My Mom and I have this hostile relationship, ever since I turned 12. I was stubborn, I know that. I used all my strength, all my forbid voice to say what I have in mind: my opinions, my feelings. I was always misunderstood, like my opinion doesn’t matter as long as they’re older than me, meaning they’re wiser. No matter how much I listen to them and hoping that they can listen to me as well.
That doesn’t stop me from trying to communicate my feelings, till 3 years later social media influenced me and I read a quote that says, “Be nice to your mom, it’s her first time living too.” I thought to myself, maybe I should try and adjust this behavior of mine.
I hid the complicated feelings that came, really trying to memorize and treasure the person I love. On that process I am quite sure that sometimes she hated me, she didn’t know she did, and yet I bring that hatred with me.
Hate to admit it but she was toxic: hoping when she went home, she won’t be ruining our mood, saying I look just like her yet look at herself with shame in the mirror every morning. Before I knew it, I was avoiding her; stopped talking to her, even looking at her. Still, I got in trouble for being quiet, I felt like no matter what I do, I can’t save me from her judgement, I can’t save our relationship.
I envy other kids who can openly talk to their mother, who gives them hugs when they talk about how difficult being a teenager is, how confusing it is and not lecture them about how you should change that life of yours because you look depress, or how when she was a teenager, she was not this stubborn, lazy, or hardheaded.
And there is this confusion I felt all the time; voices in my head that says, “try and get along with them”, “try to just talk to them about thing they love.”, but a part of me wants to be understood too, to be ask wht I love, I am still a kid after all. I want advice without hearing a yell and making me want to slam my door and cut my ears. I want to be hugged, assured that no matter what I do in the future I’m still loved, that my mistakes doesn't define me as a person rather, as their only daughter.
I’m sure that someday, I will made it out of this home alive, raised by voices inside my head.
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