If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that sentiment is a double-sided dagger. As much as I love being sentimental about tiny everyday things, I also regret being ever so emotional.
I know I keep bringing this up, but it’s all about my mother. She annoys me more than anyone else can — or will ever dare to; she calls me at awkward times, keeps repeating the same questions every day, and she’s always popping up everywhere –even when I wish she wouldn’t.
It’s annoying to have a mother that cares so much. But it’s painful not to have a mother that cares as much.
Perhaps it’s because she was always around me as I grew up, but I’ve grown comfortable around her so much that I take the liberty to shout at her without feeling guilty. She made a huge blunder not curtailing that habit of mine. Still, she takes it all in as I shout at her, because she knows I mean not a word of it.
And once I hang up and stare at my phone, realizing how much she must love me to bear with all my mood swings, I can’t help but feel evil. With her being everywhere — even at the back of my mind while I wake in the morning — I care much about her.
I don’t know about her, but every twelve hours, I have an internal alarm that goes off reminding me that it’s time for her pills. And despite having alarms in her phone, she forgets, and nods her head solemnly as I chide her for abysmal medicine memory.
That’s the trouble with caring too much — it hurts me when she’s hurting. I’ve seen what she goes through when she forgets her medicine, and it pains me to even imagine that pain.
And it gets even more annoying when she just shrugs it off with a toothy laugh. On one hand, I love watching her laugh, and on the other, I’m furious that she’s so negligent.
She checks with me five times a day if I had eaten my proper meals, and in the proper time, but she never takes her medicines in the proper time.
Urgh! Her sentiment often puts me off. So much nagging and caring for me, yet not much caring for herself. But it also makes me call her back a second — or third — time, to apologize in a small voice.
After all, moms are the best, aren’t they?