Amma

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is something I wrote at 4 in the morning when I was missing my mother more than usual.

Submitted: November 05, 2014

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Submitted: November 05, 2014

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I miss my mom so much! She was the only person that tried to understand me and connect with me. And that is a great thing because she wasn’t even my real mother. What is unbelievably fucked up is that I was well acquainted with my real mother all along. She was my adoptive mother’s college mate! From all the movies and TV shows I watched, I assumed that if it was ever confirmed that I was adopted, I would want to know and meet my real parents. But when I learnt the truth about my genealogical origins, I was unhappy. I hated my mum’s college mate, her kids were crazy! Oh yeah, I have two sisters by the way. When I say crazy I don’t mean it in an obvious way but more like women with low self-esteem who base their worth on their looks, apparel and other people’s appreciation. Unbelievably shallow and depressing. Sorry got off-topic.

The point is I just wish I could talk to my mom (adoptive mom who in my opinion is the only mother I have) again for like one last time. I mean, it would be great to have her back in my life. Who doesn’t want their dead mom to come back alive am I right? But that is obviously impossible. So, I want to spend time with her one last time. I don’t even care about why she thought it was okay kill herself. It doesn’t matter anymore. I just want to be with her. Just talk to her about how I have been. Show her that I can play violin now. That would make her so happy! I want to ask her to cook me her food once. Ever since she died, it never felt like I was eating proper food. I want to be happy again. I want to tell her that I love her more than any other person in this world and I want to tell her that I regret not telling her this when she was alive and that I wish I was more expressive with my feelings. I want to sit with her and reminisce all the good times we had together. All those times we made chapattis together, every time I made an omelette for her, all those times we sang together.

 

I want to apologise to her for every time we fought. I want to tell her that I’m an independent person who can take care of herself in any situation and all because of the way she raised me. I want to apologise for every time that I was an inconsiderate jerk to her. I know now that she was broken and that she needed help but her stupid was family was too ignorant to notice it. I want to tell her that I’m much more calmer and a nicer person here than I ever was back home. I want to tell her that I would do anything to be with her because that’s how much I love her. I want to ask her to take care of me. I want her to tell me that it will all be okay and that I will be fine. I want her to hug me. I want her to make me ???????? ??????? and upma. I really like her food. I want to tell her that I miss her. . . a lot. I want to take long walks with her like I used to and talk to her about all the things we used to talk about.

What I’m trying to say is that I want to make a happy memory with my mother for one last time which compiles all our previous happy memories so that when I feel like shit, I can remember this hypothetical mega-happy memory and realise that in that moment I don’t need anything more than just reminiscing that hypothetical mega happy memory. I could just compile our happy memories and make that into a montage of happy memories, creating a mega-happy memory but the obvious difference between the hypothetical and montage memory is that in the hypothetical memory I finally tell my mother that I love her, something I have never actually said properly and it is something I want her to know. I guess second chances are just illusions. I’m not going to try to fill the void created by my dead mother because no one can fix it or fill it to any extent.

I miss you amma and I love you.


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