I Don't Know If This Is Love

Ever since I understood the meaning of words, I have constantly heard my mother telling me that she "loves me".

Born and raised in a privileged life, I've never rethought about how a mother really should be. The way my mother was to me was the norm, and that being an only child, she was the only family member of the same sex.

On rainy nights, she would tuck me into bed and read me night time stories. She would let me hold the book so I could look at the colorful pictures. I loved her and she dreamed of my accomplishment in life. Herself growing up in a lower class in East Asia, the ambition and hope she held for her only daughter was immense. The moment I turned five, I was pulled out of my public preschool and was stuck into a private school renowned for its high fee and rich education. In an entire grade consisted of merely 23 kids, I was able to strive academically and stood proudly on the top.

What didn't go "right" was that my social skills lacked the elasticity and the ability to accept others for who they were. Spoiled as a rotting egg, I was the 1/23 for the next five years. This experience shaped my perception on others.

Seeing this, my mother relocated me to another country. There, I went to an American School which taught its programs in English. The school was vast compared to the one before and even more prestigious. The high school offered both AP and IB programs, and number of graduates each year were accepted into Ivy Leagues. Here, I've learnt that I was not always the best at everything, and that it is possible to still, be the 1/161. My mother, by this time, had developed a certain stereotypical view of me, realizing that I was a spoiled brat and all of a sudden, decided to go spartan. A little bit of disagreement, she clawed my shoulders. A little bit of argument and she had kicked me in my abdominal. My teenage soul was not able to handle the distress, and for a few years, my social life began to concentrate around illegal activities. This vicious cycle lead on to her increasing anger, which increased the violent abuses and hurtful words.

I've grown up thinking that phrases like "No one would ever want you" or "Your brain is a piece of ****" was commonly spoken at households. But I guess not. I can't even list out all the hideous names she has called me, and I don't want to remember. I've developed a tolerance... a steel barricade and I've learned to forget whatever she tells or do to me.

When I entered high school, it became obvious that I was not as smart as she has always thought of me. My grades were only above average and I was not chosen for varsity sports. Her growing distress raged at me in different forms. She claimed I was disorganized and she would force me to suddenly clean the entire house in one night. She claimed I was not efficient, and tore down all the internet cables in the house (which I needed to use for homework). Whenever I mentioned anything she disagreed with, violence happened.

Once in a while though, I would open up the gates of hell but actually smell the tingling sense of a delicious dinner. On those days, she had either gained a decent amount of money on the internet currency trading or something, and that makes her creepily cheerful. She would talk on and on about my academic future and how she dreamed it to be like. Then, she would reassure that I know how hard she works to let me lead a successful life. She expects me to get into Harvard and only Harvard. She said my safety should be Stanford. I thought that was normal until I began high school. She should know that it's not that easy.

Nowadays, when she casually slips out the occasional "I love you", I don't know whether I should believe it or not. There are so many thing in my life that I might've been able to do, but I'm trying to live the life she wants me to... the life she thinks would make me happy.

I'm sorry this passage is long and disorganized, for I do not want to read it over and edit.

For today, I wanted to express my concern and anger towards my mother.

riisxa riisxa
18-21, F
Mar 9, 2010