So the last couple of posts made me sound like someone who can’t do anything better that day. I’ve decided to put an end to it (or a pause, if you may) and just be my ranting self.
I haven’t spoken to my mom for the past 36 hours. It all started when she picked me up from QC. She said I’ve been gaining weight. When Thursday morning came, she said I should work out more. Around lunchtime, she said I’m becoming "wider". Then on our way to church, she said my clothes are inappropriate and slutty. Talk about tough love eh? Naturally, I stomped my way to the closet to change clothes. There’s not much to say after that. She just stopped talking.
Don’t get me wrong; you can criticize me all you want and I welcome that. But I guess that’s not always the case when it comes to your family. Your family is the sole core group that is obliged to love and care for you, no matter what shape or size you’re in. I felt a bit betrayed when I noticed that she hasn’t really said anything worth remembering since I got here. I’m starting to regret my decision to spend the long vacation here.
Honestly, I don’t feel like apologizing. What am I supposed to apologize for? For reacting the way I did? I never questioned her maternal right over me; she has the right to reprimand me all she wants when I’m wrong. I just wish she can be more empathic. She can be overly critical and she can make it look like my fault. I mean, come on. Are you kidding me? Hindi porke anak ako, ako na lang parati ang mali. I have all the right in the world to react against anyone’s opinion, especially those that hurt my pride and ego.
I’m sure, once I tell this to my friends, I’ll get a handful of advice. Listen to her, she’s your mom. You shouldn’t have said that. Blah. Blah. Blah. Where in the rule book did it say that moms are infallible? I mean, fuck it, they know best, that’s for sure, but where in the grand scheme of things did it say that they can never make a mistake in raising their child? I’m raised well; I thank God every day for that. But sometimes, the things she says and the way she reacts to how I look and the things I say make me question whether I measure up to her idea of a daughter.
Dear Mom. I am 24. Freaking 24. I get it. You just want me to look better. But your manner of saying it makes me feel ugly. You make me feel ugly. Seriously. And you should be the last person that could make me feel like this. Ironically, you’re the first. I am not going to apologize for the way I dress. It makes me feel pretty. My clothes make me feel sexy and confident. I don’t like the fact that you’re trying to change that, just so I can conform to a conservative set of rules made up 30 years ago. This is now and I am born in the now. I am not forcing you to live my years, so don’t force me to live yours. Next time you tell me to cover up, be prepared to wear a plunging neckline. If I’m changing for you, you should be as hell ready to change for me.
There. End rant here. I go now to my secret place where Alejandro and Rubi just keeps looking at each other and this song plays in the background.