She hates my guts, which is similar to hers. But, she would
poke perverts with a sharp-needled compass to protect herself and her classmates. She cannot
stand my stubbornness. Yet, as a child she cried and did not eat till she got a
pair of Levi’s jeans, the first girl to own a pair in her neighborhood. She
scorns at my wardrobe. However, there is a photograph of her during her teens
dressed in a tight white shirt, blue shorts and knee-high boots.
I look at her and think how can she be so naïve? Like her, I believe every word anyone tells
me without a single doubt. Sometimes my patience runs dry with her devotion to spirituality.
Ironically, I am pursuing the same path. She selflessly helps everyone around
her. And I wonder when did I sign up for the same job.
My mother and I are seldom on the same frequency. She is always
scrutinizing me and I am always lashing out at her. She has her opinions and I have
mine. Yet, we cannot do without each other. I need her as much as she needs me.
She raised me to become a woman, just like her. And, now I am taking care of a
child, just like me.
…
EC
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