The Wilful Sunflower

I remember leaving for college 8 years ago. Well, I don't remember actually leaving, but I remember wanting to leave.

You see, in Malaysia, you can choose to leave high school after O'levels (we call it SPM) or stay another 2 years and leave after A'levels (better known as STPM here). I wanted to leave home — and the horrible education system — as soon as possible.

I couldn't wait to be gone, and Dad knew it. He warned me that if I didn't apply myself and do well in my O'levels, I could kiss goodbye to that dream. Because leaving school after O'levels meant going to a private college, and that was going to cost lots of money. So if he didn't want to fund that part of my education, I could jolly well stay back in school and take the A'levels. Or go out and work.

Leaving home signified freedom. To have the liberty to do whatever I wanted, go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted... to have no one breathing down my neck and demanding explanations for every single thing... it sounded like bliss.

I was reminded how desperate I felt to get away when I read this mother's story today. It made me wonder if Mom cried when I left. I was too happy to be gone to notice how she felt.

We never had the kind of close relationship that this mother seems to have had with her daughter. I would have liked to have had that, but I quickly found it impossible to talk to Mom. For one thing, she didn't listen. She'd always jump to conclusions and interrupt to give me a huge lecture. Like, I'd be telling her that there was this cute guy in class and she'd start warning me that I was too young to be getting a boyfriend and I'd better concentrate on my studies instead. For crying out loud, I only wanted to tell her about him! It didn't mean I was going to go out and jump his bones or something!

Plus, I quickly found out that any confidences were headed straight for Dad's ears. "Of course I told him — he's your father and my husband," Mom would say. My teen self felt betrayed. I stopped trying to tell Mom anything.

Now, though, things are different. Now she calls me up because she misses my voice. Now she treats me like a friend and writes letters to me telling me what God said to her recently, how He comforted her when she felt down. Now she confides in me about Dad and about how she's praying really hard for him and believes that God will answer her prayers.

It's like a role reversal; it's like she needs me now, instead of vice-versa. But I'm totally uncomfortable. I no longer want to be that close to her. I feel it's too late, WAY too late, for her to want to change things and be my 'friend'.

It's quite laughable, really. All along the way I struggled so much with Dad. He has always been this figure that looms larger than life and commanded all my attention & efforts to please. Mom I took for granted; she was always just there.

It was only the last time I went home that I realised I have unresolved issues with Mom, too. And I realised I don't want to think of her as a person with feelings and dreams of her own. I don't want to think that Dad could have hurt her just as much as he hurt me. I just want her to remain my mom.

I feel so selfish. Now that Blink (my bro) has left home, I know Mom must be lonely. She's always been a stay-at-home-mom, a homemaker. She has no one else to talk to about the more personal stuff.

But I don't want Mom to lean on me. It just feels weird, you know? I'm not her friend, I'm her daughter!

Writing this, it's just dawned on me the REAL reason why the whole thing feels so weird: because, growing up, she was always "on Dad's side", as I saw it. She would always defend him to us and tell us to do things which would "make Daddy happy". With her, everything was about what Dad wanted and the way he wanted it. It seemed to me she didn't care so much what we felt; Dad was of paramount importance.

And now she wants to have a cozy chat with me about him and about why he is the way he is? Forget it!

I'm afraid I might be harbouring some resentment here. *sigh*