my sister causing her public embarrassment by vomiting all over the MSRTC buses during our summer travels or my (infamously loud) weekly head-baths on Sunday mornings. And there onwards, rest and most of it has been me just being me, I guess. Obnoxious and stubborn (In that regard, I am yet to meet my equal). And she? She has been her self all along - Calm and assuring. As a parent, I would think a tad bit laid-back but always fully supportive and also supremely feisty when situation so demanded.

Now -- it seems for reasons beyond my comprehension - I never aspired to be a particularly "sweet" person. So, neither do I ever force myself to act like one nor do I have any regrets on that front. And so it goes for my sister too - brutally honest, straight-forward, self-righteous, extremely opinionated and unabashedly argumentative.. Qualities that I actually have grown to admire. Sure, there are times when I feel I might have overstepped a little bit - like when I reprimand my juniors at work or my occasional tirades and mood swings that my close friends have to put up with. 

So much for honesty, huh? But, seriously -- without getting into (so far personally uncharted) complexities of what parenthood demands off people, what extraordinary feats parents accomplish and sacrifices that they make, it stands to reason to assume that they would like to see their children as some kind of extension, if not reflection, of themselves. May be a way to carry forward some sort of legacy of all the good things they represent, stand for and take pride in?

Reminds me of something that probably won’t make much sense without the context. (Let me give it a try: An immigrated Spanish mother who is protective of her daughter being American-ized.) 

So here goes the last scene from movie 'Spanglish’ — (In words of the narrator/daughter )

Shortly after we left, my mother told me of another decision she had reached — I would no longer go to the private school.

"NO! You can't do that to me! You ruined everything. This ruins my life! You've ruined everything. This is exactly what I was worried about. I will never be able to forgive you. No, it'll never be all right. You're wrong. I will never forgive you. I have a scholarship! And nobody gives this up!"

The 1.3 miles from the Clasky house to our bus stop was the longest walk I'll ever know. I had publicly scorned my mother. And yet she had not reacted.

What did spark our climactic moment was my use of a common American phrase. "Not right now. I need some space.” 
—"No space between us.”

In the midst of confrontation, she found clarity. She expressed regret that she had to ask me to deal with the basic question of my life at such a young age. 
And then she asked it  —"Is that what you want for yourself - to become someone very different than me?" 

"I've been overwhelmed by your encouragement to apply to your university and your list of scholarships available to me. Though, as I hope this essay shows, your acceptance, while it would thrill me, will not define me. My identity rests firmly and happily on one fact: I am my mother's daughter."                       
                                                                           Thank you, Cristina Moreno          
                                                                                                                                                                                          

Why..

..blog? It’s so passe!

Nobody puts it better than this mind-bogglingly perceptive teenage girl..
"Writing in a diary is a really strange experience for someone like me. Not only because I’ve never written anything before, but also because it seems to me that later on neither I nor anyone else will be interested in the musings of a thirteen-year old school girl. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I feel like writing.”
                                                                                                                               - Anne Frank