What if. . . clowns could fly?

24 01 2008

picture-29.jpg Obviously they can’t, but what mother can’t help but think “What if. . . .” There really are a million combinations of this. What if I don’t read to my kids enough? Will they have a harder time learning to read? What if I don’t spend enough quality time with my son? Will he turn out to be unloving, non-hugging, and heartless child? What if my lack of the intelligence, grace, and beauty gene makes me child spiteful towards me for “ruining” their lives? Ultimately, What if I’m not good enough?

In which my loving and adoring boyfriend says, “But you are above and beyond good enough. You are beautiful, smart, and great.”

My response, “You have to say those things. You’re my boyfriend.”

I know myself. I know every lie I’ve ever told. Every secret I hide deep inside. Every weakness no one thinks I have. Every aspect that I am weak and lack, and how much I had to struggle to make up for those weakness just to have everyone think I’m ahead.

I’ve done some amazing things. I’ve accomplished at least several hundred goals. I’ve pushed myself beyond limits I never knew I had. I’ve done things that no one thought was possible.

But at what cost?

I have no real regrets. Only superficial ones.

It would be so easy for me to blame my mother for everything I lack. Though in my heart it is the truth, but in life there is no easy path, no easy answer.

I spent the greater majority of my night pondering on all my weaknesses. Wondering and figuring out why they are my weaknesses. Where did it come from? Why can’t I make them my strengths? Why does it kill me on some days and others it never enters my mind? My ultimate answer, my mother.

I do everything in my power to not be my mother. But how do I know I’m not her? How do I know I’m not hurting my son in the same way? How do I know I’m raising my son the absolute best I can when I never had the greatest or slightest bit of what a caring mom is? Why do I let my mom have so much power over me? How do I stop her from hurting me? How can she be my mom? How can she have been so selfish? How can she not think she damaged all of us? How am I, or my brothers, or my sister ever feel the least bit ‘ok’?

I don’t. No answers.

That scares me.

I don’t want this curse on my son. I want to get through the day feeling like I really am the best mom in my world.

I am to send my son to Kindergarten when I feel like he is lacking “something” because of me. What? No clue.

Growing up we are supposed to know what a great parent is by following in our parent’s steps. Build off the foundation and steps our parents have provided for us. We learn to love, provide, and support the ones we love from the love and support we were given. What happens when we grew up without that?

We become the people that influence us the most growing up. Even when the people that influenced us were bad.

I will never have to worry about my son making me proud, because I already am. I am waiting for the day, where my son will be proud of me. Proud to call me his mom. Proud to be a part of my life.

I want to change my stripes.

One day. . . . . I will.





I want my apartment back NOW!

13 10 2007

Yesterday morning I was literally booted from my apartment. Yes I did pay my rent and we are good tenants. Our building is being fumigated. I am glad to be rid of those stupid ants and the occassional spider or two. It’s just that it’s been a while since we HAD to leave our apartment. Hell this is the first time I unwilling had to sleep else where.

We ended up going to my Daddyhead’s house. I miss living there, no rent, no bills, no worries. *sigh* The easy times. But my sister was nice enough to let us crash in her bed for the night. I went there feeling relief. I get to be close to my Daddy again and sleep in the comforts of my own house. A house with tons of room, memories, and the comfort of my grandparents on the other side of the house.

Lo and behold I hated it. Not because of my dad harassing me. Not because of the worry that my grandparents might freak that my boyfriend is staying there too. Not because I knew my sister was going to annoy the shit out of me.

 It was because it’s not completely MY house. It’s not MY bed. It’s not MY room. Nothing there was technically mine. I couldn’t just sleep naked. I couldn’t walk around topless when I woke up this morning. I had annoying dogs barking, cats meowing, and that strong smell that my neighbors were cooking some strange filipino dish. (Side note: I love filipino food. I’m filipino. I just hate the smell.) I had the hardest time sleeping, even though my sisters bed feels a bit better than mine.

I missed my tiny apartment. I missed my space. At night I missed hearing the crashes of the waves outside the window. I missed the fresh ocean breeze when I woke up in the morning. Granted that I live on an island and the beach is less than a mile away no matter where you are. It just didn’t feel quite like home.

All this time I was miserable in my tiny apartment, though I know I still will be upset and wanting a bigger place, I was happy because it was mine. I pay for that space with my own money. I earned MY place. Most of all I thought I hated living there because I missed home. No I just hate it because it’s not a house with a yard.

Having the fumigators come helped me realize this today. It’s a little bit of a relief. Now I can go back to my tiny apartment feeling happy that it’s my place. Plus another great thing about my place is it’s 15 mins from work, where my dad’s house is an hour away.

 But if I got the chance to go live with my Daddy again, under the condition I get to stay on my grandparents side of the house (they have more bedrooms) I would most definitely go! lol. Hey no rent!