My mom would've loved Bebu, I thought. Which led to another thought—

That my mom would love animals more than me. Granted, animals are pure and innocent. But if she was made to grant life and death one each between me and any animal, it's uncontested how my being there wouldn't make things any challenging should she have to choose.

My SO has led me to confront a lot of things I've put on the back burner. He has encouraged me to message my mother so I can get my answer.

No answer is the answer.

It has been a painful process so far, but I've gotten used to this heavy feeling where you'd wish you could claw your heart out of your chest to make it stop. Only this time, I've found resolutions.

I'll take this as part of the process of putting my mind and heart at ease about everything I've carried my whole life. I'll cry until all I have left is a slight twinge in my heart, its sting no more than an ant bite.

I'll be the humble student whoever this teacher is.

I was watching a K-drama that's been lighthearted so far, until I got to the episode about mothers. Guess that was the trigger. 

My train of thought started with questioning if my fuck-up was that grave and horrible, and while some better choices truly could've been made, there was a cause and effect for my decisions. And I'm trying my best with the life I've led. 

I was always deemed weird by the people around me at school. I had friends, people cared for me. And then there were some that both cared and laughed at me (or my father, maybe). 

And even with the friends I had then, I didn't really feel like I completely belong. I knew they were genuine when they were. But they can only do so much. The childlike care they'd give sadly couldn't substitute for what I should be but weren't getting from my parents.

Apparently, I was decent with English and grammar. Plus, I was young. And I loved reading.. Naturally, and eventually, I grew an interest in writing. Wattpad was becoming this huge thing among high schoolers like myself. The only difference was that it was virtual, but it was just the same as the Precious Hearts Romance or Harlequin pocketbooks that middle-aged market vendors would swap and pass around on a lazy day at the store.

And I was welcomed into a community. 

And so I was sucked into a black hole, because it helped fill the void. Then my grades deteriorated. Then I deteriorated as a person. 

I guess for my mother, my array of failures started a montage of everything she had to go through ever since she was born and all the things she couldn't have or be due to circumstances, because of family, because of things she couldn't control and, finally, because of me — what then has she lived her life for?

This made me an easy target and punching bag for all her frustrations.

I have an inkling that maybe she loved me in the beginning. It's not so much of a shot in the dark, the idea. She cared for me as if I were fine china, and that I would break if she ever failed in something as minuscule as remembering to lock one bedroom door when all the windows and entry doors already are.  

I guess my mom thought she'd be coming home to her idealized version of me, that I was the same fine china she slaved her days away trying to keep its shine. Unfortunately, I was just a trigger. Going home, turns out, equaled to being pushed forward and held hostage at the front seat of a theater playing a tormenting montage she didn't buy tickets for. 

Maybe one of these days, it'll be easier for my heart. I'll have to make do with knowing love only through a handful of moments that I've hidden to the back of my mind along with the sad ones.

I trust the memories will come back to me slowly. The pain doesn't hurt any less with not clearly remembering everything because my heart knows the truth deep down. So if this was the case, then I might as well mourn for the lonely moments and warmly hold on to the happy ones instead of being sad for some unconscious reason and failing to be happy because of my rusty memory. 

I can't do anything about what I was deprived of back then, but I can take care of myself the way I see fit. I'm old enough to build a life for myself and I've understood a little bit more that I can hold out my hand if I need to be pulled in for comfort. Or to reward my heart a gentle embrace. Treat myself kindly. Pamper myself as needed. To let other willing people pamper me for as much as they want and take in the overflowing love from the people who care. 

May my remaining tomorrows be just as kind as this morning has been to me. I'm hopeful I'll get to that day when all these will be no more than wistful, bittersweet wishes I'll whisper to the afternoon breeze in secret. My heart will then feel as light as if I've become a cloud just like I've always wanted, and I'll have accepted that the sweetness will be worth all the bitterness. 

I'll be one with the wind and join in its calm and delight. 

Keme.