Someplace Like Home |n.j

37.

"I'm back."

I couldn't hide the disappointment in my voice. Now that I'm in Sapporo, even when I run, I actually have to come back home. I can't be the same child I was before.

I can't change my mother, and I never once thought I could. I didn't come back to change this place, or anyone but myself. I know change starts and ends with myself. Always. Not with running from the people of my past, not with escaping to Namu.

"I thought you'd go off to some other country again," I spot her reading a newspaper on the couch. I guess she hasn't cooled down either.

"No, unfortunately not," I sighed, dropping my bag and plopping down next to her. She seemed surprised that I was willing to sit so close.

My mother lowered the newspaper to look at me curiously, "Where did you go?"

"I went to Kenji's house."

So many years later, I'm still doing the same thing. I saw her nod quietly at the corner of my eye.

"I'm sorry."

That word sounds weird coming from her mouth.

"You know I don't like it when people apologize for things they're not going to change."

No, I hate it. Why would you keep doing it if you're sorry? You're not being sorry if you keep doing it, you are just acknowledging it. Everybody can do that. Saying sorry should be hard. It should make you lose sleep, it should make you want to throw up. Back then people would complain about others never saying sorry. But now everybody throws it around. It has gotten too easy.

I'm sorry I fucked your girlfriend. I'm sorry I stole money from your bank account. I'm sorry I beat you. I'm sorry I ruined your life beyond repair.

People say it too much now, they say it when it's too late. They just blurt it out mindlessly at the last second in an attempt to hold back something they know they don't deserve. They don't care what they've just said, they don't care if it was a promise, or if it would make committing the same mistakes again hurt so much worse for the other person. People aren't sorry. Sorry means nothing now.

That's all it is. Nothing.

"I know."

It fucks with me the most when she's quiet and calm. It's like she's gone crazy, full-on psychotic. It's like she's lost all hope. At least when she's yelling, she still has something to fight for. I turn my head to look at her, I'll never enjoy looking at her eyes. They look just like mine.

"What are you sorry for?"

Does she even know? No, of course she does. She's not stupid, she's anything I can call her in the book, but she's not stupid. That makes everything worse, doesn't it?

"Whatever you're hurting over."

I scoff, gladly taking my eyes off of her, "Well doesn't that just make apologies so much more convenient for you. Whatever I'm hurting over?" I can't help but chuckle again with my arms folded, "Genius. I don't even know what to say."

I never asked her to say sorry. I don't need it. But she's given me this half-assed apology like it's some kind of lazy charity. It makes me sick. She doesn't even have the guts to say what she's done. I know she feels guilt and that she is ashamed of herself. I'm not stubborn enough to think that my mother is incapable of self-awareness.

Her insecurity for how she's failed as a mother is what fuels her tantrums every time. I pity her for that, I really do. She's so consumed by her own guilt that she can only resort to emotional and physical abuse to express her shame. She's her only reason for this constant cycle. She cannot blame father anymore, he's already long gone. And she cannot blame my absence either.