Sunday, May 12, 2013

To A Mother

 To a mother.

To a mother who was never there to see me grow up. A mother who did not get to see me take my first steps or hear my first words. A mother who did not have to drag me out of bed to get me to school every single day. A mother who did not have to deal with my endless cries for more ice cream and candy. A mother who did have to shed any tears when I messed up or fucked up my life again and again. A mother who at the time I was conceived may or may not have been a slut, a prostitute, the other woman, a drunkard, a stoned teenager or just one of those people who got knocked up. A mother who if I meet now may not understand or be fluent in the language I speak. This is for a mother I do not know. This is for a mother I hope loved me. This is for a mother I may not love at all.

It may seem cruel and harsh for me to say that I may not love you. But think about it, love can only be given and received if the person giving it and receiving it is around somehow. How can I love someone who deliberately chose never to see me again? I'd like to believe however that you gave me away because you loved me. I would like to think that you gave me up so that I could have a better future. Yet, it could also be the other way around. You could have given me away because you selfishly loved yourself. You could have given me up because you perceived me as a hindrance to your own great future. I would be a fool not to take a human's selfish nature into consideration when contemplating these things.

For a long time, I could not grasp the concept of adoption in which those who want a child can get a child from those who do not wish to keep a child. It delighted me to know that I was chosen by people who did not have to show affection towards me. At the same time, it was a huge pain in the ass to know that you, a mother who is related to me by blood, could not find it in yourself to keep me. Sugarcoat it all you want. Truth is, I was abandoned and given up to a couple of strangers I now call my family. Although it took my family only five days after my birth to bring me home and welcome me into their privileged world, it does not change the fact that I was alone for a few unfortunate days.

If you were to magically appear out of nowhere or come back from the dead to apologize to me for giving me up, I'll let you know now that you have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone is fully aware of what they do before and while they are doing it. And apologizing is just a crappy excuse and a backup plan to make the one you have offended feel better. Scratch that. An apology makes the offender feel better. An apology won't bring back wasted time. A sorry will not change my life. An expression of regret will not make you or me a better person. Nevertheless, a sorry will make you feel good. So say it if you have to. But I won't forgive you. There is nothing to forgive. I feel nothing.I have grown numb to whatever emotion I felt or still subconsciously feel about my situation.

I question my choice to even call you a mother, but the word is used for any woman who has given birth to a child. And that is all you are. You are just a woman who gave birth to me. You acted like a conduit. You were a channel. A channel of a fucking blessing of a baby girl - me. You were a mother who brought me into this world to give me to my mother. You may never know how much my mother wanted me or how many gallons of tears my mother cried when I dyed my hair blue. But then, I may never know how hard a time I must have put you through while I was in you for nine months. I guess there are things you and I will never know but will always want to know about each other.

So on this very happy Mother's Day, let me tell you that this letter is not to thank you or to condemn you for what you did. This is not to make you feel guilty or to make you feel at peace with your decision. This is also not a hate letter or a love letter to you. This is me realizing that you are a mother. And for those nine months I was in you and you surrounded me, you were my mother. Maybe that's enough for me to respect and honor you because you were a mother. You were my mother. I knew your voice. I heard your cries. I sensed your thoughts. I knew you. And you knew me.

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