At age 7 I found out that my mother had been adopted. I think for as long as I can remember feeling aware of myself and others ie: about 5years old, I had several queries and questions surrounding the love shared between mothers and daughters. I can remember it like it was yesterday.
It all began one evening when I overheard my mother telling her friend how she knew that she loved her first born more than her second,second being me! Ok,yes I should not have been eave’s dropping, but at five years old…it does not count. I can’t think back to the day,year,or time but one things for sure I certainly remember the exact phrase that was uttered as if it had been loud speekered across the whole country. Eyes…bulging like litchi’s I retreated to my tiny bedroom, climbed under the covers and wept…and this began the ongoing struggle for love.
Twelve years old…awkward phase like you can’t believe I started wondering why the mothers of all my friends seemed to be so involved and ‘cool’. I could sit for hours telling tales of puppy love and cheap crushes to several other mommies. The constant feeling of inferiority hit me grade 7…the eye sore age of your high school career. That tiny bedroom became a secret volt of tears,diaries and remains of unfinished arguments.
Today, my mother and I spend time bonding while she watches soaps and I read my book in my bedroom. We interact…we do not spend time growing in love.I have recently realised that I have spent my whole adult life forming bonds with women who are twenty to thirty years older than me. I think in an attempt to try and find motherly love.
At age 25 I am still waiting for her to utter the simple words ‘i love you’ which to so many mothers and daughters exists on a daily basis. For most part I try and see her love hidden in gifts and home cooked meals,expensive clothing and try and excuse this closed mole kind of love as a reaction to her own ‘mother daughter’ issues. But..it cannot be denied the question that sits at the tip of my lips, and has, since that very first day…a question which drives a black hole into the bottom corners of my toes…do I actually love her?