I Love Her.

I didn't feel anything.

I kept waiting for the guilt, the remorse. But the feeling never came. Perhaps, I should be basking in the glory of triumph? But, I didn't feel victorious either. Instead, I just kept watching and laughing along as my favorite variety cast finished their missions.

It was ridiculously easy to push the whole incident to the back of my mind and keep acting as though it had never happened. That is, until the reality of it all caught up to me. I didn't feel anything. I was numb. Had I become a hollow shell of the person I supposedly am?

Maybe it's nothing. Maybe this is just how it's supposed to be. Maybe I just analyze too much. Maybe I should have had just let the memory slip away into the darkness until it was forgotten. But, it's too late now. The moment I realized my lack of reaction, I was done for. Doubt crept in. Guilt flooded my soul. But it is fear that reigns over my heart. Fear that came about because I. Felt. Nothing.

It was a huge argument. But every argument we have is huge. Still. I believe we provoked each other in the way that we always manage to do. It all went the way it usually does between us. She speaks her side. I defend myself. She disregards everything I say because, by birth, I will always be beneath her. I don't condone that notion and that will always be the barrier between us. She says her piece and believes that she has rightfully won. I speak up because I am an impetuous child who believes in respect for each other's opinion regardless of station. She thinks she wins by default. I think I win because of my impudent but totally logical defense. In the end, she leaves only to keep coming back to rain sermons about my manner of speech, my stance and my facial expressions.

The thing is, we love each other. We don't say it to each other. I can swear that she has never said those words to me before and I admit that I have only muttered them to her a handful of times. But, I know without a doubt that she loves me and that I love her. And, with that love comes my respect for her. I respect her even if she doesn't believe it. Love and respect are supposed to be universal languages. Except for us, apparently. I think it's because we have different understanding of the concept of love and respect. So, we have different expectations of how we should be to each other. And, we are two people who have difficulty with compromise. We stand rigid with our own principles and views of life.

So, in the end, she says I'm disrespectful, ungrateful and inconsiderate. I say, we have communication problems.

I love her. And we had an argument. And I felt nothing. Now, I feel scared like a child. Because, I'm not supposed to feel nothing. I'm scared because I don't want our constant disagreements and differences in opinions to change who I am. I don't want to be an empty husk, a shell. And, I'm scared. I'm scared. And, I'm suddenly sorry. Because I know that I hurt her. But I chose not to do anything about it. Because no matter how I deny it, I got hurt, too.

What have I become?

I've heard people say that no parent can ever win over their children. I've always snorted at them, half out of indignation, half out of envy. I never felt like she ever let me win. My mother is a strong, proud woman. And, it is very difficult, and often quite infuriating, to live with that kind of person. But then, I am as stubborn and proud as she is. And, so I must think that she finds me no less difficult and infuriating as I find her.

But all these analyses mean nothing. Because I know that, in the end, I will still choose to do nothing. Because I have already bent and bowed more times than I believed right. If I do it again, I'm afraid that I'll break. And, she... Well, she is a more rigid person than I am that bending is simply out of the question.

And, so we stand at an impasse. She'll lick her wounds and I'll lick mine. She'll eventually stop glaring at me and I'll continue to ignore my guilt, holding on to the fact that she hurt me, too. It's childish. On both sides. But I need time to forgive her for not being the kind of mother I expected. And I need time to forgive myself for being unable to be the child she wants me to be. And, we'll go back to our routine of saying barely five words to each other every day. Eventually, through the years, those five words might become a rarity even in a month. Or maybe we'll find a way to finally see each other in better light. But at the moment, I know that the best we can do is to tolerate each other. And, that is enough.

But, this thing I know. Between parent and child, there can be no winner. No side can walk away without a scar. No side can walk away without having to heave a heavy heart. I think that's what it means to be a family- to be bound by something that is thicker than water.

Forgiveness

What is the hardest thing to do?

To love? Of course not. Some would say that it's the easiest thing in the world. After all, just how hard could it be to fall? It's not. It can be painful, but not at all difficult.

To stay in love? To keep yourself in free fall for as long as you can. I imagine that can be difficult. Challenging, even. But not the hardest thing a man can accomplish.

