rarily. And most of the time it’ s me who caused all this mess in the first place.
I remember us huddling in the study and Mom says,“ I don’ t see the point in life.” And the scary thing is I can see that she means it; she won’ t mean it tomorrow or the day after when the moment’ s passed, but she sure as hell means it now, and it scares me that she’ s not just saying that to make us guilty, she’ s just putting it out there, just for your information. It dawns on me that maybe she’ s only staying alive for us, she has all the classic signs of depression and she’ s under so much stress from worrying too much, and there’ s a drawing of a superwoman taped on the fridge from when I was in elementary school and I want to tear it off because mom’ s not the supermom I imagined her to be ten years ago, she’ s just an incredibly tired old person with an incredible sense of responsibility.
She tells my sister,“ you mustn’ t ever get married because it denies you of all the good things life has to offer, and marrying early doesn’ t mean you get off early. It follows you until the very end, you know?”
And my sister looks at the bowl of melons in front of her and nods because she understands, and I look at a faraway corner because I understand too, and if there’ s one thing I learned from mom, it’ s that marriage is a death sentence.
*****
I freak out silently when my friends look at me with an adoring smile and say they want a daughter like me, because it will kill them, they’ ll realize that it’ s not worth it, it will make them depressed and disillusioned and a shell of the people they were, because parenting will do that to you.
I know people look at me and think I’ m a mama’ s girl or too devoted to my parents, or that my mom’ s a control freak or dotingly overprotective, and it may be a combination of them all or they may have missed the point entirely, but what I do know is: when they think of mom they think of her as my mom, not by her name, and that little possessive is universal in every language possible, and that’ s got to be the saddest thing ever because mothers automatically forfeit the right to their names after marriage, and by default their identities too.
Anyway, they don’ t know my history so they don’ t get to put labels on my family. I don’ t ever talk about it to my friends because some of the things I feel are bound to bleed out in my words, in my face, and I don’ t want to be that broken girl with the dysfunctional family. I don’ t want my friends to look at me differently; every family’ s a little bit messed up anyway.
*****
The whole extended family’ s having dinner at an Italian restaurant and my sister is wondering how I came to reject religion when my family members are all Buddhists, and I don’ t say,“ I’’ m an atheist because I believe in mothers who sacrifice themselves for the good of their children, sisters who care for their siblings when they’ re halfway across the world, fathers who quietly break their backs trying to make a living. And all the good in the world was built up from ashes by hard-working decent people, it’ s an insult to the potential and pure good in mankind to say this world was a supernatural being’ s work.
29
All the while I’ m thinking it’ s mom’ s birthday tomorrow and I don’ t even know what to get her: a picture, a record, new clothes, a grade report, but what she really needs is a moment’ s respite from everything and I can’ t wind back time and undo my very existence. I would give everything to do it but I can’ t, and it kills me because the world without me seems an infinitely better place for mom. What she has to understand about me is that if I could do it, I would gladly do it in a heartbeat.