Nov. 12, 2002

getting better in moving on with every year

thirty minutes before 12mn. and the eleventh of november bleeds into the twelfth, as easy as that.

everybody knows the twelfth of november. i mean... i do. everybody in the house does, as a matter of fact. though i doubt if any of my friends remembered, at all... no, of course, they wouldn't. why should they? i mean... it was just random, you know?

yeah, sure, everyday, somebody's mother dies.

mine did, five years ago. in approximately 25 minutes, five years flat.

looking back, wow, five years? look at me now, somewhat semi-stable, or something which closely resembles something that could stand on her own. yup, that's me. i guess, i'd just been preoccupied with a lot of things -- they drive me crazy, insane, one by one by fucking one -- school, university, college, journ... did i miss anything? oh yeah, right, other people. guys, girls, doesn't matter which anymore, it's kind of surprising actually, how the fuck they could be pains in the ass at the same time.

they keep me preoccupied, they keep me busy -- thankfully so, though. because of them, 95% of the time, i am able to live, temporarily forgetting i'd been motherless since i was twelve.

tough luck, but nobody's asking for pity now. i have no use for it. it won't keep me alive, it won't keep me in school, hell it won't feed my family. pity. i don't need it. nobody does.

but right now, i just want to stop and think five years over. after all, i owe my mother a piece of my thoughts. that's what i always said anyway. that i never thought of her often enough, hard enough...

as if anything i do will ever be enough.

so there five years, hell i could live, this much i could say about myself. i'm doing goddamned fine, after all, i'm still alive, and there aren't gashes on my wrists, or at least, none yet. so sure, mom, doing hell fine, having the time of my life, or something which closely resembles such.

or maybe not.

the one thing that scares me right now, is this certain tiny possibility that i'm not as over the death yet as i perceive myself to be. it's what freaks me out. it's this thought that... that i've been fooling myself all these years, trying to make myself believe i'm getting better in moving on with every year...

but i get by, you know? it's just that... i think that's not enough. it's just that... sometimes, i think i'm just living each day down without a plan, and that i don't actually know what i'm supposed to do next.. and that i'm just waiting to... well, die.

just like my mother.

and i hate having to think like that. especially on nights like this. and seven minutes later, i'd know it's been another year, and it just feels like i'd just grown a bit older, but nothing much has really changed. aside from the fact that i'm now in college, and i think i'm entering a serious transition pretty soon.

just how many girls turn eighteen, motherless and all, huh?

no, i'm not bitter. not angry, no, i'm so over that. being angry at something you cannot touch -- death, God, grief -- it's so tiring. it's much much easier if i could take a swing at something, feel my knuckles hurt, watch them bleed, feel that pain... but dealing with them, with this, it's hell complicated. i cannot touch them but they can hurt me.

and it sucks that way, really it does. how something intangible can tear you apart, shred you to pieces.

but yeah, mariah said, i'm strong enough to mend. whatever that meant, it sounded nice.

but i'm not... you know, in such a really depressed, pathetic situation, so don't give me that look, don't give me that sigh, save it for somebody who'd lost both the parents and is practically left alone to raise more than two siblings. i have a couple, actually, but i have a dad, i have an aunt, i have lots of relatives who pitch in to the raising-us-part, so really, it's not that bad.

or at least in this aspect. in other aspects, my life could be such a dark one.

and in that place, in the dark, when i think i'm all alone -- that nobody sees me and what i'm doing... i know she's right there, you know? my mother, she's right there, it feels as if she's just sitting opposite me, watching me do the things nobody would've guessed i'd do, reading through my mind as she discovers things nobody would ever consider i'd thought about, not at all.

i keep so many secrets, and i know she knows. she's my mother. it's this mother-daughter connection i guess, that goes through time, space and death, and what-have-you...

i knew it. i've been watching too much buffy the vampire slayer.

and right there, i could hear my mother laughing at my juvenile addiction. and i would say, but mom, you don't know buffy, she and i are so alike, in more ways than one... and then she'd know, just like that, and she'd agree.

my mother would agree... funny how i think this, when i don't actually remember her as somebody who'd most likely do.

i'm visiting her tomorrow. of course, tradition. with the whole family. i'd never gone there alone... i don't know, i didn't trust myself enough to. i'm scared i won't make it back here, you know? i didn't trust myself. i still don't.

and it's a sad thing actually.

and then, maybe she'd say, maybe i should visit. alone.

and tell her things i can't say when somebody else is around. and i will nod, and say i'd try.

though i can't promise it would be soon.


note. it's 12:26 am, twelfth of november. five years ago, i woke up motherless.