To forgive. I know, I know. There are those who would say that this is easy enough to do. Some would even argue that swallowing one's pride and asking for forgiveness is more difficult. But, it's not. Because forgiveness is more than just uttering the words "I forgive you" or "It's okay" or even "I've already forgotten about it". Forgiveness is saying those words and meaning them.

So, to really and truly forgive someone is difficult. You have to forgive them from the heart and mind. And, that does not necessarily mean forgetting the act done against you. It means remembering the act and not feeling hurt, or angry, or betrayed. It means that no matter what happens in the future, you can't use that act against that person. No matter what you see or hear, you can't feel bitter or jealous. Because you've forgiven him/her.

And, that's difficult. Because when you forgive someone you tell yourself it's okay. That person didn't know any better. He or She didn't mean to hurt you. So, it's okay. But when someone hurt you through neglect and suddenly shows you that he or she knows how to care for someone, how could you not feel hurt? Because then, you start to think that maybe he or she did know better. And, maybe he or she did mean to hurt you. And, you feel hurt and betrayed all over again. Then, you realize, you've never really forgiven that person. All you did was bury all the painful memories and hope that they don't resurface. But, that doesn't work. Because memories like those will always resurface.

So, it's hard. Perhaps the hardest thing a person can do. Or maybe I just haven't learned how to do it yet. How does one manage that, anyway? How do you forgive? And, more importantly, how do you forgive the people you love the most? Because, really, the people you love are the ones who hurt you the most. And, these wounds are the hardest to heal. So, how do I do it?

To You

Having the one person you hold responsible for what you have become deny having had any such influence on you is annoying. Having that person do so while informing you of your emotional immaturity and lack of EQ goes beyond irritating and borders the need to commit mass murder.

But murder is illegal, and giving in to the temptation to wring your neck just for the satisfaction of watching the life drain from your eyes is not worth knowing deep down that you had yet again gained much power and control over me. Besides, the prisons here aren't exactly known for their accommodating facilities.

 My disgust at the state of the local jail and the less than appealing inmates kept me from acting on impulse and so I gritted my teeth and listened to the rest of the sermon. Plus, there’s also the small fact that I might have had been unfair in blaming you for everything.

I’m tired. Tired of keeping score on who has done the other more wrong. Tired of pretending to be in control of my life when the entire world knows I’m not. Tired of trying to attain the ever elusive happiness I've only ever heard of. Tired of telling myself that I am better than you. Tired of hating you.

Because I do hate you. I've hated you for as long as I can remember. It’s hard for me to remember when I loved you. But I know I once did. For the hatred that courses through my veins at the smallest indication of your presence only proves that I loved you long before, and immensely at that. But all the love had gone and, for the longest of times, all I felt for you was hatred and disgust.

Now, I’m ready to let it all go.

It isn't healthy to hold on to such feelings. To clutch such poison to one’s heart. I realize that now. It ate me up and made me as rotten as I saw you to be.

And, now, I don't like myself any more than I liked you.

And, the hating begins again. I hate myself. I hate you for making me like this.

Hate is such a sneaky little thing. It makes one quite the idiot.

Well, I’ll have none of that now.

I don’t know any better way of eradicating hatred than through forgiveness. So…

I forgive you. For all the words that were too harsh for my young ears. For all the expectations that were too high for my naïve self. For all the unwarranted responsibilities shoved unto my yet incapable shoulders. For the neglect I felt. For the battles I had to fight on my own.

I forgive you. Because, maybe,… I, too, expected too much for you. I, too, was too harsh to approach. I, too, was too old for my own incapability, immaturity and weakness. Perhaps, I thought that the longer I remained a child, the more time you'd have to turn around and give me the care and tender love I perceived to be the only form of a mother's love. But, of course, that was wrong and quite stupid of me.

So, I forgive you. Because you weren't the only one at fault. Because it's about time I came to terms with these things. Because it's time I allowed myself to love who I've become.

And, I’m sorry. For the disrespect I used to deal back all the hurt I felt. For the uncaring attitude I wore as my armor. For my tongue that became hard as steel and fast in inflicting wounds. For the stubbornness that ultimately lead to immaturity. For hating without trying to understand.

 I've held on to my hatred for so long. I feel that it's partly because of my fear that if I let go, there would be nothing left. I'd be numb. But, I guess, that isn't the case.

For how can one feel nothing for the woman instrumental to his/her coming into the world? How could one feel nothing for his/her mother?