I think I’ve watched way too many
cheesy movies to be thinking this.
Eating out with my mother the other day we reached this cross road where I just knew choosing to speak or not would become the lay out for the rest of the way between us. Obviously that’s what happens to everyone.
Full disclosure : I’m 16, (17 in a few months. Then I can bust out the preteen song in Sound of Music and dance with my imaginary partner in my nonexistence gazebo). Though I can just hear you guys telling me to milk it,
a lot of the sometimes I like to put on the preface that I’m older on the blogosphere. Makes my words more legitimate? Maybe the Duck wants to fit in too.
Anywho, I hadn’t wanted to speak all that much because she didn’t know about my tongue piercing (which isn’t really new, but you’ll see why she never knew) and I wasn’t going to really risk it after she had found out about my conch and rook (it’s fine if you disagree with my choices, but please, no warbling). I was dead wrong.
Apparently she found out the time I ate dinner at her boyfriend’s house, who happens to like candle light dinners. Third
wheel ducklet or none. Just leave it to the romantic evening and the moonlight to spark off the metal jewelries. What surprised me was that she hadn’t mentioned a word. (No she isn’t exactly happy). Pardon me for sounding malicious, but for a part of that tense moment in which she disclosed she knew, I almost wanted her to get mad. Just so I’d have an excuse to say, what did you know for someone who was never here.
It’s a low blow. I know.
I’ve written a few posts before about what it felt like to have her on extended trips across the world. Most recently, a trip to China plus a few vacational reminisce in her home country of Vietnam with her new friend. Soon she’s going to embark once again to Mexico, and then to Hong Kong. I know I’ve had a few rough episodes, which evoked questionable, and sometimes downright stupid acts, but I’m being as honest as I’m aware of when I say it doesn’t feel exactly bad. Though it’s not all that great either, but that isn’t what this post is about.
This post is about the next evening, when I had my back towards her, more engrossed in my computer. And you might think me bad, but the Duck was rather absorbed in you boogooers, so I guess it’s all your fault then.
“You’re not mad at me?” she said.
I hardly turned around before I said, “No, why?”
“For not being home to spend time with you.”
I have to admit I was taken back. Asian moms just don’t get all tickly feely. “No mom, I’m not mad.”
“Okay, I’m going to leave now. Eat dinner.”
She had to leave to her friend’s apartment in Burnaby because they’ll be going to work together. Another thing that has never been steady, and honestly has never really existed in her life.
I don’t know how much of what I said was true, because I know to some extent I had, or could still be somewhere inside, upset with her for a number of reasons. Digging up her dirty laundry about quite severely beating me as a child in China was a good party starter when her friend was over.
I can’t tell you the phases I went through in which at first, I told myself when I grew older I was definitely going to get my mother back. I was going to make her feel as I felt with all the color of the rainbow bruises on my thighs, the humiliation of wetting yourself after a beating and being locked in a black bathroom. In short, I actually considered the idea of beating my own mother when I fantasized about being older as a child. That’s pretty warped. I know that too. Then I got into thinking that I was going to become the best mom ever, minus the best chocolate chip cookies and healthiest school snack. But absolutely no beatings.
It was rather casual. It was almost an off handed remark when she said it. It was to a point, very awkward. It seemed more prominent than any beating I’ve ever received.
I speculate she spent an outrageous amount of time with me during spring break as a make-nice. It’s fine. Although this is supposed to be a day late, but since wordpress screwed me over last night, so it’s now two. On April fool’s day we actually got ourselves to Lyn Valley without any directional help
other than google. It’s one thing to rely on my senses, at the least it’s the combination between my mother and my father , who knew stuff. It’s a different story to rely on not just the offspring, but the spawner too. No mixes with even a remote chance of knowing what the hell she’s doing on the road, therefore I must say it was perhaps the greatest joke pulled ever.
Too bad my mom isn’t really a nature person. I don’t believe she knew Lyn Valley was a mountain(not that I should speak for someone who dressed like above). I don’t even think she really understands the concept of a mountain. She was rather freaked out that the trail did not end at a little shy of 2km. But the Duck is sly, she got some shots before mother o’mine gently froze in the shades of the forest.
I’m not even going to bother with nice placement anymore. Took me about an hour
and a half and wordpress still hates me. I think this is what people call teenage egotism. But of course, the Duck is way past that.