You all already know how I feel towards popular celebrations such as Valentines day , so you can assume that my feelings towards mother’s day aren’t going to be any different.
And you are right. I am the kinda person who tells you that you should say I love you everyday but also give meaning to those words as they are nothing without actions behind them. So these kinda celebrations make me feel uncomfortable with sometimes pushed gestures (Flowers die in two days and Chocolate stay on your hips okay?), that hide pure proofs of love. However, when my friend sent her Mom flowers to Bangladesh, I felt like my Mom also deserved more than a text. And if there is something I can do better than buy flowers, its telling stories. So let me tell part of ours.
Mom and I, gosh Mom and I. When she asks me if I have ever written about her of if I plan to do it, I laugh nervously and change the subject because the truth is I really don’t know where to start when it comes to us. I have the impression that mother-daughter relationships are only sold by culture in two different boxes: ” She is my best friend in the whole world” or ” I hate the crap out of her”. Well me and mom have been through a journey full of every possible scenario. Sometimes even in both sides of the road in less than 24 hours. Tense, I know.
To be honest, I was dad’s little girl and probably represented Mom’s worst nightmare: I liked Barbies, dressing up as a princess for a living, watching and rewatching Disney movies. And Happy ending after happy ending, she asked herself how could she have brought to life a little girl so different to her.
Because Mom has a dude’s wild heart in a very feminine packaging: She likes high-speed cars, can’t stand the idea of a romantic comedy, doesn’t believe in the whole bff bullshit girls believe in, will always tell you to live in the moment without overthinking and will always always do her thing in her own way.
So we clashed. Constantly. Maybe because I inherited her stubbornness: we are souls that believe so fiercely that no matter what you say or do, we will fight until the end for our beliefs. So it obviously didn’t help that I believed in the moon while she believed in the sun. That lasted for such a long time, we would shout to each other, promise to never talk to each other again and silenced for weeks until Darius would be like ” are we done already?”. It was painful and tough but that’s the way she taught me to fight. Fight for the people you love until there is nothing left of you because if its the right people, its worth it. But also fight for trust,forgiveness and change because love is a wonderful thing but it doesn’t mean anything if you are not willing to sacrifice yourself at some points.
Then came a more prosperous time, a time where I would start to become an adult. An adult who would take her own decisions and would have to stand behind them on her own. From time to time, we would still kill each other because we would be on two completely different pages and didn’t understand each other . It was suddenly way more difficult than teenage heartbreaks and parties gone wrong, it was real life shit which meant that we both needed to try harder. And that’s what he have been doing during the last year. I guess things are different since I am out of Barcelona. You learn to appreciate, to reflect, to miss more than what you expected.
And here I am today in Toronto starting to live my own life, a change I terribly needed after some very difficult years. And again, that is thanks to my Mom. Because if there is something both wonderful and annoying about her, it is the freedom she has always given us. My mom is not the kind of person who tries to make something out of you, she lets you be your own person. She lets you dress the way you want to ( AND TRUST ME SHE SUFFERED, RIP TO THE PRINCESS DRESSES), she lets you party as much as you want to, she lets you be friend with who you want to be friends with even if she can’t stand them, she lets you fall in love with who you want to and she lets you go after what you want to go after in life.
My Mom pisses the hell out of me because she is impulsive, she often looks at her phone when I try to talk to her, she probably has a more active social life than me, she makes inappropriate jokes about my sexual life and the list goes on. But I love my mom more than anyone else because she is also so beautiful and talented: she is able to make everything so unique and precious. Always one in a kind, always standing out. Mom is this heartfelt soul that will fight fiercely for you if she believes in you. And luckily, she always has fought for me, no matter how crazy my endeavors were and I can only try to give some of it back.
And to me that is precious, I wouldn’t probably be writing this on the Internet if that wasn’t the case. The freedom she has given me has allowed me to be this unique weirdo I am today: full of fears, full of insecurities but also full of passion, love and creativity. It has allowed me to be this independent (maybe too much) young woman who isn’t afraid to live on her own in the other side of the ocean and I like to think that even though I have grown to be completely different than expected, I achieve to still make her proud in my own way.
Yes Mom and I are a disaster but she is one of the few loves of my life and trust me when I say I choose those very wisely.
Lots of love always,