I Hated My Mother

I hated my mother. There are various reasons to hate one’s mother, although most of us get labelled as puberty rebels. It is true though, the relationship between me and my mother has always had this dynamic. Of hate and hate and hate. I will explain in this essay why my hatred towards my mother has become my biggest inspiration to do well in life. I know I was born to succeed and it is all due to the dynamic between my mother and me.

I was but a goat in a herd of hyenas. I had no idea how cruel life could be to a 12 year old. To me, my life should have just started. However, it was at 12 when I saw the movie which changed my life. I realised what was going on in my life. Starting with the postpartum depression my mother had after having my sister. She would get mad at anything and everything. I was so confused and so frustrated. At 12, my mother started cursing me. Saying how I should be cursed to cry blood shed tears, how I should repent for my sins through suffering and suffrage alone. At that point, I hated my mother. I hated how we lived in one room and had to share it. I hated how my mother kept going to the office and after my sister was born, she completely neglected me! I really hated her for looking at me, always, with scrutiny and disgust, like her eyes could reflect my future. Her eyes could show red and green in the ugliest combination for me. Like when lava meets a big pile of puke. That was how she saw me. Her eyes used to scare me, a lot. I dreaded when she would come home from work with the eyes of devil set in. I really hated my mother for being who she was. I fought with her, screamed at her, yelled all sorts of obscenities that she would say to me. I hated her to the point I ran away to Korea.

You realise the importance of a person when you lose their touch or sensations or feelings. I knew how torturous it would be for me to leave my mother. I knew I was her punching bag so she would be the one crying tears of blood when I left. It took me three years of living alone and suffering alone to realise, I wasn’t the one suffering, my mother was. I was craving her presence in the house when she left for work but she was craving her child’s presence as well. Working and working, continuous clicks on the keyboard with blood shot eyes. Money today is money gone tomorrow. Took me some thinking to realise that after screaming at me, she would go in the kitchen and cry on her own. Took me a while to understand that after cursing me, she would beat her own chest. Took me a while to realise that me running away was only because of her support. When the entire family was against me achieving my dreams, she was the only one standing tall saying, “It is my daughter’s life.” Took me a while to see that my mother was only a girl, who had a baby and a career in a highly patriarchal family. Took me a while to realise that I was not a punching bag, but the only support of my mother. I was not there for her to project but I was there to motivate. The reason for her to work. The reason why she couldn’t progress in her work. The reason why she preferred stability instead of her own ambitions. “A pandit once told me, I was not supposed to be reborn in this lifetime. I was supposed to receive salvation.” She spoke. I thought that she was cursing me again, blaming me for not receiving her salvation. Little did I realise that it was her way of saying that she was born to be my mother. “If you leave me Cheena, I will really break apart.” She said, but I still left. I was enjoying my freedom in Korea. No mother to scream, no father to restrict, no sister to take care of. Now, I wake up on an empty bed without the warmth of my sister. I walk into the kitchen without the smell of my mother’s food. I go to the living room without the small chocolates that my father always brings home. I realised, I was truly alone. I also realised that I didn’t hate my mother. Even if I did, it was not justified. It was one sided. Because there was never hatred coming from my mother’s heart. It was all desperation for me to be in her life. It was all an attempt for her to show how much I mean to her. I hated the one room apartment we lived in. Now, I miss standing in the balcony and looking at the forest with my mother. “Looks so pretty, right? I want to live in a farmhouse once, before I am gone.” She said. I always thought she had enough money to get a farmhouse, why isn’t she getting one? Then I realized the laptop in my hand or the jewellery on my ears were an easy purchase for her. But a pair of jeans of her own liking was deemed as unnecessary by her. I really wish I understood her better. However, I was battling my own demons back then. My mother blames herself constantly for the way she acted. “I was too angry.” She said. “I don’t understand myself.” She cried. I don’t either. I don’t understand you, Maa. But isn’t there a kind of beauty in not knowing? Because if I understood it all, I wouldn’t have loved you the way I love you now. I want to get you the farmhouse. I want to go to Europe with you. I want to fund your Solicitor degree in UK. I want you to keep standing in a high rise balcony, with me, just talking about all things unnecessary. I want to make food for you so that your kitchen is never empty. I want to wake up next to you so that you are never lonely. I want to get you small chocolates too. I don’t know if I truly hated you or not. What I do know, is that right now at this moment, there is not anything I wouldn’t do just for you to get a sliver of comfort that you provided me. I think I never hated you Maa, I always loved you.