09.09.2007 -17 °C
I rarely talk about my mother. I always think about her, though. It's true.
I have mixed feelings about her. I know I love her. I love her because she's my mother and a son is supposed to love his mother, right?
Oftentimes, I dream about her, and when I wake up, my face is wet with my tears. In all my dreams about her, it seems I'm always apologizing to her. For disappointing her. For being what I am which she can never accept.
I have friends who have parents who have learned to accept their children's homosexuality. I don't know if my friends notice this, but I really don't feel better after hearing such stories about their supposed deeper connection for having revealed their life choice.
Naiinggit ako, I guess.
It's been almost five years since I've seen my whole family. Five years. Tangina, ang tagal na pala.
So why don't I go home, you ask?
Like I mentioned awhile ago, I have mixed feelings about my mother.
I love her but I also can't bear to see her anymore.
Recently, I just found out that she would never ever be able to accept me for who I am, as cliche as it may sound.
She is my mother and she can't acknowledge the fact that her youngest son is gay.
I guess I'm as stubborn as she is, because I can't accept a mother who won't accept me.
I don't hate her. But I guess we're both disappointed with each other.
I miss her. I miss being home and being taken cared of.
I miss the way we used to hug each other. I miss her voice. I miss her little quirks in the kitchen.
I miss her but I don't ever want to see her again.
I love her but I guess that's not enough.
Sorry, Ma. Ganito talaga ako.
Why did I suddenly write about my mother? It's just that whenever I have a fight with a close friend of mine, or someone I love, I remember what she used to say to me, "It's only your family who will always truly be there for you."